Frank pulled three gray storage boxes labeled October rescue operations off the bottom shelf.

He leafed through clear plastic sleeves holding Polaroid prints the volunteer fire squad had taken.

“Here,” Frank said, laying a four-by-four print under the yellow fluorescent tube.

The picture showed Zane standing by the aluminum guardrail on the upper bridge five minutes after his 911 call was logged.

“Look at his pants in this picture, Sarah,” Frank said.

“Not one speck of river mud.”

The cloth of Zane’s brown work pants was creased and dry all the way down to the eyelets of his leather boots.