In the upper left of the frame, just past the reach of the light, the iron bars of the dog run showed against the dark fence.

Benji’s small fingers could be seen through the metal mesh, hooked in the chain links while the women chatted on the patio.

One of the women pointed toward the back corner of the yard and said something.

Jaclyn turned her head, laughed out loud, and took a slow sip of her wine.

She tapped her long acrylic nails on the stem of the glass, not the least bit bothered by the small, silent figure sitting in the dark twenty feet away.

Not once in the whole fifty-minute recording did she walk over to the gate.