“Heading east.”

“My father told me Caleb was home by nine,” I said.

“Your father lied,” Sloan said.

“The truck did not return to their driveway until nearly three in the morning on Wednesday.”

She was laying out the hours like surgical instruments on a tray, each one clean and sharp.

“At ten past ten on Tuesday night, a witness heard a woman screaming near the reservoir road,” Sloan said.

“A white pickup truck matching Caleb’s was parked in the gravel pull-off.”