“Did my father ever call your office back?” I asked, sitting down in one of the black leather armchairs.

“He came in himself at four o’clock yesterday afternoon,” Mitchell said, stepping behind the main control console.

She picked a blue ballpoint up off the desk blotter, clicked it three times, and laid it next to the keyboard.

“I thought the recording drive at my parents’ house was totally gone,” I said.

“Vanessa yanked the power cord out of the pantry wall before the paramedics even got to the driveway.”

“The physical recorder in the house was wiped, yes,” Mitchell said, tapping a key on her workstation.