Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would lose consciousness and wake up with unexplained aches and pains. My husband would only laugh and say, “You’re just out of shape, that’s all.” After the fourth ride, I secretly slipped a voice recorder into my purse and said nothing. That night, I listened to a phone conversation between the two of them that revealed my blackouts had never been accidental.

The photograph had come from a traffic camera overlooking a public intersection, Ellis explained.

Investigators were working to confirm the full sequence of stops.

Marcus had driven away from my usual route, entered the annex’s service lane, and remained in that area for nearly an hour before returning toward Southlake.

I touched the picture with one fingertip.

“I was in there?”

“We’re investigating that possibility.”

“Is it a medical center?”

“It was licensed for outpatient services years ago.