My olive military duffel sat on the floor by the pantry, its thick shoulder strap showing new black nylon stitching from forty dollars of repairs on base.

Evelyn Price shifted her weight on the linoleum and gripped the bottom hem of her faded cotton apron with both hands.

“He talked to me right through the speaker box on Tuesday afternoon,” Evelyn said in her measured Southern drawl.

“He told me through that speaker that the girl was upstairs putting Lily down for a nap.”

“Which speaker box, ma’am?” Officer Bell asked, turning his head toward the front hall.

“The little black plastic one mounted right beside the doorbell,” Evelyn said.