Vance,” she sobbed.

“I only stepped away for a moment.

I went into the convenience store to get water, and when I came back, the doors wouldn’t open, I couldn’t—”

I looked at her, and through the fog of my own horror, some cold and careful part of my mind, the part that keeps the books and notices the numbers, woke up and asked a simple question.

“What time did you pick up Brucie?”

Camellia’s face lost its color all at once, the way a face does when it has been asked the one question it was not prepared for.