Valerie laughed on the recording, a short, brisk sound that stopped as Garrett moved closer to the doorway.

“My father trusts anything you hand him,” Garrett said.

The picture blurred and cut off as Valerie’s right hand reached across the lens to cover the microphone.

I laid the phone flat on the folding table next to the photos and looked at Rebecca.

“Did Garrett know you had this phone behind the door frame?” I asked.

“No,” Rebecca said.

“He thought I’d run out to the parking lot without my purse.”