Chapter 3 - The Forgotten Eye
The next morning, the sun rose bright and unforgiving over the city of Austin. I hadn't slept more than an hour. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Rebecca's hand striking my daughter's face.
Lily was still asleep in her bed, snoring softly, guarded by her favorite stuffed bear. I walked down to the kitchen, made a pot of black coffee, and sat at the table. My phone, which I had unblocked only for work and emergency contacts, began to ring. It wasn't my family—it was an unknown local number.
"Hello?" I answered, my voice raspy.
"Is this Daniel Vance?" a professional female voice asked.
"Yes, it is."
"Mr. Vance, my name is Detective Sarah Torres with the Austin Police Department. I've received a report forwarded to us from the emergency room regarding an incident involving your daughter, Lily. Are you available to speak this morning?"
My heart leaped. The system was actually working. "Yes, Detective. I can come to the station, or you can come here. Whatever is faster. I want to press charges."
"I can come to your home, Mr. Vance. It might be easier and less stressful for your daughter if we need to ask her a few gentle questions," Detective Torres suggested.
"Thank you. I'll text you the address."
Within forty-five minutes, Detective Torres arrived. She was in plain clothes, carrying a small notepad, and possessed an aura of quiet efficiency. I offered her coffee, which she accepted, and we sat in the living room while Lily remained asleep upstairs.
I recounted everything. I told her about Claire's passing, Lily's anxiety, the birthday party, the moment I found her behind the laundry machine, the red handprint, and the chilling reaction of my mother, father, and sister.
"They told me she threw a tantrum and knocked over cupcakes," I explained, my hands clenching into fists on my knees. "They claimed Rebecca just 'grabbed her arm.' But you saw the medical report. You don't get a face-shaped bruise from having your arm grabbed."
"No, you don't," Detective Torres agreed, noting something down. "Mr. Vance, in cases like this, it often boils down to a 'he-said, she-said' scenario if there are no independent witnesses. Your family is likely to stick together to protect your sister. Do you know if anyone else saw the actual incident?"
"The guests were all out in the yard," I said, rubbing my temples. "But... there's something else. My dad had me set up my professional video camera inside the house. It's an ultra-wide 4K camera. It was positioned on a tripod right by the glass sliding doors of the living room, facing out, but because of the wide lens, it captures the entire indoor living room, the hallway leading to the laundry room, and a clear view of the patio outside."
Detective Torres perked up, her pen hovering. "Is the camera still there?"
"Yes. In my rush to get Lily to the hospital, I left it behind. It was plugged into the wall with a 512-gigabyte memory card. It has enough storage to record continuously for twenty-four hours. If it hasn't been turned off or wiped, the entire incident—and their reactions afterward—is on that card."
"We need that footage, Mr. Vance. If your sister did strike Lily inside that house or right at the threshold, that camera caught it." Detective Torres stood up. "I can accompany you to your parents' house to retrieve your personal property. If they refuse to hand over the camera, it gives me grounds to secure a warrant for the preservation of evidence."
"Let's go," I said.
I called Mrs. Gable, our elderly next-door neighbor who had known Lily since she was a baby and absolutely adored her. She agreed to come over immediately to watch Lily while she slept. Once Mrs. Gable arrived and I ensured Lily was safe, I got into my truck, following Detective Torres’s unmarked police cruiser back toward the affluent suburban neighborhood where I grew up.
As I drove, my stomach twisted into knots. I was going back to the dragon's den, but this time, I wasn't an isolated, grieving widower trying to keep the peace. I was a father armed with the law.
When we pulled into my parents' driveway, I noticed Rebecca's car was still parked outside. Excellent. They were all together, likely constructing their narrative.
I walked up to the front door, Detective Torres standing a step behind me, her police badge clipped visibly to her belt. I didn't knock. I still had my key, and I unlocked the door and pushed it open.
The house was quiet, but as we walked into the expansive living room, I saw them. My mother, my father, and Rebecca were sitting around the kitchen island, drinking coffee and talking in hushed, urgent tones.
When they heard our footsteps, they turned. My mother’s eyes widened in shock, which quickly turned to indignation.
"Daniel! How dare you just walk in here after the way you behaved yesterday?" she snapped, standing up. Then her eyes drifted to Detective Torres, and she froze. "Who is this?"
"This is Detective Torres with the Austin Police Department," I said, my voice deadpan. "I'm here to pick up my video camera."
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I looked over at the tripod by the glass doors.
The tripod was still standing. But the camera was gone.
