“I just watched two deputies put you in handcuffs while your key was in our door.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell them who you were?”
“Yes.”
“Did they check?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually?”
He could hear her moving.
Probably pacing.
She said:
“We're coming home.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Not tonight.”
“Don't tell me—”
“I need you calm before you drive.”
Silence.
That worked.
Not because she liked it.
Because she knew he was right.
She sat.
He could hear the change.
Then her voice softened.
“Are your wrists okay?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did they say anything?”
The Homeowner hesitated.
His wife heard that.
“What?”
“Nothing useful.”
“What did they say?”
He did not want to repeat the line.
Stop playing soldier.
Not yet.
“I'll tell you tomorrow.”
His wife became quiet.
Then:
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call ended.
The Homeowner sat alone.
For five minutes.
Ten.
Then the doorbell rang.
The neighbor.
He almost ignored it.
Then opened.
She stood holding a phone.
“I have video.”
He stared.
“Of everything?”
“Most.”
“Send it to the investigators.”
“I will.”
She hesitated.
“I also wanted to say…”
He waited.
“I called 911.”
The Homeowner frowned.
“You?”
“No.”
“I called after.”
“When they handcuffed you.”
“I told dispatch they had the homeowner.”
“I gave your name.”
The Homeowner looked at her.
“Thank you.”
She shook her head.
“I feel stupid saying you're welcome.”
“Why?”
“Because I watched from my window before I came outside.”
He said nothing.
She continued.
“I saw you arrive.”
“I knew it was you.”
“I still watched for almost a minute before I said anything.”
The Homeowner understood the guilt.
“You eventually did.”
“I should've done it sooner.”
“Maybe.”
She looked surprised by the answer.
He continued.
“But you did it.”
She nodded.
Then handed him a slip of paper.
“Video link.”
He took it.
She left.