“Why?”
Nia stared.
“Because I didn't steal anything.”
Leland nodded.
He stood.
“I'll be back.”
Nia looked toward the camera.
“Detective.”
He stopped.
“Make sure that camera stays on.”
His face changed slightly.
Then he left.
At 1:03 p.m., Evan called Nia.
No answer.
At 1:11, again.
At 1:28, again.
He checked their shared location app.
Her phone showed Maywood Galleria.
Not moving.
He assumed she had left it somewhere.
At 1:41, an unfamiliar number called him.
“Is this Evan Bennett?”
“Yes.”
“This is the Brookhaven Police Department.”
His entire body went cold.
The officer told him Nia was in custody.
Suspected felony theft.
He laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the sentence made no sense.
“Who?”
“Nia Bennett.”
“I heard the name.”
“What did you say she did?”
“Sir, you can come to the station.”
“No.”
“You can tell me now.”
The voice remained procedural.
“She's being processed in connection with stolen jewelry.”
Evan stood in the kitchen holding his coffee from hours earlier.
Still half full.
Cold.
“You have the wrong person.”
“Sir—”
“I'm coming.”
He ended the call.
Then called Rachel Kim.
Rachel had been their attorney for business paperwork when Evan and Nia bought a small rental property three years earlier.
She did not usually handle criminal defense.
She knew someone who did.
By 2:20, attorney Malcolm Price was heading toward the station.
Evan arrived first.
He parked too aggressively.
Walked toward the entrance.
A white-haired woman stood near the sidewalk holding a phone against her chest.
Evan barely noticed her.
She stepped toward him.
“Excuse me.”
He kept walking.
“Sir.”
He turned.
“I’m sorry.”
“I need to get inside.”
“Are you Nia Bennett’s husband?”
Evan froze.
“How do you know her name?”
The woman looked around nervously.
“I heard her say it.”
“Where?”
“At the shopping center.”
Everything in Evan’s body shifted.
“You saw what happened?”
“Yes.”
The woman’s voice trembled.
“I recorded it.”
Evan stared.
She held out her phone.
“My name is Margaret Ellis.”
“I think you need to see this before they do.”
Margaret Ellis was seventy-three years old.
Retired elementary-school librarian.
Widowed.
Two daughters.
Four grandchildren.
She had gone to Maywood Galleria that morning to buy a birthday card.
Nothing more.
She parked near the east entrance because walking long distances had become difficult after knee surgery.
When she left the card store, she saw officers speaking to Nia.
At first, Margaret continued walking.
Police interactions were not unusual.
She had no reason to interfere.