Her lawyer, a tired-looking man named Mr. Finch, arrived and immediately began dismantling the police timeline. “My client was at an interview until 2:12. Here is the email confirmation,” he said, slapping a paper on the table. “She bought a coffee at 2:21. The park is a ten-minute walk. She found the bag at 2:35 and was here by 2:47. Where is the time to hide the money?”
The logic was sound, but Harlan was stubborn. “She could have passed it to an accomplice.” Finch rolled his eyes. “An accomplice? She can’t even pay her phone bill, Detective. Look at the footage from the park.” He’d been busy. He’d found a social media post from a woman who had been filming her dog in the park at the exact time of the ‘theft.’
They crowded around a laptop to watch a shaky, vertical video. A terrier was barking at a cyclist—a man in a grey hoodie with a bright red delivery bag. As the cyclist sped past the bench, his hand dipped low. It was a blink-and-you-miss-it movement, but there it was: a dark shape landing right where Lena would sit moments later. “There,” Finch said. “That’s your thief. Or your delivery man.”