Chapter 7: The Bodega Cameras

It was Mrs. Abara from the bodega across the street. Sixty-nine years old, quilted housecoat, a deaf pug named Bishop in a cardigan. She'd watched the whole thing from behind her lottery display. And she wanted us to know that after somebody took a crowbar to her roll-down gate in August, her son had bolted four cameras above the awning. Those cameras faced our door. We crowded into her back room while she made tea nobody drank, and Gio scrubbed through eleven days of footage on a laptop. We...