“He was showing it,” Charles said. “I didn’t leave it out for people to handle.”

Bianca lifted her chin.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Maria kept the camera still.

In the photograph, Patrick stood beneath the staircase sconce, holding the watch near his face.

The chain looped over his fingers.

His sister stood beside him.

Oliver was nowhere near them.

That picture did not show the watch breaking.

It did establish something Bianca had failed to mention while demanding my son apologize.

I looked toward Patrick.

“What happened next?”

He glanced at his sister.

“I put it down.”

“Where?”

“Near the stairs.”

“Intact?”

He hesitated.

Bianca stepped between us.

“He’s answering you.”

“No,” I said. “He isn’t.”

Maria’s hand tightened around the camera.

“There’s another one.”

Bianca turned sharply.

“Enough.”

I met Maria’s eyes.

“Please continue.”

The next image was one of the dining room.

At first, I didn’t understand why it mattered.

The table filled most of the frame.

White flowers.

Silver candlesticks.

An empty chair waiting for Oliver.

At the edge, reflected in the tall mirror beside the staircase, Bianca stood with a folded white napkin in one hand.

Something gold rested inside it.

I leaned closer.

The watch.

The case was open at an unnatural angle.

A piece hung away from the body.

My wife’s other hand was extended toward Patrick.

He appeared to be passing her something small.

Maria spoke carefully.

“I noticed it when I reviewed the table picture.”

Charles looked at the screen.

Then at the floor.

“The hinge.”

Bianca shook her head.

“You can’t tell what that is.”

Maria moved one image forward.