The rising sun seeps through the window in the living room, bathing the stacks of boxes with a warm glow. They’re spread out all over the floor, some empty, some open, some still sealed. We got through about a third of them, but none of the contents gave us any further insight as to what happened the night of June 15, 1999—except that tape. It sits on top of the VHS/DVD player, exposed and out in the open. Anyone could walk in, pop it into the player, and see a buried truth. I consider hiding it or stowing it away, but I don’t have the energy to hide anything else, and maybe I want someone to
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