Sometimes the law cannot stitch a single truth from frayed threads. Doubt hangs in the air, voices clash, and the jury cannot say beyond a reasonable doubt. That is not the end — it is an invitation.

You have missed vital evidence. Quiet, easy things: crumbs, a snarl of red wool, a flicker of sugar on a windowsill, a note in an officer’s hand. Together they point to a darker thread running through the village: Grandmother and Red.