"That's you, isn't it?"
I stared at the photo for a full ten seconds.
It was from my eighteenth birthday, ten years ago. What I'd actually been holding was a pink plastic cake knife.
Nelson hadn't just photoshopped the knife into a machete. He'd cut out the background and replaced it with the alley.
I raised my head and looked at Detective Mercer.
"Officer, this photo is doctored."
He slammed his palm on the table.
"Doctored? The guy who reported you handed over video of the actual attack!"
He pulled up a blurry surveillance clip.
In it, a girl with short hair wearing the same uniform as mine was slashing wildly with a knife.
The lighting was so dim you couldn't make out a face.
"That's not me." My voice was level.
"Laurel Fox, don't think for a second you're walking out of this!" Detective Mercer's voice cracked like a whip.
"There are thirty-six people in your class. We just finished taking statements from every single one of them overnight."
"Thirty-five people. Identical accounts. Every one of them identified you as the mastermind."
I looked at the familiar signatures. Damian Delgado. Russ Pruitt. One after another after another, the names kept going.
I leaned back in my chair.