Balfour is reenacting her movements from that day after work. She walks from her cubicle in room 153A of the JAG school, out to the front of the building. By mid-afternoon she had finally checked her cell and discovered shed missed an early morning call from her babysitter. She called back, but got only voice mail. It didnt worry her. She and the babysitter were friends, and they talked often about all sorts of things. Balfour left a message asking for a callback.
It came when she was standing where she is now, on a spacious stone patio in front of the JAG school, heading toward the parking lot. As it happens, there is a Civil War-era cannon that is aimed, with unsettling irony, exactly where she stands.
The babysitter asked Balfour where Bryce was. Balfour said: What do you mean? Hes with you.
It is 60 feet to the end of the patio, then a stairwell with 11 steps down, then two steps across, then a second stairwell, 12 steps down, one more off the curb and then a 30-foot sprint to the car. Balfour estimates the whole thing took half a minute or less. She knew it was too late when, through the window, she saw Bryces limp hand, and then his face, unmarked but lifeless and shiny, Balfour says, like a porcelain doll.
It was seconds later that the passerby called 911.