ead, postage, or addressee. There was a noticeable lump in the center of it. Mike began taking pictures with his phone camera. “Do you have a sealable bag?”
Talia retraced her steps into the kitchen. She opened the door to the walk-in pantry and flipped on the light. She grabbed the box of ziplock bags from a shelf and returned with it to the living room.
“I have a variety of sizes. Is this one okay?”
Mike, who was in the process of texting, glanced up. “Fine. I’m sending these pictures to Locke. Drex will want to know we have it.”
After sending the texts, he slid his phone into his breast pocket and took one of the bags from the box. Kneeling, without touching the envelope, he manipulated it into the bag and zipped it in. As he struggled to stand, he said, “Maybe we should take the blazer, too.”
“Good idea. I’ll get it. Unless it was confiscated when they searched yesterday.”
“Let’s check.” Mike made to follow her upstairs. She said, “You stay.”
Breathing hard from the exertion of coming to his feet after kneeling, he nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna get some water.”
“In the fridge. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
She trotted up the stairs and walked quickly down the hallway, but when she reached the closed double doors of the master suite, she hesitated. She was averse to entering the toxic atmosphere of that room again. She didn’t want to see the bed in which she had lain beside Jasper Ford, breathing the same air as he, vulnerable in her sleep.
But Drex was waiting for her.
Steeling herself, she pushed open the doors and was, for an instant, taken aback by the disarray. But then she remembered the search. The officers under Rudkowski’s leadership hadn’t done as much damage as they could have, she supposed, but things had been moved and slewed about.
Jasper would have been enraged over the present state of his handkerchief drawer.
His closet door stood ajar. She crossed to it and opened it wide. Garments had been pushed aside, sweater boxes opened and rifled through, shoes removed from the shelves and piled onto the floor. But it didn’t appear that anything had been confiscated…except possibly the navy blazer.
Twice, she hastily sorted through the color-coordinated blue grouping of garments. The jacket wasn’t there.
“Are you looking for this, Mrs. Ford?”
She spun around.
Jasper stood in the door opening. He was wearing the blazer. Secure in its buttonhole was a single button. Brass, round, with an embossed anchor.
His smile was obscenely obsequious, his voice a perfect imitation of Mr. Singh’s. “It wasn’t lost at all.”
Drex’s outburst startled Menundez. He braked hard, forcing traffic around them to do the same. Tires screeched. Horns blared.
Above that additional clamor, Drex shouted to Locke, “Call Mike. Call Mike. Do it now. Tell him not to go to their house. Call Talia. It’s a trap. Menundez, turn around. Head for Talia’s house.”
Locke looked at him with fury. “What the hell are you talking about? We’re going to court.”
“Jasper’s not going there. Shit! I’ve got tell Mike.” Drex lunged for Locke’s phone, but the detective drew his hand back and kept it out of his reach. Beside himself, Drex shouted, “Menundez, turn the fucking car around!”
Realizing the more deranged he appeared, the less likely they were to listen to him, Drex forced himself to speak calmly. “Please. I know I lost it there for a sec, but you’ve got to listen to me.”
“We have listened. That’s why we’re here. Everybody’s in place. He’s one of ours.” Locke swept his hand toward a guy geared up in latex and a helmet holding up a tricked-out bicycle. He was looking at them with a cop’s wariness.
Drex wanted to weep, wanted to tear at his hair, wanted Menundez to turn around!
“You’ve got to trust me one last time.”
Locke’s phone rang in his hand. Drex lurched forward again, trying to grab it. “Answer, answer, it might be them.”
Locke clicked on. Rudkowski shouted through the speaker. “Where are you? They’re about to call our case. Get that son of a bitch in here. Now!”
Drex didn’t wait to hear any more. He reached for the back seat door handle.