Outfox

by Sandra Brown

  He gave a rueful grin. “Sadly, it’ll have to keep. I’m off to the slammer.”

  “Don’t make light of it.”

  “I don’t,” he said solemnly. “Come here.” They leaned toward each other across the small table and brushed lips.

  Mike chose that moment to barrel in. Seeing that he had interrupted a private moment, he halted, but only for a second before coming into the room and closing the door. “Met Menundez in the hall. He got this from the trunk of Gif’s car.” He dropped Drex’s duffel bag on the floor.

  “My suit is rolled up in it. I wanted to appear in court looking a bit more respectable.”

  “Locke’s given you ten minutes to change before heading downtown.”

  “Did you get Gif’s key back from Menundez?”

  Mike held up the fob.

  “You and Talia go back to the hotel. We didn’t officially check out. See if you can get our rooms back.”

  “What do we do there?” Mike asked.

  “Wait for word.”

  “You’re to babysit me,” Talia said sweetly.

  Drex gave her a droll look, then went back to Mike. “Await word. With luck, you’ll be able to bail me out before dinnertime.”

  “Okay, but fair warning. If Rudkowski gets another bee up his butt, I’m not going to talk him into throwing me in the clink, like a certain dumbass we know. I’m getting the hell gone from Dodge.”

  “Noted. Now beat it, you two, so I can change.”

  He went to the door and pulled it open. As Talia drew even with him, he said, “Don’t forget to turn off your phone. Mike will take the battery out for you.”

  “As soon as I check my messages.” She looked at him with a combination of vexation and anxiety. There were a thousand things Drex wanted to say to her, but the cop posted outside the door was within hearing distance. She went out into the hallway without a further goodbye.

  As Mike approached him, Drex put out a hand and, speaking for Mike’s ears alone, said, “If I’m incarcerated and Jasper remains at large, he’ll come after Talia. She’ll need a bodyguard, Mike.”

  “That speech of mine about getting gone?” He batted it down with his large paw. “I won’t go anywhere without taking her with me.”

  “Thanks. You’re a friend.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, “and of all my bad habits, you’re by far the worst.”

  Drex closed the door after him, squatted down, and unzipped his duffel. He took from it his suit and dress shirt. They were hopelessly wrinkled but would have to do. He forewent a tie. He was just about to start stripping down when the door opened and Talia burst in, Mike behind her.

  She was brandishing her cell phone. “The call that was beeping in? The number I didn’t recognize that had called three times? It was Mr. Singh.”

  “Who the hell—”

  “Jasper’s tailor.”

  Chapter 39

  Talia’s words tripped over each other in her haste to get them out. “He’d called twice before. This time he left a voice mail. He was asking about a button.”

  “What about it?”

  “His accent is thick, hard to understand, but he was calling to make certain that I had found it.”

  “Found it?”

  She shook her head, indicating that she was in the dark, too. “I’m going to call him back. I knew you’d want to hear.”

  “Get him,” he said to her then stuck his head out the door and told the cop in the hallway to summon Locke and Menundez.

  “They’ll be back for you in ten minutes.”

  “Tell them to come now.”

  “They’ll ask why.”

  “Tell them I’m escaping.”

  He slammed the door. Talia had placed the return call. She, Mike, and he listened breathlessly at the series of rings before Singh answered with the name of his shop. “How may I help you?” As Talia had warned, his accent was thick. Being on speaker amplified it and made it even more difficult to understand.

  “Mr. Singh, it’s Talia Shafer. Mrs. Ford.”

  “Mrs. Ford,” he said in apparent relief. “You found the button?”

  “I’m not…No. I’m sorry, Mr. Singh. I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “The button I stupidly failed to return to Mr. Ford along with the others.”

  The door swung open. Locke and Menundez rushed in, looking harried and put out. Mike shushed them before they could barrage them with questions. In a low voice, and with an economy of words, he informed them of what was going on.

  Singh’s manners were faultless, his deference admirable, but impatience was driving Drex nearly out of his skin. Eventually, with Talia’s tactful prodding, the tailor related his story.

  The short of it was that Jasper had asked him to save all the buttons that he’d replaced. Mr. Singh had put them in an envelope, sealed it, and had given it to Jasper when he’d picked up the clothes.

  The following day, which would have been Saturday, the day the Fords were to have gone to Atlanta, Mr. Singh had been sweeping up his shop at closing time and had found one of the buttons on the floor.

  “Behind the counter,” he said woefully. “It was my terrible mistake. I must have dropped it when I was placing them in the envelope.”

  He continued lamenting and apologizing until Talia diplomatically coaxed him back on track. “Where is the button now, Mr. Singh?”

  Immediately after making the “unfortunate discovery,” he had called Mr. Ford, but got his voice mail. He’d left a message of profuse apology, but Mr. Ford hadn’t responded. The next morning, Singh heard the news about his disappearance. He’d been anguishing ever since. Believing that Talia would want the button, especially now that it would have greater sentimental value if Mr. Ford was never found, he’d gone to their home earlier today to return it personally.

  “But no one was there, so I dropped the envelope with it inside into your mail slot.”

  Menundez high-fived the air in front of him. Locke blew a gust of breath up toward his forehead. Mike harrumphed in satisfaction. Drex closed his eyes and hoped to God he wasn’t dreaming. The squeeze Talia gave his hand assured him that he wasn’t.

  “Mrs. Ford?”

  “Yes, yes, Mr. Singh, I’m here and overwhelmed by your kindness. I can’t thank you enough for calling me. I will be very happy to get the button back.”

  As he launched into another litany of apology, Drex motioned for her to get a description of the button. To do so, she took Singh off speaker.

  The four men huddled. Drex said, “If Jasper asked to have those buttons back, they must’ve been his trophies. This is one of them.” He gave the group at large a broad grin. “Let’s go.”

  “Hold on,” Locke said. “In under half an hour, you’ve got to appear in court.”

  “And you have got to be kidding!” Drex shouted. “I want my hands on that damn button!”

  With reasonable calm, Mike said, “I’ll go get it.”

  “I’ll go with him.” Talia had ended the call. “I recognize it immediately from Mr. Singh’s description. Brass, round, with an embossed anchor. It was the single button on a navy blue blazer. One of Jasper’s favorite jackets.”

  “An anchor. Nautical motif,” Drex said. “Jesus. If it matches a button found in Marian Harris’s makeshift coffin, it’ll be hard evidence, not circumstantial.” He turned back to Locke, but the detective was shaking his head.

  “We’re taking you to be arraigned.”

  Talia laid a hand on Drex’s arm. “Mike and I will get it and bring it to you. Even if you’re in jail.”

  He had no choice. “Okay. As evidence goes, it’s compromised,” he said to Mike. “But treat it like evidence. Safeguard it. No matter what happens to me at the courthouse, that button needs to be turned over to the FBI.”

  “You got it.”

  Drex gave Talia a meaningful look, but because they had an audience, neither said anything. With an uncustomary show of gallantry, Mike opened the door
and stood aside for her to go ahead of him, then both walked quickly down the hallway.

  Locke asked Drex if he still wanted to change clothes.

  Drex nodded. “I won’t take long.”

  “Five minutes.”

  It took him only two. He hoisted the duffel back to his shoulder and opened the door. “I’m ready,” he informed the cop on guard.

  “Locke said for you to cool your heels until he comes to get you.”

  Drex backed into the room and closed the door.

  How long would it take for Mike and Talia to reach her house? He mentally mapped out their route and tried to establish an ETA. He had every confidence in them. He was less trustful of Fate. He wanted to be handy if it intervened, and he had to ward it off. And, damn it, selfishly, he wanted to be there to claim the treasure he’d spent years seeking.

  But not for the world would he miss snaring Jasper. The hell of it was, he couldn’t prepare for what would go down at the courthouse. Whatever unfolded was out of his hands and entirely up to Jasper. His capture could be uneventful or explosive. There was no way of knowing.

  But a worse possibility was that nothing at all would happen. Weston Graham would have eluded him, likely forever.

  Whether he succeeded or failed, he was ready to get on with it. The uncertainty, coupled with needing to be two places at once, was making him nuts. Psyched up and pumped full of restless energy, he made endless circuits of the meager square footage until finally the door opened and Locke motioned him out.

  “What took so long?”

  “That reporter who interviewed Rudkowski called me. She wants a sound bite from you when we get to the courthouse.”

  “Anything I said would have to be censored.”

  They made their way through the building. Menundez was waiting for them in the car, engine running. Once underway, Drex asked if their men were in place.

  “Loitering around in plainclothes, as you asked,” Locke told him.

  “How many?”

  “Six inside. One on each of the four sides of the building outside. They’ve all seen the video and know what to look for.”

  He would have to rely on their competence and Locke’s discretion in choosing them. It all felt too loose, too much left up to Jasper. Damn! It was difficult to predict what he might do, and Drex really couldn’t concentrate on it because his mind kept wandering back to that button.

  “Do you have the autopsy report from Key West on your laptop?” he asked Locke, who nodded. “Can you pull it up?”

  While the detective was doing so, Drex mused out loud. “There was always going to be something that tripped him up. Who would have thought a button?”

  “Weirdo,” Menundez editorialized from the driver’s seat.

  Locke passed his laptop back to Drex. “Here are all the photos we were sent. The clothing remnants they found in the crate look like a pile of rags. No loose or attached buttons are mentioned in the coroner’s description of the crate’s contents. Only that one was missing.”

  “Which means that when she was killed, Marian was wearing something with only one buttonhole.”

  “Like Jasper’s blazer,” Locke said.

  “Like Jasper’s blazer.” On a sudden inspiration, Drex said, “Do you have the yacht party photo in your files?”

  “Only the printouts your guys gave us, and they’re back at the office.”

  “Damn.” Then, “Let me borrow your phone, please. Gif wanted to help.”

  Locke passed him his phone. Drex tapped in Gif’s number. He answered, groggy but conscious.

  “You still want to be useful?”

  “What do you need?”

  “Do you have the yacht party photo on your phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “If I’m remembering right, Marian is wearing a jacket.”

  “White. Summer weight, like linen.”

  “That’s right,” Drex said, remembering. “Zoom as closely as you can on the jacket’s button.”

  “The button?”

  “I’ll fill you in later. Take a screen shot of the button. Good as you can get, and text it.”

  Gif came through in less time than it took for them to wait out a traffic light. It wasn’t a clear or well-focused picture, but it was good enough.

  Drex said, “Brass, round, with an embossed anchor.”

  Locke took his phone back so he could see for himself. “Well. I’ll be damned.”

  Menundez grinned at Drex in the rearview mirror. “We have him.”

  “Not yet,” Drex said. “We know it’s him, but we still have to catch him.”

  Inexplicably, he felt that cheer was premature. Why? Him and his damned whys. He hated them, but he trusted them. There was always a reason for them.

  He laid his head back against the seat of the car, closed his eyes, and looked for a distortion in this development. What didn’t feel right? What was clouding this cause for celebration?

  What did he know about Jasper? What did he surmise? How did Jasper fit the profile?

  With the exactitude of a die-cast puzzle piece.

  Drex’s thoughts went back to the conversation he’d had with Talia when he’d described to her the common characteristics of serial killers.

  No conscience. Overblown egos. They’re smug. They’re also collectors.

  They take souvenirs.

  He’d been absolutely certain that Jasper collected something from his victims, and that the collection would be his secret but most sacred possession. He’d emphasized to Talia that he would have a perverse affection for his souvenirs, that he would fondle the items, possibly derive sexual pleasure from them. He would treat those buttons like a cherished lover. He would never—

  The realization slammed into Drex as though Jasper had sucker punched him as he had Gif.

  Jasper would never, ever, under any circumstances, have left his collection in someone else’s hands, not in the hands of a tailor.

  “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck!” Drex sat up straight, banged the ceiling of the car with his fist, and yelled, “And I made sure he knew where I would be.”

  Talia had told Drex she would never come back to the house. At the time, she had meant it, but as Mike turned onto the street, she realized the impracticality of that statement. The house represented Jasper to her, and, therefore, she would never spend another night under this roof.

  But there were things totally unrelated to him, her parents’ effects, photo albums that chronicled her life with them and special friends, these things she would want to keep. Removing them was a project she didn’t look forward to.

  Now, however, she was eager to get inside.

  Mike pulled into the driveway so sharply, one of the tires bumped over the curb. “Where are the cops guarding the place?” he asked.

  “Locke recalled them this morning when Drex and I went peaceably to the police station. And Jasper is considered either a corpse or a fugitive. No one expects him to return.”

  She popped the door handle, got out, and headed for the front door.

  “Hold up.” Mike squeezed himself out from behind the steering wheel. “If you open the door, it’ll move the envelope. I need to take a picture of it as it was found.”

  “Without my remote, I can’t open the garage. We’ll have to go in through the back porch.”

  The latch on the screen door that Drex had broken was dangling loose, but the door leading into the kitchen was locked. Talia used her key. The alarm beeped when she pushed open the door.

  Mike remarked that at least Rudkowski had had the courtesy to set the alarm when he left after searching the house.

  “Locke, actually,” Talia said. “He asked me for the code last night and had one of the guarding officers set it.”

  They quickly cut through the kitchen and dining room, into the wide foyer. A heap of mail lay on the floor just inside the door beneath the mail slot. “That has to be it on top,” Talia said.

  It was a standard white envelope without a letterh
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.