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I don’t know the truck turning onto the property and pulling right up to the porch, but I recognize the tall, Black man getting out. Last time Omar was here with Roy Battaglia, they’d been driving a company truck with logos on the side. For some reason I was expecting him to drive the same vehicle.
“Hey, Dana,” he greets me when I open the door as he comes up the steps. “Let’s have a look at this first.”
He removes a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket and pulls them on before crouching down by the manila envelope. Then he produces a small pocketknife and a pair of tweezers. He’s being very cautious, and it’s making me nervous.
“I’m going to feel so dumb if this turns out to be nothing,” I blurt out, trying to make light of the situation.
He looks up at me, his dark eyes solemn.
“I already know it’s not nothing,” he confirms. “I reviewed the feed; the vehicle was a nondescript white cargo van, but the individual who delivered the envelope was wearing a FedEx uniform and kept his face carefully shielded from the camera. FedEx has very distinct delivery vans, and also, they don’t deliver envelopes without an address, a shipping label, or a waybill.”
A chime sounds from inside the house and my eyes immediately dart to the driveway, where Rick’s Explorer just comes into view.
“I called him,” Omar informs me. “As a precaution.”
I can feel the heat of Rick’s eyes on me as he exits his vehicle and joins us on the porch.
“You okay?”
At my confirming nod, he turns his attention to the envelope.
“Did you touch it?”
“No,” Omar and I answer at the same time.
Omar continues, “I was about to bring it inside to have a look.”
“Go for it,” Rick urges him. “I don’t have what I need and was already on my way here when you called, so I didn’t want to turn around to grab my evidence kit from my cruiser.”
Omar picks up the envelope by a corner with the tweezers, supporting the other side with the tip of his penknife.
They sure are making a big production out of a plain envelope.
“You’d think it was anthrax,” I joke a little nervously.
Once again my attempt at brevity falls flat, as both men turn serious eyes on me.
“Standard procedure,” Omar volunteers. “So we don’t contaminate potential evidence or destroy any possible fingerprints.”
Right. I guess that makes sense.
Determined to keep my mouth shut from here on in, I follow the guys inside as Rick directs Omar to the kitchen.
I stay back as the two men bend over the envelope, examining it front and back, before Omar slides the tip of his pocketknife under the sealed flap. But I can’t resist leaning in to catch a glimpse over Rick’s shoulder when the other man uses his tweezers to pull out the contents.
It looks like some kind of document with a cover letter attached.
“No heading,” Omar observes.
The letter looks to have been printed on plain copy paper and is addressed to me.
* * *
Ms. Kerrigan,
Despite the outcome of our brief telephone conversation of a few days ago, I felt it prudent to give you one more chance to capitalize on what is a most generous offer from my client.
Time is of the essence, which is why my client has decided not to waste time nickel-and-diming, and is offering you almost triple what your property was bought for.
