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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?”
