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Jo’s heart pounded in her chest. “Put the bag in the trash can—please put the bag in the trash can,” she chanted. Because while she’d need a warrant to search inside Julia’s house or her property, once the trash was on a public street in a city receptacle, it was legally outside Julia’s curtilage. That took away any expectation of privacy, and the bag was fair game for Jo to snatch up. And if Julia urgently needed to be rid of this garbage, Jo urgently needed to see what was inside it.
Julia reached the can, lifted the lid and stuffed the bag inside. Then she returned to the house, glancing back once over each shoulder.
Repressing a yelp of joy, Jo quickly identified herself on the recording and stated the date, time, and place. Then, with the phone still recording, she waited, watching the seconds tick up on the recording counter.
When she’d waited five minutes, she made her move.
As quietly as possible, she got out of the car and closed the door behind her. Sticking to the shadows as much as possible, she strode silently toward Julia’s house, camera pointed in front of her. When she reached the garbage can, she cautiously lifted the lid, then angled the camera as she peered inside.
Most of the bags in the can were black garbage bags. Only one, directly on top, matched the bag Julia had been carrying. Jo filmed herself grabbing it—so surprisingly light her hand jerked up when she lifted it—and lowering the lid back down.
Then, with a surge of triumphant adrenaline, she practically pranced back to the car.
CHAPTERFORTY-TWO
Jo flew as quickly as she could back to HQ, feeling like a child on Christmas Eve desperate to find out what Santa’d left in her sack of presents. To distract herself as she drove, she called the Staples Julia had visited and requested a copy of all video footage from the previous hour.
When she burst through the door to the lab, Lopez swerved wildly in her chair, dropping her highlighter as her hands reflexively clenched into fists.
“What the hell?” Jo jumped back from her.
Lopez dropped her fists. “I could ask you the same thing flying in here after hours like the Tasmanian Devil’s second coming.”
“I didn’t expect anybody to be here. And who did you think was coming for you in the middle of a highly fortified law enforcement facility?” Jo said.
Lopez threw her hands onto her hips. “The ones to worry about don’t check for badges.”
Jo rubbed her brow with her free hand. “Much as I hate to admit it, Arnett and Marzillo might be right. Maybe it’s time to cut back on the zombie-shooter games.”
Lopez rolled her eyes before dropping her gaze to the bag in Jo’s hand. “Whatcha got?”
Jo explained quickly. “So I need a space where I can carefully dump it out and see what’s inside.”
“Ah, garbage. That’s always a good time.” Lopez rose and led her to an empty workstation. “We can use this one once I throw some plastic liner over it.”
“I don’t think it’ll be too bad, actually. It’s surprisingly light.” Jo bounced the bag to illustrate.
Lopez pulled on gloves, then spread the liner over the work table. “Have at it.”
Jo set the bag down, pulled on her own gloves, and untied the knot. Then she carefully tilted the bag and pulled out the contents.
Thousands of crumpled white and yellow strips of paper. Which, as she started to pull them apart, seemed to multiply exponentially.
Lopez’s eyes widened. “Looks like somebody had herself a shredding party. I guess we know what she needed to pick up at Staples.”
Jo stared down at the infinite drifts. “The good news is, people don’t shred things just for the fun of it, especially after racing home from a memorial service.”
“True story,” Lopez said, also staring apprehensively down at the piles. “Have you ever pieced together shredded documents before?”
“I have.” Jo nodded slowly. “It’s not fun.”
“Your talent for understatement remains unrivaled,” Lopez said. “It’s not fun in the exact same way shoving flaming matches directly into your eyeballs is not fun.”
“And, we’re going to have to find some way to flatten them first.” Jo sucked air in through her teeth. “We should probably just be grateful she bought a strip shredder and not a cross-cut shredder.”
“That’s what I love about you, Jo,” Lopez said, still staring at the piles. “When life hands you a wildfire, you always remember to stop and enjoy the pretty glow.”
* * *
