As they crossed the lawn, Gif admired the rear perspective of the Ford’s house. “Pretty place, isn’t it? Makes me question my life choices.”

“Not me. All this grass to mow? No thanks.”

“Do you have one aesthetic inclination, Mike?”

He thought on it. “I like my steak tartare garnished with fresh parsley.”

Gif laughed, but as they got closer to the screened porch, he lowered his voice and asked, “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“He’s trying to squeeze as much information out of her as he can before she lawyers up.”

“You think she’s dirty, don’t you?”

“Dirty or not, she’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?”

“To Drex,” Mike grumbled. “His head is under her skirt. That makes a man stupid.”

“About that, I think we should back off.”

Mike stopped and turned to him. “Back off?”

“Stop nagging him about it.”

“Let him screw her and pretend not to notice?”

“That’s right, Mike. It’s not our business.”

“Since when?”

“Since he hasn’t screwed her already. When have you known him not to when he wanted to?”

Reading between the lines of what Gif had said, Mike grunted a sound to express his contempt for the frailties of human beings since the fall of Adam, then continued on without further comment.

They went in through the back porch. The kitchen was empty. The two looked at each other. Gif called, “Drex?”

The name echoed throughout the house. Mike elbowed past Gif and went as fast as his waddle allowed into the dining room and then beyond into the living area. “Check upstairs.”

Gif mounted the staircase in a run. He checked all the rooms—empty rooms—before coming back down and shaking his head at Mike, who was returning from an inspection of all the first floor rooms. “Damn!” he said, wheezing. “It’s a friggin’ curse, being right all the time.”

Gif stepped past him. “What’s this?”

On the dining table was a cookbook with a note in Drex’s handwriting lying on top of it. Gif read it aloud. “Tear apart all the cookbooks. Hiding place for souvenirs?”

In addition to the cookbook was a manila envelope with a brass clasp. Drex had written on the envelope: Special Agent Rudkowski, congratulations. You’re getting your heart’s desire.

Mike and Gif looked at each other with dread. Gif unfastened the clasp and shook out the contents of the envelope.

It was the wallet containing Drex’s badge and ID.

A sheet of notepaper drifted out along with it. On it was written: P.S. I’m keeping my gun and the girl.

Chapter 26

His resignation?” Locke exclaimed.

Gif and Mike regretted having to lay this on the detective, who seemed like a conscientious cop and overall nice guy. They had anticipated the disbelief he expressed. It matched their own.

Gif said, “There’s more.” He then read aloud the last line of Drex’s note.

“You’re telling me he left and took Mrs. Ford with him?”

“Looks like.”

“The two of them just up and left?”

“Looks like.”

“Where would they have gone?”

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Gif said. “Last we saw of them, he was trying to wear her down, and I think making progress. Maybe he thought if he got her alone—”

“He gave up his authority to do that when he surrendered his badge. Which car did they take?”

“They didn’t. All four are still here. Hers, her husband’s, Drex’s, and mine.”

“They left on foot?”

“Unless they sprouted wings.”

“How in hell did they manage it? Why?”

“I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.”

“There is,” Locke said, speaking with more vexation than they’d heard from him before. “Easton is either harboring a material witness who requested him to do so or he’s kidnaped her, and I lean toward the latter.”

“Drex wouldn’t force or coerce her to go with him. I’m certain of that.” Gif looked over at Mike, who gave him a telling look back, and Gif amended his statement. “Fairly certain.”

Locke said, “Last night that woman was afraid of him.”

“She was apprehensive of all of us, not just Drex.” Gif didn’t share that Drex had spent a good half hour in a bedroom alone with her. “But he has impressed upon her that it’s her missing husband she should be scared of.”

Locke heaved a sigh. “On that, I’m afraid Easton is right. Following the autopsy, the coroner ruled Elaine Conner’s death a homicide. She didn’t drown; she was choked to death.”

Gif received the news without comment. Mike muttered a string of obscenities. Neither took pleasure in having foretold her fate.

Locke was saying, “When your call came in, I had my phone in my hand about to call Easton with this update. We don’t know that the perp was Jasper Ford—”

“We do.”

“The search-and-rescue for him is still on.”

“You won’t find him.”

“Well, right now I need to locate his wife,” Locke said with asperity. “She is key to this investigation. Pass this latest info along to Easton. He’s bound to come to his senses and bring her back before anyone else notices that they’re gone.”

“We’ve called his phone a dozen times,” Gif said. “He isn’t answering.”

“Do you have Mrs. Ford’s number? If not, I do. I’ll call her.”

“Won’t do you any good. We’ve tried it. Out of service.”

Locke said, “He would’ve removed the battery so it can’t be used to lead us to her.”

“In all probability.”

“That’s not something an innocent person does, Agent Lewis.”

“An innocent person would if they were frightened enough of a guilty person. If we can’t track her phone, neither can Ford. To us, to Drex, he isn’t missing. He’s at large. The difference in terminology is significant.”

“It hasn’t been established that he was the man on the yacht. ”

“Who else could it have been?”

“Anybody.”

“You don’t believe that. Fingerprints?”

“We lifted them from the wheel. But even if we match them to Ford’s, he had steered the boat many times. The circuit solicitor would tell us to try again.”

“Who?” Gif asked.

“DA. That’s what they call them in South Carolina,” Mike explained. He’d been listening on speaker, but until now hadn’t spoken. “Locke, if you need something on Ford to take to the prosecutor, get a warrant to search this house, inside out.”

“We tried,” Locke said. “Judge declined to issue one. Ford hasn’t been positively identified as the man on the yacht. Mrs. Ford’s alibi checks out. The waiter remembers her just like she said. There’s no probable cause. But maybe, now that she’s made herself scarce, I’ll go back to him. Press it.”