“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.