“Are you sure, Drex?”
He said, “If it’s him—”
“Big if.”
“—and if we nail him—”
“An even bigger if,” Mike said.
“—then it’ll be more than worth it.”
“No matter the personal cost to you?” Gif said.
“No matter the personal cost to me.” In the ensuing silence, he felt the weight of their disapproval. “Guys, he has victimized eight women. Eight that we know of. My mother may not have been his first. Don’t think about the consequences to me. Think about those women. Think about Marian Harris trying to claw her way out of that crate.”
“We get it, Drex,” Gif said. “But you’ll be breaking the law.”
“I’m aware. But you won’t be. If I’m caught, I’ll take full responsibility. You have my word on it.”
“That’s not what concerns me,” Gif said.
“Well, it concerns me big time,” Drex said. “I won’t let you two be blamed. Not by Rudkowski or anyone.”
After a lengthy silence, Mike heaved a heavy sigh and asked Drex if he needed any equipment shipped to him.
“No. I brought it with me.”
“So this idea didn’t just pop into your head.”
Drex didn’t respond.
“How do you plan to plant it?” Gif asked. “Where inside the house? When?”
“All TBD. I’ll keep you posted.”
He hung up before they could try further to talk him out of it.
The eyeglasses Drex wore were a prop. So was the ream of typing paper on the kitchen table next to his computer. Alongside the stack of blank sheets were the couple hundred pages of rubber-banded manuscript that had been typed by a woman in his office. Her name was Pam something. The text had been taken directly from a historical paperback novel set during the Civil War.
When he approached Pam with the request, she’d regarded him dubiously. “What do you want it for?”
“Something I’m working on.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “You can’t share?”
“Not yet.”
She’d thumbed through the yellowed pages of the paperback. “What about typos? Does it have to be perfect?”
“No. In fact, a mistake here or there would be good. I’ll be marking it up.”
The single mother of two had a deadbeat ex. She’d agreed to do the transcription for three dollars a page. When she delivered it, Drex had given her a hug and a fifty-dollar bonus.
He marked up the pages with red pencil, dog-eared some of the sheets, dripped coffee over several, left puckered water rings on others.
Now, his setup looked very “writerly,” should anyone be surreptitiously observing, which he sensed someone was.
While seated at his computer as though working on his book, he was actually reading additional material excavated by Mike. Marian Harris’s parish church had held a memorial mass. After the forensic pathologist had completed his examination and turned his findings over to the authorities, her remains were cremated and placed in a vault in the church cemetery.