wilted against the edge of the countertop. “Orange, with a white capital letter T?”
“University of Tennessee,” Locke said.
She covered her face with her hands.
“Does your husband own a cap like that?”
She shook her head, said no into her moist palms, then lowered her hands. Her throat seized. She had to swallow several times. “No. But our neighbor does.”
“Next door?”
“He rents the garage apartment behind the house next door.”
Menundez said to Locke, “The patrolmen who responded to the call about the alarm talked to that guy.”
Locke asked Talia, “Was he acquainted with Mrs. Conner?”
“Jasper and I introduced them.”
“What’s his name?”
Menundez was hurriedly swiping the screen of his phone. “I’ve got it here.”
“My name is Drex Easton.”
Startled, the three of them turned as one. He was standing in the open doorway between the screened porch and kitchen. How had he opened it without their hearing him? He was wearing the same dark suit he’d worn the night he escorted Elaine and her to dinner. The same shirt and tie.
But an altogether different countenance.
His right hand was raised and open to show a small leather wallet with a clear plastic window and a gold badge. His eyes zeroed in on Talia’s. “FBI Special Agent Drex Easton.”
Chapter 21
Rudkowski was sprawled on his hotel room bed, watching without much interest the dirty movie on the room’s flat screen, nursing his third scotch, and wondering how a man who weighed almost three fifty could vanish into thin air. It had been some trick, but Mike Mallory had managed it, and Rudkowski was made to look like a fool. Again.
His cell phone rang. He spilled half his whiskey in his haste to mute the bump-and-grind sound track and answer his phone. “Rudkowski.”
“It’s Deputy Gray.”
“Who?”
“In Key West. We talked a few days ago.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Rudkowski sank back onto his pillow. “Make this quick, please. I’ve got a situation here.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to reach Agent Easton, and, like the time before, he didn’t leave me his number this morning. It was my oversight. I should have made sure—”
“Hold it. This morning? You talked to Easton this morning?”
“Well, yesterday morning, officially.”
While Rudkowski had been licking his wounds and swilling cheap scotch, midnight had slipped past him. “Okay. Yesterday morning. Did he say where he was calling from?”
“Well, no, sir, but he can’t on account of him being—”
“Undercover.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why was he calling you?”
“Same as before. The Marian Harris case.”
“Specifically?”
“He asked if a Talia Shafer had been questioned during the investigation into Harris’s disappearance.”
Rudkowski rolled over and picked up the notepad and pen on the nightstand. “Spell the names, please. And who is she?”
The deputy gave him the spellings. “She was in the photograph of the party scene on the boat.”
“So were dozens of other people. What was Easton’s particular interest in her?”
“He couldn’t disclose that, because it’s—”
“Classified.”
“Yes, sir. I thought you would know what his interest was.”
What he didn’t know about Easton’s recent activities would fill the fucking Superdome. “Was this Talia Shafer considered a person of interest in the Harris case?”
“No, sir. Agent Easton asked if there were any notes taken during her interview, but it was just basic stuff. Date and time. Names of the officers who talked to her. Nothing came of it, nothing to follow up on. Agent Easton thanked me for checking, and that was it.”
Rudkowski figured that he’d had too much to drink. He was having trouble connecting the dots. “So, if that was it, why are you trying to reach Easton now?”
“Because about an hour ago, our department got a call from Charleston PD.”
“South Carolina?”
“Right.”
Rudkowski listened with shrinking patience as the deputy related what he knew about the death of an Elaine Conner.
“They haven’t ruled out that it was an accident, but they’re leaning toward foul play. A man was with her on the yacht. He’s unaccounted for. Anyhow, one of the investigators up there remembered reading about our case down here and was struck by the similarities.”
“Rich lady. Snazzy boat.”
“Yes, sir. So they called our department to compare notes. I thought Agent Easton would want to look into this Charleston case, too.”
“I’m sure he will. I’ll tell him—”
“Especially since Talia Shafer is from there.”
Rudkowski froze in the process of raising his glass to his mouth. “Say again, deputy.”
“Talia Shafer lives in Charleston. At least she did. I’m not sure Agent Easton knows that. This incident in Charleston occurred only a few hours after he called me, asking about her. It’s a crazy coincidence.”