Behind him came Sergeant Rick Dugan, narrower, faster, twitchier. His eyes moved too much. Men who were clean did not move like that.
The third stayed near the doorway.
Captain Martin Hale.
He didn’t have to shout. He had the colder kind of power. The kind that let other men do the dirt while he kept his hands looking clean.
Claire raised both hands slowly.
Her pulse was fast, but her voice was not.
“I want to see your warrant.”
Kessler laughed like she had just told a joke.
“You don’t get to ask questions.”
He swung his light across the room.
The bedroom looked like the inside of a storm now. Her dresser drawers had already been yanked open. A picture frame lay face down by the closet. Papers drifted across the hardwood floor. The cheap lamp on the nightstand flickered once, then steadied.
The digital clock by the bed read 11:17.
