“I’m not suppressing it, and I’m not trying to interfere,” I said. “There was simply a delay in telling you about them. I realize that’s not an excuse, but as the person who will have to process the collection at some point, I wanted a chance to see what it contained. A lot of the content won’t be of any use to your investigation whatsoever.”

“It’s kind of you to make that judgment for me,” Kanesha said, the sarcasm dripping from her words. “And how do I know you haven’t already destroyed anything in these papers that might link you to the crime? Or link someone else, like Julia or Justin Wardlaw?”

“You don’t,” I said with what I hoped was a disarming smile. “And if you want to charge me with anything, go right ahead. But first, at least let me tell you what I did find. I think it might be the key to Godfrey’s murder.”

“Go ahead,” Kanesha said. “I’ll listen.” But not for long, her expression told me.

I picked up the inventory of the papers and handed it to her. “This is the inventory that came with all the boxes. It’s very general, which is unfortunate. But the interesting thing is that there is an extra box.”

“What do you mean?” Kanesha was scanning the inventory.

“All the boxes were numbered except one. And the numbers match the inventory. The unnumbered box contains computer disks.”

“You think that box wasn’t meant to be included?” Kanesha handed the inventory back to me.

“Judging by what I found on some of the disks, no, I don’t think Godfrey wanted anyone else to see them. I don’t know why he kept them, other than his unbelievable arrogance. He probably figured no one would ever see them and he would be safe.”

“Safe from what?” Kanesha glanced at her watch again.

“From the letters I found on some of the disks.” I pointed to the folder I gave her earlier. “They’re all there in chronological order. Take a look at them, and I think you’ll see very quickly.”

She still thought I was wasting her time. I could see it in her face. She was also angry that I hadn’t let her know about the boxes sooner. But after clenching and unclenching her jaw for a moment, she opened the folder and began to read.

I watched. She read quickly, and after the second letter she glanced up at me with a frown. I maintained a bland expression, and she went back to the letters. I believe I had finally piqued her curiosity.

Eight minutes later—I timed her—she was done. She closed the folder and looked at me, her expression thoughtful.

“He basically paid someone else to write the books for him,” she said. “And whoever he paid wasn’t happy over the terms of the contract.”