“She had a rough night!” Drue exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “In the past forty-eight hours I’ve been arrested, interrogated, poisoned and shot at.”

Zee punched her shoulder lightly. “You’re a tough kid. I mean, woman. Like your mom.”

Before she could ask him what he meant by that, they heard cars pulling up at the front of the house.

It was after eight Sunday morning by the time Brice met them at the Treasure Island police station, with three Mocha Grandes and three toasted bagels. Drue and Jonah sipped coffee and devoured the bagels while they waited for Hernandez to join them in the cramped conference room.

“Okay,” she said, bustling in and closing the door behind them. “Just so you know, Ben Fentress was admitted to St. Anthony’s. He’s having surgery to wire his jaw back together, which is kind of a shame, but while he was waiting in a treatment room he declined to chat with me without counsel present anyway, so it’s kind of a moot point.”

Hernandez was dressed in mom jeans and a Red Wings baseball jersey, with a blue blazer thrown on top of it.

“Has he been charged?” Brice asked, his yellow legal pad at the ready.

“Yes. Two counts of attempted murder, two counts aggravated assault and…” She opened a steno notebook and flipped through the scribbled pages. “Trespassing.”

She sat down at the table. “Sorry you had to wait, but I wanted to be able to tell you what we discovered after we got the warrant to search his apartment in Woodlawn. The main thing is his laptop. And a bunch of files. And of course, we’ve got his cell phone.

“For an IT guy,” she said, looking directly at Brice, “he was surprisingly careless. There was a yellow index card, taped to the inside cover of his MacBook, with all his passwords on it. I think my ten-year-old son could hack that thing. Hell, my seventy-five-year-old mom could hack it, and she still uses AOL.”

She paused momentarily. “And one more thing. When we were searching Fentress’s apartment, we found his passport and some travel documents indicating he was planning on moving to the Cayman Islands. Were you aware of that, Mr. Campbell?”

“News to me,” Brice said, grim-faced.

“He’d even set up a bank account there. Looks like he was anticipating a big payday.”

Jonah insisted on driving her home. It was almost ten o’clock, and the sun was already blazing hot when he pulled into the driveway. “Do you want to come in?” she asked, feeling suddenly shy.

“I do. But I think you could probably use some rest,” he said.

“I really, really do need to sleep. Like, for days, but I’d settle for a good four or five hours,” she said, leaning over to kiss him lightly.

“Call me, please? As soon as you wake up. In fact, FaceTime me.”

“Okay, but why?”