“We need to find the device from which the email was sent. It’s here. Somewhere in your house,” Anderson said.

“But how is that possible?” Kate asked. “You see everything outgoing and incoming from our phones and computers. How can it be coming from my house?” She still had that wild-eyed look on her face.

“We’ve only been monitoring the devices you gave us permission to monitor, Dr. English. Any other smartphones, tablets, or laptops that were used here would use your IP address but not be monitored.”

It was the first time Blaire had heard such patience in his voice. She hoped he was going to start in Simon’s office. It was all she could do not to open her mouth and suggest it.

“Well,” Kate said, seeming to have regained some equilibrium. “Where do you want to start?”

Anderson gave her a curt nod and stood. “Your husband’s office.”

As they left the room, the two men slid gloves on, and the two women trailed behind them.

Simon’s desk was a light wood––maple, Blaire guessed––and completely clear of paperwork. There were two silver-framed photos resting on it––a portrait of Kate looking beautiful, and a picture of Kate, Simon, and Annabelle together.

Anderson moved behind the desk. “Do we have your permission to search these premises, Dr. English?”

“Yes. Absolutely,” she said, her voice wobbly.

Anderson began with the desk, opening drawer after drawer. Blaire and Kate watched as Anderson picked up a globe from its stand, examining it as he turned it around and around.

“Does your husband have a safe?” he asked.

“Yes, in our bedroom. You can check it, but I just put my wedding ring in last night. There’s only jewelry in there.”

“We’ll check that later. Let’s finish in here first,” he said to Reagan.

Anderson walked the perimeter of the room, checking behind each painting and award hanging on the wall. He turned to Reagan. “Let’s check the bookshelves.”

The two of them began to search the shelves behind Simon’s desk while Blaire and Kate stood in hushed anticipation. The rows of books went almost to the ceiling, and it looked as if Anderson and Reagan were going to open every single one. This could take forever.

“Why don’t we sit down,” Blaire said to Kate. “They might be a while.”

Kate sat, but she couldn’t seem to stop her foot tapping anxiously. She had that faraway look again. Reagan was on the step stool, pulling books from the next to the last shelf, when suddenly he stopped and handed one to Anderson. Blaire and Kate stood, craning to see what he held. It wasn’t a book at all—it was a leather box that looked like a copy of Moby-Dick. He stared at the contents and exchanged a look with Reagan, who came down from the ladder.

“What is it?” Kate asked, moving closer to him.