“His home office is to the left,” Mary said, remembering the layout, with the stairwell to the second floor directly ahead but the living room off to the left, then a kitchen, followed by the home office that led to the garage.
“Gotcha.” Bennie flicked on a wall switch, and they both looked around with dismay. The police search had obviously been thorough because the cushions on the sectional couch inthe living room had been upended, books and CDs had been taken from an entertainment center and scattered willy-nilly on the sisal rug, and artwork and family photos had been unhooked from the walls and stacked on the floor.
“They weren’t kidding.” Bennie frowned, looking around.
“Right.” Mary looked away, pained. She had such nice memories of this house and she hated to see it this way. She picked her way through the living room and went to the kitchen, followed by Bennie, and it had been searched thoroughly as well. Every cabinet door hung open, exposing stacks of dishes and mugs with sayings on them, among themWORLD’S GREATEST MOM.
“Here’s what they’re looking for,” Bennie said, standing in front of an open drawer that held kitchen knives in a long wooden block.
“The murder weapon, right?”
“Yes. Obviously they wouldn’t expect to find it in the drawer. But we need to know more about it. Does Simon hunt?”
“No.”
“Then I’m guessing it was a common kitchen knife. Whoever framed him would use a knife Simon would have owned.”
“What if it’s one of a set that he had? And that one could be missing? The killer could have made it look as if Simon had taken the knife from home.” Mary looked through the knives in the drawer, and there were a few with black handles that appeared to be steak knives, possibly from a set. “But a steak knife wouldn’t do it, would it?”
“No.” Bennie looked up. “And anyway, I doubt Simon entertained much, agree? It’s not as if people would be aware of what knives he had, or if he’d been given a set.”
“I agree.” Mary glanced around the kitchen, and for the first time noticed a black smudge of fingerprint dust on the white Corian of the counter. “They dusted for fingerprints.”
“Yup.” Bennie straightened up. “And they’ll find Simon’sprints in Todd’s car, too. On the door handle and on the inside. Where’s the home office?”
“This way.” Mary led her through the open doorway into a square, windowless office, which held a wood workstation in the corner with cubbies partway up the wall. A blue router remained connected, so the wireless was probably still active, though Simon’s desktop computer was gone and must have been seized. Its mouse had been left behind, on top of a pad that was an enlarged photograph of Rachel as a baby.
“He said top drawer on the left. Look for the Phillies schedule.”
“On it.” Mary beelined for the drawers, which hung open, their contents having been dumped in a large messy pile on the dark rug. There was nothing left in the top drawer, so she crouched down and started sifting through the pile, and Bennie crouched down opposite her. They searched through packs of new checks, bills, pens and pencils, stale gum, gas receipts, and random business cards.
“I hope the cops didn’t find the passwords.” Bennie kept looking, and so did Mary, rooting through the paper, one bill after the next. If the police had dumped the drawers out in order, the contents of the first one would be on the bottom of the pile.
“They would have to be incredibly lucky to have found it. Who looks inside a Phillies schedule?”
“Phillies fans?” Bennie moved some papers aside, suddenly exposing a trifold Phillies schedule with slick graphics. “Go, Phils!”
“You got it! I hope the passwords are inside!” Mary scrambled over as Bennie opened the schedule, and they both cheered. Inside was a narrow piece of paper on which Simon had written twenty-five passwords in his characteristically neat printing. The passwords were incomprehensible and listed beside their respective websites. Mary skimmed the list quicklyuntil she got to the tenth password, 8sj2s77Tuyx1, for PensieraNet.
“Bingo!” Bennie said excitedly.
“Let’s get busy.” Mary reached into her messenger bag, pulled out her laptop, and powered it on and sat cross-legged on the floor with it, firing it up. Her heart began to beat faster.
“Now we’re cooking with gas.” Bennie sat beside her, and Mary logged into settings, joined PensieraNet, and after a process of trial and error, used the password to open Simon’s emails.
“Wow.” Mary watched as thousands of emails piled onto the screen, organized by year. She narrowed the search to the current year, filtered them using the name Ray Matewicz, and still came up with a screenfull. “I guess there were more than Simon remembered.”
“But I’m sure a lot of them won’t be relevant.”
“Right.” Mary scanned the first one, which was about scheduling a meeting. “And it looks like some have Ray as a copy, which isn’t all that helpful. I would refine the search further but I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Understood.” Bennie read over Mary’s shoulder. “We should divide the labor. I’ll take the first six months and you take the last six months.”
“Okay.” Mary highlighted the first six months of the emails as Bennie reached into her messenger bag, pulled out her laptop, and powered it on. Mary forwarded Bennie the emails in sections since it was so large, but in time, they both had their six-month segments and were reading away.
Mary read through email after email, taking notes in her Word file, but even an hour later, she wasn’t having any luck. Simon’s emails to Ray were only technical in nature, confirming details of POs, product specifications, or changes in a line’s production schedule, which affected delivery dates to Simon’s clients. Mary scrutinized this last category for signs of angeragainst Simon on Ray’s part, but there was nothing to support her theory and she was starting to worry that it was a dry hole. The only back-and-forth between Ray and Simon that was remotely fussy was over delays in deliveries.
Darkness fell outside the window, and Bennie turned on a chrome Luxor lamp on the worktable, which cast a conical pool of light on the two lawyers, their laptops, and the disarray of papers on the floor.
