Dez drove Fenway to Maxime’s. The restaurant was closed, it being too early for dinner, but they walked around back and found the door open and the chefs preparing for the evening’s dinner service.
“Mademoiselle!” said a familiar face. “Good to see you again! Tell me how brilliant I am—that infused pale ale paired deliciously with the corn soup, did it not?”
Fenway blinked as the name came back to her: Eric The Sommelier. He had served her and Nathaniel Ferris during their first meal out together when Fenway arrived in town. “Eric!” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You’re not with your father,” Eric said, “so I assume you’re not here to make reservations.”
“No,” Fenway said.
Dez pulled her badge out. “I’m afraid to say we’re here on official business.”
The look on Eric’s face stuck halfway between dismay and curiosity. “I’m not sure what we can do here, Officer,” Eric The Sommelier said, “but of course I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“We appreciate that,” said Dez drily. Eric The Sommelier’s charms didn’t affect her. “So let’s get to it. Your name is Eric?”
“Right. Eric Dreyfuss. Eric with a ‘c.’”
“Were you working here on Friday night?”
“Certainly,” Eric said. “Friday and Saturday nights are my best tip nights—I’m here every chance I get.”
Dez opened her notebook. “Did the mayor eat here that night?”
“Oh—yes. I was so sad to hear what happened to her. I saw the article online on Monday. I don’t normally keep up with current events on the weekends—too busy with work. But we’re closed on Mondays, and I finally got to it then.”
Dez’s pen moved quickly. “Did she eat with anyone?”
“Oh, yes. A well-dressed, very handsome man, probably in his mid-forties. Very sharp dresser. Grey suit with fine black pinstripes, a white dress shirt, and a purple floral tie.”
“White guy?” Fenway asked.
“Yes,” Eric replied. “I guess I should have said.”
“I probably don’t have to ask you if you’d recognize him if you saw him again.”
“Or smell him,” Eric said.
“What, did the guy have B.O.?”
“Just the opposite,” Eric said. “I don’t usually notice cologne or perfume, but man, this guy just smelled fantastic.”
“Wait,” Fenway said. “I wonder…” She took out her phone and brought up her web browser. She went to the Carpetti Pharmaceuticals website and loaded their management page. “Sorry—it’s loading.”
“Can I continue, Zuckerberg?” Dez said.
“Almost have it—there!” Fenway turned her phone around to Eric. A picture of Everett Michaels appeared onscreen.
“Oh yes, that’s him,” Eric The Sommelier said.
“You’re sure?” Fenway said.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“So you dealt with their table?” Dez said.
“Eric’s the sommelier,” Fenway said. “Who was the server?”
Eric blinked. “That’s a good question.” He rubbed his chin. “Both Malik and Nyla were working that night. I honestly don’t remember which one served them.”
“Are either of them here?” Dez asked
“No,” Eric said, “I think Malik is working the dinner shift tonight. Nyla only works the weekend. I do remember that Mr. Smellsgood there ordered one of our most expensive bottles—a Lokoya Cabernet, which I tried to encourage against. Not a good wine to pair with the pheasant that the mayor ordered. But good enough for the bone-in filet that he ordered. We have a lovely Syrah that pairs with both dishes. But the mayor waved me off.”
“Waved you off?” Dez kept scribbling.
“Their conversation turned heated pretty quickly. It’s not like they screamed at each other, but they definitely disagreed. I remember at one point, Mr. Smellsgood excused himself to make a call. When he came back, I walked up to pour him another glass and top off the mayor. As I reached their table, she told him that he needed to make something right.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. But I heard the mayor clearly. ‘You’re going to make it right.’ He didn’t answer her. Or maybe he waited to answer until I left their table. I had the feeling I shouldn’t stick around.”
“Does the mayor eat here often?” Dez folded over a page and continued writing.
“Enough so that I recognize her,” Eric said. “But maybe only a few times a year. She’s usually with business leaders. She’s been here on her birthday. She and Demetrius used to come on their anniversary before he passed away.”
“How about Mr. Smellsgood?” Fenway said. “Does he eat here often?”
“I don’t remember seeing him here before,” Eric said. “And I would think that I’d have recognized him.”
Dez nodded. “Did you happen to catch any more of their conversation?”
“No,” Eric said. “But about halfway through dinner, the mayor’s phone rings. She took the call, got upset, talked to Mr. Smellsgood, and left the restaurant.”
“How about Mr. Smellsgood?”
“He finished his steak, called for the check, and left.”
“No dessert? No after-dinner whiskey?”
“No,” Eric said, “but he did make a stink about our pen.”
“Your pen?”
“It apparently didn’t work right, and he made a stink about it. We offered to get him a new one, but he made a big show of signing it with his own special pen.”
“Special? One of those four-color ballpoint pens? Those are cool.”
Eric laughed. “He waved around some solid gold million-dollar fountain pen given to him in person by the Royal Duchess of Bullshit. He’s one of these guys who thinks it’s impressive to throw money around. And I’ll tell you what else, he left half the bottle of Lokoya. That’s a six-hundred dollar bottle.”
“What did you do with the bottle?”
He looked around. No one paid any attention to their conversation. He lowered his voice. “What do you think? I corked it and took it home.”
“Are you not supposed to do that?” Fenway asked.
“I’m not sure that it’s expressly forbidden,” Eric said, “but it is rather, well, gauche. But a Lokoya is a Lokoya. And we’re talking about the Mt. Veeder, not the Howell Mountain. A much better match with steak.”
“Oh, of course,” Fenway deadpanned. “Not the Howell Mountain.”
Eric smiled enthusiastically, mistaking her sarcasm for interest. “The Mt. Veeder is one of those special cabernets that actually has notes of steak—some say grilled, some say tartare. It’s outstanding with a good cut of beef. The Howell Mountain is more herbal, notes of leather and chocolate. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great wine, but—”
Dez put up her hand. “While Miss Stevenson here might be hanging on every word of your tasting master class, Eric, I’d like to get back to the events of that night.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“How did she leave? Did she have a car here?”
“That I don’t know,” Eric said. “It’s possible that the hostess or the valets might know. But she left in a hurry, that’s for sure.”
“How about Mr. Smellsgood?” asked Fenway.
“I don’t know that either,” Eric said. “And you’ll have to wait for the valets until tonight. I think Ashley hosted that night, though, and she’s in the back.”
“All right,” Dez said. She looked over at Fenway, who gave her a face shrug. “I really appreciate you talking with us. Can you point us in Ashley’s direction?”
“I’ll have her come out,” said Eric. “We’re prepping for dinner so it’d be better if you two weren’t in the kitchen. I don’t want Ernesto to start getting too upset.”
Eric The Sommelier stepped back into the food preparation area.
“What do you think, Fenway?” Dez asked.
“I think it’s weird that Everett Michaels didn’t say anything about having dinner with Alice Jenkins on the night she was killed,” Fenway whispered. “I had brunch with him Sunday morning. If you have dinner the night someone is killed, don’t you mention it to, well, everyone? Especially if it’s a famous person?”
“The mayor’s not a movie star,” Dez said.
“Close enough for a town like Estancia.”
“Even for a rich guy like Everett Michaels?”
“Sure,” Fenway said. “Come on, you know as well as I do that most people see someone on the street who’s found dead the next day and they’re like, ‘So sad what happened, I just saw him the day he died.’ In fact, most people exaggerate and say they had lunch or played a game of Monopoly.”
“Monopoly?”
Fenway rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
A smile touched Dez’s lips.
“Hi,” said a voice behind them. They turned around. An Asian woman, about five-foot-four and in her late twenties, looked at them. She had a round face, auburn streaks in her long black hair, a crisp white long-sleeved oxford shirt, and tight black trousers that Fenway thought were trying too hard to look like leggings. “I’m Ashley Park. Eric said you had some questions for me?”
“Right,” Dez said. She cleared her throat. “Eric told us you worked the hostess stand on Friday night?”
Ashley tilted her head to the side. “That’s right,” she said, looking earnestly in Dez’s face. “I worked that night. Is this about the mayor?”
“Yes,” Dez said. Dez looked a little off kilter.
“Did the mayor come here that night?” Fenway asked.
“Yes,” Ashley said breathily, nodding quickly. “I seated her and her dinner companion at table twenty-six. That’s over by the fireplace. But she left early. I noticed that she got a phone call and then left in an awful hurry.”
“Why do you think she rushed out?” Dez asked. She took a step forward and to the left, boxing Fenway off to the side.
“I don’t know,” Ashley said. “I didn’t even have time to ask her if she needed anything. She just left. I saw her stand on the sidewalk, and then she took out her phone. I thought she probably got an Uber. Turns out the mayor is old-school—a taxi came up and took her away.”
“Do you remember which taxi service? Yellow Cab, Lucky, Checker?”
Ashley frowned. “I didn’t see the name on it. The cab was yellow, though.”
They’re all yellow, Fenway thought.
“That’s okay,” Dez said soothingly. “Did you see which way the taxi went?”
“They went off to the right, but I didn’t see which way they went after that.”
“Did she seem angry?”
“Not angry,” Ashley said. “But, you know” —she lifted her hand and touched Dez on the arm— “she got agitated, and she seemed really distracted. I worried about her a little bit, if I can say so. She seemed in a hurry. I would have asked her if I could call someone, but once I saw her pull her phone out, I figured she had it under control.”
“Can you remember anything else?” Dez asked gently. She didn’t take her arm away from Ashley touching her. Fenway looked at Dez’s arm, then looked at her face. It had an expression on it that Fenway didn’t recognize. “What about the man she had dinner with?”
“That man, ugh,” Ashley groaned. “He came in with the mayor, and while they were waiting for their table, he kept making small talk with me, hitting on me. He told me I had gorgeous eyes, and asked where I went to college.” She shook her head. “I used to get that all the time at other restaurants. Usually it’s not a problem here. Every so often there’s a rich man who thinks I’ll be all impressed with him.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially to Dez. “Sometimes I get the feeling they’d get mad if they found out they’re not even the right gender.”
Dez nodded. “I hear you, girl,” she said. “I got that in my younger days too.”
“You don’t get that now?” Ashley said, looking up at Dez with large, coquettish eyes.
Fenway turned away. She figured Dez could use the ego boost. She walked outside. The empty valet station on her right had a lectern that would have been right at home in a hotel banquet room.
She looked to her left at a coffee shop a couple of doors down. She thought perhaps she might have time to get a latte and be back before Ashley and Dez were done making googly eyes. She stood there for a moment in the late afternoon sun, like a cat that unexpectedly walked into a sunbeam.
She couldn’t figure out why Everett Michaels wouldn’t have told her or her father about having dinner with Alice Jenkins.
Dez came out behind her. “Okay, rookie?” she asked.
“You have a date later?” Fenway said, surprised to hear a touch of rancor in her own voice.
“Oh, now, just because you had your booty call broken up a few days ago doesn’t mean you need to be all angry with me.”
“You seriously asked her out?”
Dez clapped Fenway on the shoulder, almost jovially. “She asked me out. Me being a worldly mature woman and all. Plus I’m still hot.”
Fenway thought about mentioning the age difference between Dez and Ashley, and then realized it was probably about the same as the difference between herself and McVie. Besides, Fenway reasoned, Ashley had asked Dez out, so she kept her mouth shut.
Dez was in a much better mood on the way back.
• • •
Fenway and Dez arrived back at the coroner’s office just before four o’clock. They walked in and saw Piper talking to Migs at his desk. She looked up as soon as they walked in.
“Fenway,” Piper said, “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to give you this as soon as possible.”
“Sure, Piper,” Fenway said. “Come on into my office.”
“I’m going to ask Mark to get ahold of the taxi companies,” Dez said. “See if we can figure out where they dropped her off.”
Fenway nodded.
Piper picked up a folder and followed Fenway into her office and shut the door behind her. “Okay,” she said excitedly, “I’ve found out some really interesting stuff.”
“Lay it on me, sister,” Fenway said.
“Okay. So first of all, I found an ad for clinical trial patients at Diego-Riley during the June and July time frame.”
“A clinical trial for what?”
“A new pain reliever. I found an opinion article in a medical journal that called it ‘oxycontin without the addictive properties.’ It’s got a long name that begins with N.” She looked through the folder. “Nozith—uh, Nozithrapham.”
Fenway paused. “Let me see that.” Piper handed her folder to Fenway. “Huh. Nozithrapham. I’ve heard of that somewhere before.” Then she snapped her fingers. “Of course—that’s the new Carpetti drug. Everett Michaels talked my ear off about all the politics with clinical trials.”
“Let me tell you what else I uncovered. This is about SRB. And, I think, it might relate to Nozithrapham too.”
“Really?” Fenway said. “Okay, what did you find?”
“Do you remember in the news about a month ago, those two senators who were found to have overseas shell corporations?”
“Um, I guess so,” Fenway said. “They weren’t from California, were they?”
“No, Virginia and Oklahoma. So the Virginia guy had one called Delmarva Holdings. The one from Oklahoma had a shell company called Exterior Imports.”
“Okay. I didn’t remember that.”
“Honestly, I didn’t either, I just looked it up.” Piper pulled a few sheets out of her folder. “So here are few transactional statements.”
Fenway sat down at her desk. She laid the papers out in front of her. “All right,” she said. “What am I looking for?”
“Look at the highlighted payments.”
Fenway saw two scratches of bright yellow marker on the spreadsheet: one payment for $75,000, with the payee listed as Delmarva Holdings; the other payment also for $75,000, paid to Exterior Imports.
“So SRB paid off a couple of senators,” Fenway said.
“Exactly,” Piper said. “Now let’s see what those two senators did around the time of the payments.”
She pulled out two more papers. “Just about the only thing these two senators have in common is that they both sat in on an FDA panel last month. Now, I’ve got another $75,000 payment to an unidentified bank number. I traced the number to a Swiss bank account. But I ran into a brick wall there.”
“I bet the FDA approved a new drug that week, right?”
“Yep. And I bet you can’t guess which one.”
“Nozithrapham.”
Piper nodded.
“So what you’re saying is that we’ve got two illicit payments to senators to grease the wheels for a new type of high-effectiveness pain reliever.”
Piper nodded. “And we’ve got jurisdiction. The company that ran the clinical trial is local.”
“Carpetti Pharmaceuticals.”
“Right. And the manager of the clinical trial is some Austrian guy—Gottfried Ebner.”
Fenway pinched her eyes shut. “Oh, dammit, Dad,” she muttered to herself. “You’re waking up with fleas again.”
“What?”
“Everett Michaels,” Fenway said. “The guy who talked to me about Nozithrapham. He and my father took me to breakfast on Sunday and we talked about drug testing and FDA approvals. And Gottfried Ebner. And Nozithrapham. It’s the big release that is supposedly making a ton of money for Carpetti and allowed Michaels to quit so he could run for coroner.”
“Do you think someone at Carpetti is behind the murder of the mayor?”
Fenway thought for a moment. “I guess the motive fits,” she said. “But I don’t have any proof that anyone at Carpetti committed that crime—or Rachel’s attempted murder.”
“And you don’t have a murder weapon,” Migs interrupted. “And—don’t forget—you’ve got someone else who admitted to the crime.”
“True,” said Piper. “But someone at Carpetti could have paid Fletcher Jenkins to kill the mayor.”
“I’m going to have to think more on this,” said Fenway. “I just don’t know yet.” She sighed. “If Rachel would just come out of hiding, this could all go away.”
“Do you think Rachel is even out there?” Piper said. “What if the murderer got to her first?”
“I can’t think like that,” Fenway said. She shook her head. “I can’t believe she’s in this much danger. And I can’t believe she’s still in hiding.”
“Now that I’ve found out all this stuff about SRB,” said Piper, “do you want me to try to figure out Rachel’s whereabouts?”
“You think you can find Rachel?” Fenway said. “Do you have some sort of magic GPS? Hasn’t she just been off the grid completely since yesterday?”
“No one’s off the grid completely,” said Piper. “I bet I can find some trail somewhere.”
Fenway nodded. “Sure, if you think you can find her, then absolutely.”
“I’m on it.” Piper turned and left the office. Fenway hoped that Piper would be as good at finding Rachel as she had been at finding the payments to Alan Scorrelli from SRB.
Dez walked into to Fenway’s office. “So, boss, I got something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“I think it’s time for us to lose Barry Klein’s paperwork and let him go.”
Fenway paused. “Why would you do that?”
Dez said, “Part of it is political. I don’t want you to get in any trouble for keeping one of your political enemies locked in jail for too long.”
“Klein isn’t my political enemy.”
Dez looked out of the corner of her eye at Fenway. “If you don’t think Klein is your enemy, you’re more naïve than I thought,” she said. “Klein has been itching to get you out of this position ever since you entered it.”
“The sheriff was ready to appoint him,” Fenway pointed out. “I’m just here to babysit it.”
“Now you and I both know that isn’t the whole truth,” Dez said. “Come on, Fenway, you’re not talking to the Estancia Journal, you’re talking to me.”
“Fine, he’s my political enemy. Through no fault of my own. Is he getting arraigned, or are you just releasing him?”
“We’re just releasing him—on one condition,” Dez said.
“What’s that?”
“He tells us where he got those photos.”
Fenway blinked. “Yes. That’s probably the best solution. I don’t want anyone else to go through what I went through yesterday.” Fenway paused. “Dez, I told my father. The two people I didn’t want to know what I went through were my mother and my father. Well, my mom’s dead, and my father knows now.”
Dez paused. “How did your dad take it?”
Fenway looked down at her desk, not focusing on anything in particular. “Not well. Not well at all. And of course, he made it all about himself. How he couldn’t handle it.” She paused. “Not like I’d expect anything different.”
Dez’s face filled with compassion and concern.
“Don’t look at me like that, Dez,” Fenway said. “I can’t even tell you how much I hate the fact that I had to tell him.”
“I can only imagine,” Dez said softly.
“Anyway, you have your date with Ashley to worry about. Do I need to deal with any paperwork for Klein?”
“Nope,” Dez said. “Like I said, we seem to have lost the paperwork. But we should definitely remind him that we can find it all the way up to the statute of limitations. Which is ten years. And might even be longer after these California legislators get done with it.”
“Wait—you want me to go over and release him?”
“Who better, really,” Dez said. “And I want you to put the fear of God into him. He’s an entitled sonofabitch and the county will be better off if he’s taken down a rung or two.”
“I can’t say I disagree with that,” Fenway said. “So—I’ve never gotten anyone out of jail before. Do I just go over there and get him out?”
“Sometimes I forget what a newbie you are,” Dez said. “All right, I’ll go with you. You need the right form.” She stood up and went to the open office area where she opened one of the file drawers. She pulled a piece of paper out of one of the folders and came back into Fenway’s office.
“Here it is, Form 378B, release of detained individual.” Dez put the form down on the desk between them, reached across the desk, and took one of Fenway’s pens. Under “Detainee’s name,” she scrawled “KLEIN BARRY,” not taking care to stay within the boxes for each of the letters. She ignored much of the rest of the form, only checking “Lost Paperwork” under “reason for release.”
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s head over.”
“That’s all you’re going to fill out?” Fenway asked, incredulous.
“You think Dr. Klein’s going to complain?” Dez said. “Come on, let’s see if we can get him home in time for dinner.”
They walked across the street to the jail behind the sheriff’s office. Quincy was working at the front table again, and he buzzed them both in.
“Hey, Aunt Dez,” Quincy said.
“Hey, Big Q,” Dez said.
“You making it over for Sunday dinner?”
Dez shook her head. “Not unless we catch who did Mayor Alice. Tell your momma I’ll be working this weekend.”
“You work too much, Aunt Dez.”
“Aw, now, don’t be like that,” Dez said. “You’re gonna break my heart.”
Quincy raised his head in greeting. “Hey, Fenway. What can I do for you two lovely ladies this afternoon?”
“We’re here for the release of Dr. Barry Klein,” Dez said.
“Oh, and he’s been having so much fun in here,” Quincy said. “You sure he has to check out?”
“I’m all torn up about it,” Fenway said drily. “But yes. It seems like it’s probably the right thing to do.”
Quincy took the paper from Dez and looked at it. “All right,” he said. “Looks like everything is in order. I’ll bring him out.”
“Great,” Fenway said. “We should accompany him back to his vehicle.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Fenway,” Dez said. “There’s no overnight parking in the structure. They towed his car last night. It’s in impound.”
Fenway nodded. Klein deserved it—he probably deserved worse.
“It’s too bad that the impound lot closes at five,” Dez said. “He won’t be able to get it until tomorrow, and he’ll have to pay storage fees for another day.”
“What a shame,” Fenway said.
They waited for a few minutes in the pale blue fluorescent light of the room. Only the faint buzz of the lights augmented the silence with Dez.
After several minutes, the door opened and Klein came out. He wore his day-old clothes and he rubbed his wrists. Quincy followed him and closed the door behind them. Klein’s eyes, rimmed with dark circles, raised to look at Dez and Fenway. He had a cut on one cheek and his mouth turned down. His feet shuffled forward. Quincy had him stop in front of Dez.
Dez screwed up her mouth and clicked her tongue against her teeth.
“Barry Jacob Klein,” Quincy recited, unlocking Klein’s handcuffs, “I hereby release you into the custody of Sergeant Desirée Roubideaux.”
“Thanks, Quincy,” Dez said quietly.
“You’re welcome,” Quincy said, retreating back behind the door.
Dez looked at Klein. He dropped his eyes and started rubbing his wrists. “Am I free to go?” he asked. His voice had lost its earlier chiding, churlish tone.
Dez closed her eyes for just a moment, then opened them. “If it were up to me, Dr. Klein,” she said softly, “you’d be in here a long time. It’s absolutely disgusting what you did.”
“I know,” Dr. Klein said. “I just—” and then he thought better of it and shut his mouth.
Dez pretended not to hear the last part. “Miss Stevenson didn’t think it was right to keep you locked up,” she said. “Even though possessing pictures like that of a seventeen-year-old is punishable by a long jail term, a permanent sex offender status on your record, and, I hope, reason for your wife to take away your children and never speak to you again.” She tapped her foot. “Plus, they don’t treat people who are convicted of that kind of stuff too well in the prison system.”
“I know,” Klein said again.
“As much as it pains me to do it,” Dez said, “I’m releasing you. But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You tell us where you got those pictures.”
Klein’s lips drew into a snarl, but then he dropped his eyes. “Oppo research.”
“What?” Fenway asked.
“Opposition research. I hired a firm out of L.A. to dig up dirt on Fenway. I thought for sure she’d throw her hat in the ring.”
“And who found it?” Dez questioned.
“One of their data analysts, I guess.”
“Is that a euphemism for hacker?”
Klein shrugged.
“Okay, Dr. Klein,” Dez said, “You’re going to send us the contact information of the opposition research firm you engaged. I want you to tell them to share what they know with us. Currently, we seem to have accidentally lost your paperwork before your arraignment. Which means no charges filed. Nothing on your record.”
Klein nodded. “Thank you,” he said.
“But if we don’t get that contact information in forty-eight hours,” Fenway said, “I’m pretty sure we’ll be able to find that paperwork again. We were looking all over this morning for it. Maybe it’s in somebody’s desk drawer.”
Klein swallowed. “I understand.”
“Would you like to call someone to come pick you up?” asked Dez.
Klein nodded. “My wife.”
Fenway handed her cell phone to Klein, who dialed. He walked over to the corner and spoke in low tones, and then hung up, walked back over and sheepishly handed the phone to Fenway.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“Shall we wait outside?” Dez suggested. “It’s such a beautiful day.”
Fenway and Dez led Klein outside. They stood on the sidewalk and Klein took a few steps forward, into an empty parking space. They waited in silence for ten minutes. She could see Klein shift his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, and steal awkward glances over his shoulder to Fenway from time to time. He started forward when a silver Toyota Camry pulled into the lot, but he soon recognized that it wasn’t his wife’s car.
Finally, he took a couple of steps back, next to Fenway. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know saying that isn’t enough, and I know you probably think I’m just sorry I had to spend the night in jail. But please know that I’m truly sorry.”
“You’re right, Dr. Klein,” Fenway said, “that isn’t enough.”
Dr. Klein stepped forward again, and another awkward silence ensued.
Finally, another silver Camry pulled into the lot, and this time, Fenway saw Dr. Klein’s wife behind the wheel.
“But I suppose it’s better than nothing,” Fenway said.
Dr. Klein swallowed hard and nodded.
The Camry pulled up next to him and he went forward, opened the door, and got in. Fenway looked at his wife, who wouldn’t look at her or at Klein. He didn’t even have time to reach back for his seatbelt before she pulled away.