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nothing after the drive out to Taggert’s residence.”
    “We spoke to Taggert’s maid, Esmerelda Garcia, who confirms that Taggert’s wife was out of town—she spends a lot of time away apparently. It was Esmerelda’s night off and she was staying with her mother.”
    A crime scene photo showed shards of a white and blue porcelain vase scattered on a dark blue carpet, the blood on the vase brown, the stains on the carpet black. “A confrontation between two people began in the front hall. Taggert ran toward his bedroom and the killer followed, picking up a vase on the way. Defry or somebody else, though Defry’s fingerprints were found on the vase, hit Taggert hard enough to stun him. He fell onto the bed.” The screen showed the large bed with its twisted sheets and blood spatter. “The attacker pulled him off by the ankles and dragged him back through the front hall.” A photo of a white marble floor with a red drag mark curling across it and out the front door flashed on the screen.
    “At some point during the drive out to the Everglades, Taggert woke up and attempted to free himself from the trunk.” A close up of fingertips, torn and blue, almost abstract except for the undeniable outline of the nail bed. Another photo flashed, knuckles bruised and swollen. “Defry was at the wheel, as you can see from this surveillance film at a gas station on 8 th Street.” A video played of Hugh’s BMW pulling up next to a pump, Hugh climbing out of the driver side and using his credit card to pay for the gas. He stared blankly down at the handle until it clicked off and then replaced it. You could see the trunk lid jumping as the man trapped inside fought for freedom. Too calm, I thought. Hugh’s business partner is banging on his trunk and he fills up like it’s nothing. Something really wrong with this picture.
    “Do we know how much gas was in the car?” I asked.
    “Excuse me?” Antonio said.
    “I’m wondering,” I said as the Hugh on screen got back into his car and drove out of the shot, “if we know how much gas he bought. Unless he was on empty, why would he stop on the way out there?”
    “Ashley, do we have that information?” Antonio asked.
    She typed into her iPad for a second. “Doesn’t look like it.”
    “Let’s get that then,” Bobby said, nodding for Antonio to continue.
    “The next time we have any account of Hugh Defry is when his neighbor, a Mrs. Young, saw his car at around 2 am. She doesn’t sleep well and often sits on her deck, which faces the garage entrance of Mr. Defry’s building.”
    “Could she see Hugh driving? If there was someone else in the car?” I asked.
    Antonio shook his head. “No, it was too dark to see who was in the car but she recognized his license plate, it’s apparently a game she plays with herself.”
    “What about street cameras?” I asked. Blue raised his head off my lap, his collar letting off a light jingle as he turned toward Antonio, apparently also curious about surveillance cameras around the city.
    “Ashley is still gathering the footage.”
    She nodded. “There are cameras all over this city. I’m going through it as fast as I can.”
    I nodded. Having spent several years working in London I knew about cities honey combed with cameras.
    “How long?” Mulberry asked, turning his body to face Ashley.
    “Not sure,” she said. “A few more days I’d think, I’m still gathering the footage.”
    “Let us know if you need another set of eyes,” Mulberry said.
    “I will,” Ashley answered softly. “Thanks.” It was almost a purr.
    Mulberry turned back to Antonio who continued. “Taggert’s body was discovered at approximately 6 am by fishermen.” The same photo I’d seen of Taggert’s body on the flight appeared on the screen. Taggert’s suit jacket spread around him like some kind of water plant, a strange gray lily. Green algae floated on the surface of the water and the shadows glistened black.
    “One gunshot to the