Reyes nodded. “Can you provide evidence of her mental condition? A number for a psychiatrist or a prescription?”
The man strode into the attached bathroom and back out, handing Reyes a bottle of pills. Much of the label had been obscured by a water stain, the print blurry and faded, but he could clearly make outDavenportandPaxil.“She also took Ritalin. Had since she was a child. But she must have stopped taking these in the last year. They haven’t been refilled in over six months.”
Reyes tucked the bottle into a pocket. A sudden cessation of psychotropic medications was known to cause emotional unrest, severe and even fatal in some cases. Whatever his reservations about the letter, this would appear to support a suicide. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.” He headed back downstairs.
“I’ll write a report,” Will told him as he entered the room. “Submit this for analysis, prints, etc.” He lifted the bag with the note inside.
Reyes turned to the man, Henry. “Did you locate any of her personal effects? Purse? Wallet? Phone? That sort of thing.”
He gestured toward the kitchen, where a satchel-style bag in milky leather rested on a stool. “Everything is there. Even her phone. But it’s useless. I checked it already.”
“You have the code?” Reyes asked.
Henry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Of course.”
Reyes walked over and lifted the purse with a sigh. It didn’t bode well, her leaving behind the intimate, necessary things. “We’ll take this as well, go through the contents, have anything of interest evaluated.”
“If you must,” the husband replied.
“I noticed a camera out front,” Reyes told him. “We’ll need access to that footage. What time did you leave?”
“Early,” the man told them. “Like I always do for work. There’s nothing on the footage. I checked it already.”
“Still,” Reyes replied, “we’ll need to verify that, clock your departure. Where do you work?”
“Why?” the husband asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“We’ll need to confirm your whereabouts.” Will stepped in.
“An alibi?” he questioned warily.
“Not exactly, Mr. Davenport. Just procedure.” Will met his eye but kept his tone soft.
“I assure you I had nothing to do with this,” the man responded flatly, but the corner of his eye twitched.
Reyes felt invisible hackles rise along his neck and shoulders. “Which the camera footage and your work will surely confirm,” he reminded him.
Reaching inside his coat pocket, the man slid a matte black business card from a gold money clip and passed it to them. “You may speak with my administrative assistant, Johanna. She can confirm my arrival,” he stated.
Reyes nodded as he took the card, and the man walked them to the door.
“We’ll be in touch,” Will said.
The man nodded. “As soon as possible, please.”
Reyes held out his hand, and the man’s handshake was firm, tactical. As he pulled back, the detective couldn’t help but notice the dot of pink staining the cuff of the man’s sleeve. “What’s that?” he asked.
He looked confused.
“Your sleeve,” Reyes told him, rippling with alarm. “That stain is the same color as the ink on the letter.”
Even Will’s face scrunched with curiosity.
“I’ve been handling it since I arrived,” the man said. “It must have come from that.” For a second, the placid exterior seemed toslip, and his face lit with genuine wonder and something else…fear.
Reyes nodded, watching him. “Must have.”
They walked away without looking back.
