214 Wills novel · Chapter 22 of 24

Chapter 22: A Sunday With Nothing to Sign

Miles's POV

The detective came at eight on Sunday morning to take the camera.

He stood on our desk chair in rubber gloves and unscrewed the smoke detector cover with a coin.

Then he put the whole thing in a paper bag.

"Two years of footage on a server," he said. "Rob kept every night. It's a crime by itself."

Callie sat on the edge of our bed in my work shirt, with her cast on a pillow, and watched the ceiling.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"Rob is in county, held without bail until Monday's hearing. A judge didn't like a man who stamped on evidence in a ballroom."

"And Bert?"

"Mr. Garland was stopped at the airport at five-forty this morning, with a one-way ticket."

The detective almost smiled.

"He had a carry-on full of the company's checkbooks. He told the officer at the gate that he was a very important man."

Callie let out a short, dry laugh.

"What did the officer say?"

"He said, sir, so is everyone else in line."

He went out with the paper bag, and I shut the door behind him.

The bedroom ceiling was plain white, with a pale ring where the lens had been.

I looked at it for a long time.

Then I took Callie's hand and we went to the kitchen.

It was nine-thirty on a Sunday morning, and I made coffee.

She sat at the table in front of the empty place where the binder used to sit.

At nine-forty she looked at the clock above the stove.

She did not move.

I put a cup in front of her.

"I don't know what to do with my hands," she said.

"Hold the cup."

She held it.

Her eyes stayed on the clock, and the minute hand slid past forty and kept going.

Nobody came to the door with a clipboard.

Her mouth began to shake, and then it began to smile.

"It's a Sunday," she said.

"It's a Sunday."

"I'm not signing anything."

"No."

"I'm not signing anything ever again." She put the cup down and covered her face with both hands. "Miles, I'm so tired."

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