Page 56 of 56 Days
It’s slim and cream, smooth and stiff. Premium paper. Like something a wedding invite might come in.
There’s nothing on the front except a name handwritten in blue ink.
Oliver St Ledger.
The name tugs on something at the back of Lee’s mind, but she doesn’t know why it should. It doesn’t mean anything to her. She can’t think where she might have heard it before, or in what context.
“What’s that?” Karl asks, pointing.
Lee flips the bag around and sees more handwritten words on the back of the envelope, just above the flap.
This isn’t what you’reworried it is.
“I bet itiswhat he’s worried it is,” Karl says.
They can’t open it;scenes-of-crime officers will have to do that, just in case. For now, Lee sets it on the dash,name-sideup.
They both sit back and stare at it while they sip their coffees.
Lee frowns. “Did you put sugar in this?”
“Three,” Karl says. “And don’t you dare tell me you can’t taste it.” He shakes his head. “You’dreallywant to get your bloods checked.”
“I’m not the one having a can of Red Bull and two Marlboros for breakfast.”
“What didyouhave then? Anegg-whiteomelet and a wheatgrass shot?”
“I didn’t have anything,” she says. “I’m fasting.”
“Sure you are.”
“Does that name mean anything to you?” Lee jerks her chin toward the envelope on the dash. “Oliver St Ledger?”
“Should it?”
“Don’t know. It sounds familiar to me, and St Ledger is a fairly uncommon name here. I don’t think I’ve ever actually met anyone called that, though.”
“Maybe you’re thinking of an actor or something.”
Lee pulls her phone from a pocket and,one-handedand somewhat awkwardly, opens up the browser on it and entersOliver St Ledgerinto the Google search bar. The results are your typical internet soup: social media profiles, obituaries, a staff listing on a university website.
But there are very fewexact-namematches, hardly anything for Dublin and nothing at all that would explain why that name would mean something to her.
“No stamp,” Karl says. “Hand delivered.”
“I’m impressed you noticed.”
“The caffeine is kicking in, what can I say?”
Lee reaches for the plastic bag and flips it over, so they’re now looking at the message on the back.
“‘This isn’t what you’re worried it is,’” Karl reads aloud. “What doesthatmean?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“My guess is bad breakup,” he says. “Or custody battle. Or abunny-boilingpsycho-stalkerbitch.”
“I take it back. Remind me to sign you up for sensitivity training, will you, Karl?”
