“Let the legal process do its job.”

We drove in two separate cars to the apartment complex on Twenty-First Street where Jaclyn had rented a furnished unit three days before.

I parked my Buick fifty feet back from the curb and left the engine running while Clay pulled his Ford pickup up next to the concrete walk.

He climbed out of the cab and dropped the tailgate.

Three black plastic totes full of Jaclyn’s clothes and shoes sat in the truck bed.