I walked past him into the kitchen and opened the junk drawer next to the refrigerator.

My fingers moved past spare batteries and loose rubber bands until they found the yellow plastic handle of a flathead screwdriver.

I grabbed it and walked back to the hall closet.

The officer stood perfectly still by the front door, watching my hands.

“We need to document exactly how that opens,” Marcus said.

“I want everything done strictly by the book from this minute on.

Any contamination of evidence gives a defense lawyer room to breathe.”