He opened his eyes and looked straight at my face.

He blinked three times fast, his dark pupils sharp and clear.

“Desk drawer,” he whispered.

The sound was like gravel scraping across the bottom of an iron bucket.

I leaned down until my ear was six inches from his mouth.

“Study,” he added, taking a heavy breath that rattled in his chest.

“Which drawer, Mr.

Winslow?” I asked softly.