She was a tall, sharp-eyed woman in her late forties, wearing a faded linen blazer and carrying a black evidence kit. Sylvia stood a few yards back, hands clasped nervously. “Mr. Harper,” Helen said, offering a curt nod. “Sylvia explained the situation. Show me what you found.” Daniel pointed to the disturbed turf.
Helen put on nitrile gloves, knelt in the dirt, and carefully lifted the sealed plastic sleeve out of the hole. Inside the clear plastic was a thick cream-colored envelope addressed simply with a single letter: E. Helen took several photographs before carefully breaking the seal. She pulled out a sheet of heavy paper and read the contents aloud: