First, I’d signed it at a coffee shop.
Then I’d mailed it to him.
Then, when Detective Moreno asked him which coffee shop and on what date, he said he didn’t remember, and that I’d probably signed it and “forgotten because of the stress.”
Detective Moreno wrote everything down without changing her expression.
At one point, Vanessa got up and went out to the moving truck. She came back carrying a large manila envelope.
“I think you should see this,” she said, and set it on the table in front of the detective.
Inside was a printed confirmation from the post office.
A change-of-address request.
Mark Whitaker and Vanessa Whitaker. Moving from their condo to 14 Linden Court.
Submitted on September 22nd.
Nine days before I’d even closed.
“He told me to keep it for our records,” Vanessa said. “He said we’d need proof of residence for the eviction—” She stopped. Her face flushed red. “For the—if she tried to make us leave. He said if we had mail coming here, and a lease, and our furniture, the police couldn’t do anything. He said it was the law.”
