Morrison let them look at the key for a moment.Not performing patience. Actually giving them time, the specific, deliberate time of someone who understood that what he was holding required a moment of arrival before anything useful could be said about it. He held it at a level where they could both see it clearly, the evidence tag turning slightly in the amber corridor light, Whitfield's handwriting on it in the small, precise script of someone who labeled things the way she ran meetings, without excess.Calder moved first.Not toward Morrison. Toward the wall behind him, one step back, the unconscious recalibration of a man putting distance between himself and something he needed to look at fully."Where did you get that," he said."I gave it to Whitfield this afternoon. She's returned it to me as the submitting party, pending the investigation's formal evidence intake process." Morrison lowered his hand, the key disappearing into his c
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