They give it back in a manila envelope with your name printed on the front in someone else's handwriting.
One wedding band, plain, gold. One watch, steel, non-functioning. One hair clip, metal.
I signed for my own things at 11:40 in the morning and stood at a counter in a corridor and put the ring back on, and it went on wrong the first time because my hands wouldn't, and the clerk looked away while I got it, which was a kindness I have not forgotten.
The clip I put in my pocket. I have never worn it since.
* * *
There were nine of them outside.
I had not thought about that once. Not in the cell, not in the pens, not in Part Two. It had not occurred to me that a billionaire's wife charged with poisoning him is a thing that people would want a photograph of, and the sheer stupidity of
