11
Mitch turned his Audi into the leafy street in Rockville. Following Ellen’s directions, he pulled up in front of a large white house with a neat garden out the front and a quaint, old-world feel about it.
“Nice,” Ellen muttered beside him as she looked past him to the house.
“Mm, must be money in politics,” Mitch agreed, “or William Ying had very good life insurance.”
“Will you tell Mrs. Ying about her husband’s fingerprints on the binoculars?”
“No, not at this stage,” Mitch said. “We’ll tell her it is normal procedure to follow up a year after a case is closed to ensure nothing new has come up. We’ll see if she is oblivious to his whereabouts. Look for signs that there might be a man in the house, assuming she hasn’t got a new guy, of course.”
On the second floor, he saw a figure
