Jane methodically stuffed the boot covers, and the gloves, and the paper suit, all into the rain hood. She drew the hood’s drawstring tight and repeatedly stomped the evidence into a small wad. She eighty-sixed the saw blade—incriminating traces of plastic on it now—and, just for luck, the glue canister too. If they were mad enough about the break-in to hire a good PI, then they might trace the glue batch. Jane hated to throw away good hardware, but on mature consideration, it was a lot less troublesome than getting clamped into a Mexican electronic bail cuff, down at the juzgado.