Chapter 7 - The Key to Number Twelve
The brass key belonged to a storage locker.
Ruth recognized the orange paint around its head.
“Caroline had a unit near the old bus station.
She kept things there after she moved out of your house.”
“Why didn’t she tell the police?” I asked.
Ruth’s face hardened.
“She thought your money would make her the criminal.”
I almost said I would never have done that.
Then I remembered the word thief.
How easily I’d accepted it.
Ortiz arranged for the locker to be secured and searched.
I went with Ruth but waited behind the marked area while investigators opened unit twelve.
Inside were two plastic bins, a broken lamp, and a child’s bicycle with training wheels.
Nothing looked important.
That made it worse somehow.
Caroline’s whole defense against people like us had fit between Christmas decorations and an outgrown bike.
An investigator opened the first bin.
Clothes.
Photographs.
A small metal cashbox.
Inside the cashbox were memory cards, printed emails, and a notebook.
Caroline had written dates down the left side.
Beside them were descriptions.
Daniel’s office.
After dinner.
Emily asked me to leave.
Paul working behind wall.
I saw a date I recognized.
The night I told my attorney I suspected someone was leaking bids.
Beside it, Caroline had written:
She listened after he went upstairs.
Ruth covered her mouth.
At the bottom of the box was an envelope addressed to me.
Ortiz photographed it before opening it.
The letter began:
Daniel,
If you’re reading this, I finally got someone to hand it to you.
My throat closed.
Caroline described finding a receiver while cleaning a cabinet.
Hearing my voice.
Recognizing a conversation I’d had earlier that day.
She confronted Emily.
Emily told her the recordings were for my protection.
Then Caroline saw money transfers attached to file numbers.
She began copying what she could.
The last paragraph was written harder, the pen nearly tearing the page.
I know you don’t owe me anything.
But if something happens, please make sure Lucy knows I didn’t leave her.
I stepped outside the unit.
Ruth followed.
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry again,” she said.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“What were you going to say?”
“That I’ll help find her.”
“Then do that.”
Ortiz emerged holding a second photograph in a clear sleeve.
A warehouse loading dock.
On the back, Caroline had written an address and two words.
Paul’s office.
Ortiz’s phone rang before she could speak.
She listened.
May you like
Then looked at the photograph.
“The building’s being cleared out.”
