“Thanks, Robert,” I said. “Now explain the wall.”
“There was plywood over an old built-in closet. Behind it, shelves of junk. Jars, rusty tools. Your husband pulled the plywood off so I could check the wall.”
Robert glanced at Declan.
“Now explain the wall.”
“I understood your husband had authorization.”
“He didn’t.”
Robert looked genuinely uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. … Layla. I wasn’t aware there was a disagreement.”
He nodded at the floor.
“This was on the bottom shelf.”
“I understood your husband had authorization.”
The chest was the size of a shoebox. Rusty, scratched, no writing on it.
“It’s locked,” Declan said. “We tried everything. My screwdriver bent.”
“So that’s why you called me.”
“Obviously. I thought you might know where the key was.”
“Why would I? I haven’t been inside that closet since I was a teenager.”
“Maybe your grandmother mentioned it.”
The chest was the size of a shoebox.
