Chapter 13 - Open the Bottom.
The photograph changed the investigation faster than anything else had.
Detective Price took the original from Kate that afternoon.
The image showed Leah sitting on the floor of our old apartment before Emma was born.
She was smiling at the camera with the blue music box beside her knee.
On the back, in handwriting both Megan and I recognized, were the words Kate had read over the phone.
Daniel - if Mom ever tries to take Emma, open the bottom.
The ink looked old.
The photo paper looked old.
Unlike Diana's impossible letter, nothing about it immediately contradicted time.
But the music box was gone.
That mattered because our burglar had ignored electronics, cash, and everything else that could be sold.
Someone entered my house, searched the office for Leah's accident file, went into the attic, and removed one sentimental object from a cardboard box.
That was no ordinary break-in.
Price requested an expanded warrant for the Holloway estate.
Diana's attorneys fought it.
Not Voss alone anymore.
By Monday afternoon, two additional lawyers had joined her legal team.
One specialized in criminal defense.
The other represented the Holloway family businesses.
That told me Diana understood the custody hearing had become the smallest of her problems.
At four fifteen, a judge approved a limited search for the stolen music box, electronic devices connected to the deleted security footage, and records relating to Northstar payments.
I was not allowed to go.
Megan was not allowed to go.
I waited at home with Emma and watched the clock.
She had no idea adults across town were searching her grandmother's house for something her mother had hidden before she died.
Emma was building a tower with wooden blocks.
Every time it fell, she laughed.
The sound felt almost impossible after the weekend we had survived.
At five thirty, she looked at me and said, "Daddy, you keep looking at the door."
"Do I?"
"Yes."
I put my phone facedown.
"I'm sorry."
"Is Grandma coming?"
"No."
"The judge said no?"
I had not explained the court order in detail, but children absorb more than adults think.
"Yes. The judge said you stay here with me."
Emma nodded as if that settled the entire legal system.
Then she placed another block on the tower.
"Good."
At six twelve, Price called.
"We found the music box."
I stood.
"Where?"
"Diana's study."
"She stole it."
"She says it belonged to Leah and therefore belongs to the Holloway family."
"It was in my attic."
"Yes."
"Was it hidden?"
"Locked drawer."
I looked at Megan, who had come back after court to organize documents.
"Did you open the bottom?"
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because it's evidence. We're photographing it before manipulating anything."
I could hear people moving behind him.
"Is Diana there?"
"Yes."
"What is she doing?"
"Watching."
"Does she look worried?"
Price gave a tired sigh.
"I'm not interpreting facial expressions for you."
"Fine."
I sat again.
"Call me when you open it."
"If I can."
The call came twenty-three minutes later.
This time Price's voice was different.
"The bottom panel slides."
My heartbeat quickened.
"What's inside?"
"A narrow compartment."
"And?"
"Empty."
I stared at the wall.
"Empty?"
"Not entirely."
"What does that mean?"
"There's an engraving on the wood."
Megan moved closer.
"Read it."
Price did.
"R-418."
"That's it?"
"That and four small scratches near the edge."
"Could something have been removed?"
"Looks possible. There's a rectangle of cleaner wood, like a small object sat there for a long time."
My hope collapsed into frustration.
"Diana got there first."
"Maybe."
"She had the box."
"Yes."
"Then she removed whatever Leah hid."
"Possible."
Megan asked, "Did you ask Diana what R-418 means?"
"She says she has no idea."
"Do you believe her?"
"Again, counselor, I don't interpret souls."
Megan ignored him.
"Photograph the engraving at high resolution."
"Already done."
"Anything else found in the study?"
Price paused.
"Northstar invoices."
"Originals?"
"Some."
"Electronic devices?"
"Three laptops, two phones, external drives."
"The prepaid phone?"
"Not so far."
My stomach tightened.
"What about the missing accident file?"
"Not found yet."
"Keep looking."
"That's the plan."
After the call, Megan wrote R-418 on a legal pad.
"What does it mean?"
"Could be anything."
"Bank box."
"Maybe."
"Storage locker."
"Maybe."
"File number."
"Maybe."
I glared at her.
"You're very helpful."
She smiled faintly.
"I'm trying not to invent answers."
Kate came in from the kitchen carrying tea.
She looked at the letters and numbers.
"R-418?"
"Mean anything to you?" I asked.
She stared at it.
Then her face changed.
"Maybe."
Megan sat straighter.
"What?"
"Leah had a library card."
I frowned.
"Everyone has a library card."
"No. The old private library downtown. The Randolph Reading Room."
I remembered it vaguely.
Leah used to study there because her grandfather had been a donor.
Kate continued.
"Their archive lockers start with letters."
"How do you know?"
"I helped Leah move research boxes there once."
My pulse accelerated.
"R for Randolph."
"Maybe."
Megan was already searching the library website.
The Randolph Reading Room was not a public library in the usual sense.
It was a private historical archive with rentable document lockers for members.
The building was closed Monday evening.
But the site listed an emergency records administrator.
Megan called.
After explaining that law enforcement was involved, she got nowhere.
Privacy policy.
Member confidentiality.
Court order required.
Price was less polite.
Within an hour, he confirmed the archive did use locker numbers in a letter-number format.
R-418 existed.
And it had been rented under Leah Mercer's name.
My hands began shaking.
"Is it still active?"
"Yes."
"Who pays for it?"
"Annual fees are prepaid through next year."
"By who?"
"Leah paid five years in advance."
She had planned for the locker to outlive her.
"Can we open it?"
"Tomorrow morning with a warrant or with authorization from her estate, depending on the archive counsel."
"I'm the personal representative of her estate."
"Then we may not need the warrant."
Megan looked at me.
"We'll be there when they open."
I thought of Tuesday.
The trust audit.
Rachel had said Diana feared I would find Leah's insurance before Tuesday.
Leah's private locker would open Tuesday morning.
For once, we were moving faster than Diana.
At eight thirty, Detective Price called again.
This time there was no humor in his voice.
"We found your missing blue storage box."
My stomach tightened.
"At Diana's?"
"In the garage loft."
"So that's proof she was behind the break-in."
"It's proof property from your house ended up on her property."
"Owen."
"I know."
"Was the accident file inside?"
"Most of it."
"Most?"
"The phone records are missing."
I closed my eyes.
Of course they were.
"Anything else missing?"
"The old trust notice."
"The two things she cared about."
"Looks that way."
"Did you arrest her?"
Price did not answer immediately.
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because the defense says a household employee brought the box to Diana after finding it in a donation pile."
I nearly laughed.
"A donation pile?"
"Yes."
"In my locked attic?"
"I didn't say it was a good explanation."
Megan asked, "Which employee?"
"They won't identify the person voluntarily."
"Then subpoena them."
"Already in motion."
I walked toward the living room window.
Across the street, a news van had parked at the curb.
"Someone's outside," I said.
Megan looked.
"Reporter."
Then my phone buzzed.
A news alert.
LOCAL GRANDMOTHER CLAIMS FAMILY TRUST DISPUTE BEHIND FALSE CHILD ABUSE ACCUSATIONS.
I stared at the headline.
Diana had reversed the story again.
Now she was saying I invented the outdoor incident to seize control of Emma's trust.
The article quoted an unnamed source close to the Holloway family.
It claimed I had always resented Leah's wealth.
It claimed I pressured Leah about the trust before her death.
It claimed Diana feared I would "financially exploit" Emma.
None of it was true.
But it sounded clean.
Simple.
A greedy widower.
A wealthy grandmother.
A child caught between them.
Megan read the story over my shoulder.
"Do not respond."
"They're calling me a thief."
"Do not respond."
"They're saying Leah was afraid of me."
"Do not respond."
"How long do I have to let her tell the story?"
Megan looked at me.
"Until facts can tell it better."
I hated that answer.
Then my phone rang from a blocked number.
I almost ignored it.
Something made me answer.
"Hello?"
No one spoke for two seconds.
Then a man's voice said, "Don't open 418."
My blood went cold.
"Who is this?"
"If you care about your daughter, leave the locker closed."
"Who are you?"
The line went dead.
Megan was already calling Price.
I stared at the phone.
Someone knew about R-418.
Someone knew we had found the clue.
And Diana was under police supervision at her estate when the call came.
May you like
Which meant either she had help outside the house.
Or she was never the only person we should have been afraid of.
