Page 22 of See How They Hide

Jim frowned. “Okay, we’ll call Matt when we’re done, ask what he wants us to do with it, but my guess is he’ll have us box it up and ship it to Quantico.”

He stepped into the guest room at the end of the hall, and Sloane started going through the kitchen cabinets. Everything was neat and organized. The pantry was well stocked, nearly every shelf full of boxes and cans of food. She took photos.

She looked in the garbage and frowned. There was an empty pasta box and frozen veggie bag. That was all that was in there. His last meal? She made a mental note to check the autopsy report, and took a digital picture to remind herself.

Jim called out, “Sloane, you have to check this out.”

She stepped into the second bedroom. It was as large as Crossman’s room, with two double beds separated by a wide nightstand, almost like a hotel room. A desk and chair, bookshelf with popular fiction, and a television—there was no other TV in the house.

Jim was standing in the walk-in closet. “There are a lot of clothes in here, none appear to be worn—some still have the price tags. Men’s, women’s, different sizes. He practically has a mini department store. Shoes, too—all high-quality, practical shoes. Loafers, sneakers, hiking boots. Drawers of undergarments, still in the packaging. No kids’ clothing—I don’t know what that would mean if there were. I don’t know whatthismeans. And look—on the top shelf there arenineidenticalsuitcases. Check out the bathroom, tell me what you think.”

She walked into the attached bathroom. At first, she smelled heavy cleanser, as if someone had just cleaned. The space was, again, well organized with two sinks, a shower without soap residue, fresh towels hanging on the wall. She opened the small hamper and wrinkled her nose. Someone had used a towel to clean up vomit. She didn’t know how long ago. She closed it.

Next, she opened the linen closet and said, “Whoa.”

“Yeah,” Jim called out from the bedroom closet. “See what I mean?”

Inside the linen closet were bins of personal hygiene products, all labeled. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, travel-size containers of shampoo and conditioner, combs, brushes, basic makeup supplies, razors, deodorant, and more. The top shelf had a half dozen empty toiletry bags.

She stepped into the room. “Maybe he donates items to a homeless shelter or a church,” she said. “His tax records are in his desk. I can look through them, see if there’s a corresponding donation.”

“Maybe,” Jim said, though he didn’t sound like he agreed with her first thought. And Sloane dismissed it, as well. If he were to donate, why put the items away here? If he ordered them, wouldn’t he keep them boxed up for easier transport?

“The desk is locked—see if you can open it,” Jim said. “I’m going to photograph everything else.”

Why would the bedroom desk be locked, but not his office? Maybe so his guests couldn’t access it?

Sloane got down on all fours and looked under the desk. No booby traps or anything unusual. While on her knees, she retrieved her pocketknife and quickly popped the lock.

She opened the single drawer. Inside was a metal lockbox. She took it out, set it on the desk, and inspected the lock. There was both a four-number combination lock and a keyhole.

“We can open it at the station,” Jim said.

“Give me a minute.” While she studied the lock she said, “I think someone was here. There were used towels in the hamper, a couple things in the nearly empty trash.”

“Maybe, or maybe he just didn’t get around to taking it out. We’ll talk to the locals, the neighbors. I’m going to call Matt, tell him what we’ve found.” He stepped out.

Sloane could break the lock, but Jim might frown on that—the boxwasevidence.

Instead of trying to guess a four-digit combination, she took out her pocketknife again and, using the smallest tool, carefully inserted it into the lock.

Click.

She opened the box and stared.

There were eighteen unsealed bank envelopes filled with cash. She opened one and slid out the stack, counted. Twenty hundred-dollar bills. All the envelopes appeared to contain the same amount.

$36,000 in cash. In a barely secure lockbox.

But the money didn’t surprise her half as much as the other item: a manila envelope filled with laminated red poppies.

9

Ashland, Oregon

Kara and Michael had just finished eating the free hotel breakfast when Matt called her. “You with Michael?”

“Yep,” she said as she licked syrup off her fingers.

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