Page 21 of Secrets

He tapped on the floor several times, then went outside to see if he could look beneath the shed. There was a small space, just large enough that you could have rolled something beneath it, but other than a few spiders, there was nothing that he could see.

As he looked around the yard, he could see there were a few spots of grass that had been disturbed over the years, perhaps dug up, but it didn’t appear to be recent.

Inside the house, he found Whiskey looking through the cabinets, the dishes, pots, and pans, all right where they’d been left.

“Anything?” asked Whiskey.

“Not a damn thing other than a very neat shed.”

“Same,” frowned Whiskey. “Either Millicent understated her role here as housekeeper, cook, all of it, or we’ve got some seriously OCD killers. Let’s check on Griffin.”

On the second floor of the house, there were four bedrooms, neatly furnished, nothing extravagant. When they noticed the attic ladder down, they climbed up to see Griffin moving around the space.

“Did you find something?” asked Bull.

“Maybe. It’s obvious that the feds cut open the house in several spots, but it looks random to me. There’s no rhyme or reason as to why they cut open the drywall or floors where they did. As I was moving the portable x-ray around, I got tired and set it on my shoulder for a minute. It was pointing straight up, and I got a hit.”

“Okay, where did you get the hit?” asked Whiskey.

“It should be somewhere around here,” he said, poking at the insulation in the attic. He aimed the x-ray machinedownward, and the screen was filling with things below the attic floor.

“Here,” said Bull. Lifting the layer of insulation, he pulled up a small lock box, maybe ten by ten inches. “It damn sure won’t hold millions of dollars but maybe some lock box keys or safe deposit box keys.”

Whiskey picked the lock and opened the box to reveal several sheets of paper with strange groupings of letters that didn’t spell out anything.

“Is this some sort of puzzle? I’ve never seen any combinations with nothing but letters. None of this makes any sense at all,” he frowned. Bull shrugged, looking around the small attic space.

“I’m not sure, but let’s get out of this fucking hot attic and see what else we can find.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jean, Rafe, Kegger, and Mac checked into the federal building, easily walking through security, carrying loaded weapons. In all the years it had been in existence, there wasn’t a security system yet that was able to penetrate the stealth netting they used for weapons, planes, choppers, vehicles, and themselves.

“Agent Fowler will be with you in a moment, sirs. Please have a seat,” said the younger agent.

They nodded, taking a seat in the old building’s lobby.

“I hate federal buildings,” murmured Kegger. “They always have a smell of distrust, crime, and stale cigarettes.” Mac laughed, shaking his head.

“Well, this one has been around a while. Any word from the team at the house?” he asked.

“Nothing yet,” said Jean, “but I’m sure they’re fine. We would know if they weren’t.”

“Gentlemen,” said an older man with silvery hair cut close around his head. He was about six-foot-one and a solid two hundred pounds. His black suit screamed federal agent, his shoes clicking on the tile floor.

“Agent Fowler?” asked Jean.

“That’s me. You don’t have to tell me your names if you’re not comfortable with it. I’m just happy that Millicent is safe and being taken care of.”

“We don’t mind giving you our names,” said Rafe. “I’m Raphael Robicheaux. This is my older brother Jean, and my brother-in-law Frank MacMillan, and this is a teammate of ours, Kenneth Burke, better known as Kegger.”

Fowler stared at the four men, then looked from Jean to Rafe, and then the two other gentlemen. He nodded.

“She really has found a safe place to hide,” he smiled with a nervous expression. Jean stared at him, not saying anything at first, just taking in his reaction.

“She’s not hiding,” said Jean, finally speaking up, “she’s living, and we’re happy to help her do that. What’s the latest on her brother’s motion to force her to appear at trial?”

“Nothing yet,” said Fowler. “We’re doing our best to block all of his requests, but the federal prosecutors want his list and the evidence he claims to have on organized crime. I’m worried that he’s going to keep pushing for more, and eventually they’re going to give it to him.”

---