Ortiz joined them and listened to the account.
“Price visited a storage facility yesterday under a false name,” she said.
“We think he is consolidating goods before moving them out of state.”
“Then we need to find the facility,” Mateo replied.
“We have leads.”
“How many people are helping him?” Daniel asked.
Ortiz did not pretend to know.
“More than Carol and Raymond, certainly.”
She paused before adding another detail.
“We recovered three duplicate gate keys from the abandoned maintenance van.”
Daniel looked at the photograph of his house on the table.
“One of them could open my side gate.”
“We haven’t tested them yet.”
“How did they get copies?”
Isabel closed her eyes.
“Blue Current kept backup keys for premium clients.”
Daniel remembered paying an extra fee for emergency service during holidays.
The arrangement had seemed sensible when his pool heater froze one winter.
Now it meant somebody could access his yard when he was sixty miles away.
“I am changing every lock,” Daniel said.
Ortiz nodded.
“That would be wise once we finish examining the gate.”
The conversation ended when a second investigator entered carrying a photograph of a red instrument case.
It had been recovered from a charitable donation center that morning.
Inside was a flute belonging to a middle-school music teacher.
A handwritten donation card claimed the case came from a woman named Caroline Price.
“That isn’t Carol,” Daniel said.
“No,” Ortiz replied.
“It’s Gideon’s sister.”
Isabel stared at the image.
“She works at the airport freight depot.”
Ortiz nodded slowly.
The investigation had just acquired a possible route for the stolen instruments to leave the country.
CHAPTER SIX — CAROL’S FRONT ROOM
The following morning, Carol’s house was quiet for the first time Daniel could remember.
There were no complaints shouted over the fence, no bins dragged across the sidewalk, and no notes stuck beneath windshield wipers.
A patrol officer stood near the porch while investigators waited for a locksmith.
Carol had agreed to let investigators examine the living room and kitchen, but she refused to discuss the bedroom she kept locked.
Ortiz arrived carrying a formal search authorization covering the rooms and outbuildings connected to the deliveries.
Daniel watched from his side of the street as workers opened the side garage.
Inside, a stack of flattened instrument cartons leaned against a lawn mower.
A layer of dark velvet fibers coated the floor beside a metal worktable.
It was difficult to believe that the tidy elderly woman who criticized his recycling habits had allowed a sorting station in her home.
Carol sat on her porch with an officer and stared at the boxes being carried out.
When Daniel approached, she rose abruptly.
“You told them where to look,” she accused.
“I didn’t know there was anything to find.”
“You always thought you knew everything about me.”
“I thought you disliked my pool.”
Carol glanced at the patrol officer.
“I do dislike your pool.”
Daniel waited for the familiar complaint about noise or landscaping.
Instead, Carol looked toward a small framed photograph visible through her open door.
It showed a young man beside a delivery truck, smiling broadly while holding a set of keys.
“That’s my son, Andrew,” she said.
Daniel knew Andrew had worked in moving and storage.
He had seen the younger man visit Carol on holidays, usually leaving within an hour.
“Is he involved?” Daniel asked.
Carol’s eyes filled with an anger that seemed aimed at herself.
“Gideon hired him to move equipment.”
“What kind of equipment?”
“He said pool covers, heaters, things too heavy for regular vans.”
“And when did you learn what the shipments really contained?”
Carol looked down.
“When Andrew came home with a violin case and couldn’t explain why a pool company needed it.”
