CHAPTER EIGHT — THE OPEN SIDE DOOR
Ortiz requested additional agents while Sethi photographed the vacant garage.
Carol pointed out the indentation where the largest crate had rested for three weeks.
She swore Grane had changed the pickup time after learning she was meeting investigators.
The side entrance stood open, and a padlock lay on the floor with its shackle cut.
Daniel felt foolish for watching the front gate while somebody removed the very objects they wanted to protect.
An agent checked the alley and found faint tire marks near a service gate.
The departure had been quiet enough that nobody heard it over the air conditioners.
Carol hurried to a cabinet and retrieved her handwritten list.
“The truck was supposed to take the crates to a processing center on Baird Road,
” she said.
“But the route was changed last week.”
“To where?” Ortiz asked.
Carol pointed to a penciled entry beside Friday’s date.
It contained the words Calder Yard.
Ruth’s family name made Daniel look up.
“Is that the old freight yard behind the hardware district?”
Carol nodded.
“They rented a storage building there.”
Daniel knew the place.
His uncle had once repaired trucks in a neighboring shop, and the yard had narrow lanes between corrugated warehouses.
Sethi spoke quietly into his radio.
Ortiz turned to Daniel.
“Your part here is finished for tonight.”
Daniel wanted to argue, but Marianne’s wooden box and Andre’s height chart deserved professionals with proper authority.
He returned home and found Ruth waiting beside his porch steps.
She had been alerted when one of her employees saw emergency lights near the Mercer house.
Daniel explained what he could.
At the mention of Calder Yard, Ruth stiffened.
“My father used to lease a shed there,” she said.
“It’s almost empty now, except for a freight broker.”
“Who’s the broker?”
“A company called Meridian Handling.”
Daniel recognized the name from the back of one of the publicity photographs.
Ruth pulled out her phone and searched the firm’s listing.
It claimed to offer specialized transportation for sensitive property.
The website featured photographs of polished equipment that looked more expensive than the warehouse Ruth remembered.
“There’s a service lane from the yard straight to the interstate,” Ruth said.
“A truck could be in another state before sunrise.”
Daniel called Ortiz with the information.
The agent had already dispatched a team to the yard, but she thanked him for the exit route.
Ruth stayed for coffee.
Neither pretended they expected to sleep.
At four fifteen the phone rang.
Ortiz said agents had reached Calder Yard and found two large trucks loaded with crates.
The drivers said they were transporting household goods to a distribution hub in Tennessee.
A federal warrant was being executed on the warehouse.
But one smaller van had already departed.
“Do you know what was inside it?” Daniel asked.
“We have reason to believe it carried objects designated for immediate resale,” Ortiz answered.
“There may also be family identification records.”
Daniel asked what she needed him to do.
“Call the families you know,” she said.
“Tell them an official victim-support coordinator will contact them in the morning.”
“Do not promise that every item has been recovered.”
He called Marianne first.
She thanked him and asked whether Peter’s box was safe.
He told her truthfully that he did not know.
Then he called Andre and Wesley.
By the time dawn colored the sky, three households were awake and waiting for news.
Across the street Carol sat alone on her front steps, holding the damaged security camera Daniel had left beside his trash bin.
She had picked it up and attempted to reattach the broken cable with electrical tape.
Daniel watched her for a moment before opening his door.
“That won’t fix it,” he said.
Carol stared at the dangling wire.
“I know,” she answered.
“I wasn’t trying to fix the camera.”
“Then what?”
“I was trying to understand why I broke it when I should have been showing you what they carried in.”
For once, Daniel had no quick answer.
