There were volumes on American history, with several shelves dedicated to the Civil War and Abraham Lincoln. Finally, there were books on medicine, several of which Martin had authored while practicing up north.
Lancaster sat down at Martin’s desk. It was a double pedestal design with a walnut finish and brass pulls and dovetail construction. Martin’s personal items covered it, a visual history of his life, and he examined each item carefully.
There were framed photos of Beth and Melanie as children, and several of Martin’s late wife. Of more recent vintage was a photo of Martin on a fishing trip with a group of his buddies, each of them clutching a can of beer. They were all smiling and looked toasted. There were multiple paperweights, a wireless Bose speaker, a cup filled with pens and pencils, and several pairs of reading glasses.
The desk drawers were next. They contained old files and tax returns and nothing that bore closer examination. It was starting to feel like a dead end.
He pulled out the center drawer last. A blank legal pad and a badly chewed pencil plus a book of stamps. Game over.
He shoved the drawer back in, and noticed how tight the fit was. It made him wonder if there was something stuck in the back, so he pulled it out, and had a look. There was nothing there. Yet something didn’t feel right.
After a moment, he realized what the problem was. The opening was deeper than the depth of the drawer. A good inch wider.
He removed the drawer’s contents and put them on the desk. Then he flipped the drawer over, and found the culprit. On its underside the drawer had a secret compartment held in place by Scotch tape. He peeled away the tape and lifted the flap. For his effort, a folded piece of paper was revealed.
He put the drawer back together, replaced the contents, and inserted it into the desk. Then he unfolded the hidden paper. Printed in block letters was a word with lowercase letters, uppercase letters, and symbols, which he assumed was a password. There were also three numbers printed on the paper — 15, 25, 45. He wondered if there was a hidden safe, and he walked around the study, rapping on walls.
The wall containing the mystery novels was hollow, which he found appropriate. By removing the collection of Harry Bosch books, he discovered a wall with a secret latch. He turned the latch and gently pulled. The shelf swung outward.
He found himself staring at a circular wall safe. It was ensconced in concrete and looked recently poured. Martin had gone to a lot of trouble to install the safe, and keep it a secret, and he wondered why he’d done that.
He entered the three numbers written on the paper, and the safe popped open. The interior was lined with carpet, and contained a laptop computer and a checkbook.
He hesitated. There was no doubt in his mind that the password would give him access to the laptop’s hard drive, and shed light on why Martin had taken his life. But these things were not his to discover. They were for Beth and Melanie to look at, and digest. This was a family matter, and he needed to tread delicately.
“Jon!” a distressed voice said.
The voice was coming from outside the house, and it sounded like Nolan Pearl. He opened the French doors, stepped onto the balcony, and went to the railing. Looking down, he saw Nolan and Nicki standing in the backyard.
“What’s up?”
“We found something that you need to see,” Nolan said.
Nicki was crying, her eyes beseeching him to hurry.
“Give me a minute,” he said.
He went back into the study, shut the safe, and gave the dial a good spin. He shut the bookshelf and put the books back the way he’d found them. He folded the paper with the password and combination, and stuck it into his wallet.
Then, he headed for the door.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he stopped at the entrance to the dining room. Beth and Melanie were still sequestered inside. Everything that he’d discovered in the study could wait, and he walked through the downstairs to the back door.
He found Nicki and her father outside by the garbage pails. Both father and daughter appeared shaken and upset.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nicki was putting the garbage out and found blood,” Nolan said. “Take a look for yourself.”
One of the pails had its lid off, and he peered inside at a black garbage bag with a yellow drawstring. The mouth of the bag was partially open, revealing a tissue with a patch of dark-brown blood the size of a silver dollar.
“Is this exactly how you found it?” he asked the teenager.
“Uh-huh,” she said.
“Did you move anything?”
“No. I saw the blood and backed away. I didn’t touch anything.”
“That was very smart. Do me a favor, and go into the kitchen, and see if you can find a plastic Ziploc bag.”
She went inside. Lancaster took out his cell phone, and used it to photograph the bag. He took six shots, including three close-ups, as if documenting a crime scene. There could be a simple explanation for the blood, but until he discovered what that was, he was going to treat everything as possible evidence.
Nicki returned holding a Ziploc bag. Reaching into the pail, he undid the drawstring, and carefully removed a wadded Kleenex soaked with blood. Nicki opened the mouth of the Ziploc, and he placed the tissue inside and sealed it shut.
“That’s a lot of blood,” she said. “Did someone attack my grandfather?”
“That’s hard to say. Your grandfather could have cut himself shaving,” he told her. “Let’s gather the evidence and not jump to conclusions, okay?”
“Sure, Jon.”
“You have to admit, this looks awfully suspicious,” Nolan chimed in.
“It does look suspicious,” he said. “But we can’t let it cloud our judgment.”
“Got it.”
Lancaster hoisted the garbage bag out of the pail and removed its contents, which he placed on the ground. The bag was filled with garbage and old newspapers, but no more blood. He took photographs with his cell phone, just to have a record. Then he returned the items to the bag, put it into the pail, and replaced the lid.
Holding the Ziploc, he went into the kitchen, and found a Sharpie on a desk by the refrigerator. He wrote the date and time on the Ziploc, and put it on the island so Beth would see it when she came out. At the sink he scrubbed his hands.
“Did you find anything in the study?” Nicki asked.
“Yes. I found a hidden wall safe,” he replied.
“A wall safe? What’s in it?”
He didn’t want Nicki making any false assumptions, and decided to tell her a lie. “I didn’t open it. That’s for your mom and Aunt Beth to do.”
“What do you think’s inside?”
“I have no idea.”
He dried his hands with a paper towel. As he threw the towel away, his eyes scanned the kitchen. He did not see a box of Kleenex, and he guessed the bloody Kleenex in the trash had come from one of the bathrooms. How it had ended up in the kitchen garbage was anyone’s guess.
“Grab some Ziplocs,” he said. “We’re going to do some more snooping.”
He checked the wastebaskets in the two downstairs bathrooms, and found them empty. Nicki and her father hovered behind him, saying nothing.
He went upstairs and checked the bathroom in Martin’s bedroom. The trash can beneath the sink was loaded, and he dumped the contents on the floor, and had a look. A second bloodied Kleenex reared its ugly head. Nicki let out a little shriek.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Let’s bag it. Did you bring the Sharpie?”