Page 11 of Lost Cause
“Maybe our first real lead.”
She lifted the mattress. “A penny. There’s a penny.”
He grabbed the coin and flipped it over with gloved fingers. “Stamped 1992. Another newer item.”
“Let’s keep going.” Her excited tone encouraged him. “See what else we find.”
He replaced both items so their forensic tech could photograph them in situ before trying to lift prints. The other cell held nothing of interest, so they continued ahead until they reached the broken window.
He stared at it. “If Victor isn’t telling the truth about this window, and it was used to get in, it’s suspiciously clean. Too clean. No shattered glass in here, almost as if someone staged it.”
“Inside job?” she asked.
“Could be the housekeeper or estate manager, but they really wouldn’t have to break a window, would they?”
“Not likely.” She started down another narrow passage.
Burke held his light out until they reached a door at the end of the corridor where they extinguished their lanterns and set them on the floor.
“This should lead to the outside.” She followed the same procedure as door number one, handing the plans back to himand finding the right key. She tugged the door open, then gave the lock and wood a careful study. “I don’t see any proof of forced entry here either.”
They exited the building, but he stopped to examine the lock. She was right. No sign anyone forced the door open. She made her way along an overgrown path leading from the building, but his light caught something near her feet.
“Hold up.” He crouched to study a set of muddy footprints. “Recent footprints. Not from my deputies. Too small. Narrow stride. Heading away from the house.”
Abby bent down. “A woman?”
“Maybe. Or a small man.” He stood. “Could’ve been Victor, too, if he’s not as fragile as he lets on. Let’s move on. But be careful. Don’t disturb the footprints before we get them evaluated.”
She looked at him. “Another reason to decide on a forensic team before rain washes these away.”
He nodded, but still wasn’t prepared to make a decision and led the way down a path that wound upward to the main entrance.
“Keep going,” she said. “Around the corner to the next door.”
Picking his way through overgrown weeds, he reached the side of the house. He directed his light at the wall, running it back and forth, spotting the outline of a door swallowed by a thick coat of ivy. Completely inaccessible. “No one’s opened this door in many, many years.”
“It’s not even on the blueprints. Let’s move on, and we can come back if we need to.”
She led the way this time. They checked every window they passed, but all were locked and intact. Around the corner, at the back of the house, they reached a paved veranda with glass French doors. She opened them with a key on her ring.
A small office greeted them, but Burke couldn’t see much in the darkness. He lifted his flashlight, when a crystal lamp switched on. Dusty like nobody’d touched it in years, it threw light across a heavy-looking desk and matching chair. All of it sat on some thick rug that probably cost more than his truck tires.
Abby stood near the edge of the room, nowhere near the lamp.
“Did you turn the lamp on?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He traced the cord. “It’s on a timer to go on and off several times a day.”
“Could be a security measure.” She crossed the room to the fireplace.
“Looks like it.” He found and hit the light switch.
An old chandelier flickered to life, dust clinging to every edge. The place looked like something straight out of an old French postcard, worn but trying to hang on to look fancy.
Abby crouched on the tiled hearth. “The grate’s still hot. Lots of fluffy ashes, and the wood’s barely charred. This was a quick burn. Paper, maybe?”
