Rollover by Susan Slater Page B

in front of three seemingly untouched boxes—still locked with hardware complete.
    â€œAll of the ones in use were found open. Used some kind of laser tool to cut the locks out. See here? And here? Even the big Irwin got hit.”
    Dan leaned closer. Well, maybe Wagon Mound had had a brush with high-tech after all. The floor and now the boxes. These incisions were neat and exact.
    â€œThe numbers indicate boxes that were in use?” Dan was looking at the small paste-on laminate numerals in the right hand corner of each box.
    â€œExactly. All contain the date the box was rented. As you might guess, Mrs. Kennedy’s is the oldest—twenty-fifth of March, 1933. The year the number system was put in place.”
    Dan took out his camera again, the old 4 pixel Nikon still took great close-ups. He just couldn’t get used to using his phone—somehow a phone didn’t have the right to be a camera. He adjusted the Nikon and clicked a couple of shots including one of the absolute precision of the laser cuts. He was at a loss to name the tool but probably something surgical or out of a lab.
    â€œNot everything was taken. Papers, for example, deeds, car titles, that sort of thing were found in a jumble on the floor. Even the Garcia family Bible. Several patrons only kept papers in their respective boxes…but a few kept other valuables. A gold inlaid chess set, a coin collection, a collection of 1800s railroad watches. Three patrons in all lost items of immense value.”
    Dan wasn’t sure what “immense” value added up to—he guessed the five hundred thousand-dollar necklace would qualify. “I’d like to talk with those who lost valuables. In addition, of course, to Mrs. Kennedy.”
    â€œIs that necessary?”
    â€œNeed to make sure my client wasn’t singled out. Rule out that she in some way could have invited this—hard to think Gert would try to skip out on a drug debt though.” Dan chuckled.
    Again, Lawrence remained deadpan. Strange man, Dan thought. Literal thinker for one thing and not prone to see humor in much of anything.
    â€œWhat furniture was in the room? Table and chair?”
    â€œNo furniture, no need. We relied on Stephanie to keep an eye on things outside the vault—much better light. And it was that little bit of extra precaution. Didn’t want any hanky-panky—made more sense to retrieve the boxes and have them delivered by bank personnel.”
    Hanky-panky? Like someone was going to sneak in with a blowtorch or better yet, stay in there long enough to pick the locks? Control followed by the word freak . Two words that seemed to fit ol’ Lawrence. Dan made a mental note to check with Stephanie—soon. He took one more look around the small room. Nothing jumped out. Maybe another picture or two and then they should get on with it. “I assume the tunnel is still open?”
    â€œWith a twenty-four-hour guard. That’s next on the tour.”
    Something about locking the barn after the horses had gone elsewhere came to mind. Dan snapped another picture of the hole in the floor, its proximity to the wall, the boxes, and the door, then he followed Lawrence out of the room, out the bank’s front door and around the side. The guard on duty nodded and leaned down to unlock and remove a padlock from a heavy-looking metal door. And all Dan could think of was the root cellar at his grandmother’s house. A favorite spot of his as a youngster, the farm in northeastern Illinois had gotten him out of the humidity-laden city for a month before school started. He’d had day after day to run free, fish, round up the chickens—hide in the cellar when his cousins visited. Some of his best childhood memories. He slipped the camera out of his pocket and took several photos.
    â€œWatch your step. Little steeper than what you’d expect. Let me get the light.”
    Dan followed Lawrence but paused until