The ceiling height in the secret space was the same as in the rest of the house, a standard eight feet. The width was narrow. The TV cables were stapled to the wall. Connectors hung free of whatever electronic devices had once fed the screen. A closet organizer held empty garment bags, padded hangers, and transparent boxes perfectly sized for Sylvia’s shoes. Hermes luggage had left dust-free squares on the floorboards.
There were four identical freestanding shelf units. Each was maybe five feet wide and six feet high and twelve inches deep. Each had six shelves set a foot apart, and provided seven stacking places, including the floor. On each flat plane rested two rows of six cardboard shoe boxes. Eighty four boxes on each unit.
Two empty spaces must have held the two empty boxes she’d seen the day before.
Kim counted twice to be certain before she slipped a pair of latex gloves out of her pocket, pulled them on, and lifted a few random lids. Dust clouded up her nostrils; she sneezed again. After ten tests, she simply lifted each stack from the bottom to confirm its emptiness, while Gaspar sneezed through the same process from the opposite end.
When they’d finished, Gaspar stepped back into the bedroom, stripped off his gloves and swiped the perspiration from his brow; red grime filled the crevices.
He said, “There’s only one thing Harry would have stored in those boxes.”
“That much cash from porn?”
Gaspar shrugged. “Twisted. Kids, maybe. Or animals. We’re in the countryside here. Regardless, we’ve got a solid motive that’ll nail Reacher.”
Kim blinked. Reacher? She asked, “You’re saying Joe and Jack Reacher were involved in some money making scheme together fifteen years ago? Joe’s dead but Jack carried on anyway with Harry and Sylvia?”
“Works for me,” Gaspar said. “Or Joe was legit back then so Jack killed him to avoid arrest. That works for me, too.”
Kim said, “So Reacher waits fifteen years? Comes back to collect his cash, and kills Harry, cleans up, and gets away, leaving Sylvia to take the heat. That’s how you figure it?”
“Something like that,” Gaspar said. “No legitimate way for Harry to accumulate that much money. You don't have to act like I'm stupid. It fits as well as anything you’ve come up with.”
They both heard the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades headed toward their way. Kim figured maybe five minutes to touchdown. She pulled out her smart phone.
“What are you doing?” Gaspar asked.
“Covering our butts,” she said. She started the video and started dictating. “Tuesday, November 3, two thirty-five p.m. Harry and Sylvia Black’s home. Bedroom. FBI Special Agents Carlos Gaspar and Kim Otto entered the house through unlocked doors seeking evidence in support of a homicide and suspected terrorism investigation begun yesterday. Upon closer examination of the bedroom closet, we located the hidden storage compartment depicted here, containing 336 empty cardboard shoe boxes and a space sufficient to hold the two boxes collected from the crime scene previously by local officers.”
She paused and changed her shot. “Also present are eight empty garment bags containing sixteen satin padded hangers, and twelve empty plastic shoe boxes, all believed to have contained Sylvia Black’s fashion wardrobe.”
She taped the entire row of shelving units and opened several of the cardboard shoe boxes to reveal their empty interiors. “Based on remains observed and samples collected at the scene of a related car bomb incident this morning, it appears these boxes contained U.S. currency. In particular, $100 bills more than a decade old. Calculations based on standard FBI protocols for cash volume suggest each box held approximately $200,000. If so, more than $67,200,000 was hidden here.” She ended the video recording and took several still shots of the boxes.
Gaspar asked her, “Why didn’t you say something about Reacher?”
“We’re still under the radar on that. And besides, as we lawyers say, there’s no evidence to support your wild ass guesses.”
“You know I’m right though,” he said.
“What I can prove is the important thing, Zorro. You want to stick your neck in that trap, go right ahead. I’m waiting to see those bright blue eyes before I say Reacher is responsible.” She turned off her phone again. She ducked into the closet and collected one of Sylvia’s transparent shoe boxes, and one lid.
“Prints,” she said.
He nodded.
They snugged the panel back into place.
“We need to call the boss,” Gaspar said.
The choppers were right on top of the house now.
Kim said, “No time.”