On the floor, a discarded strip of packing tape lay coiled like a dead snake.

“They cleared out,” Detective Miller said, entering the bedroom. “Probably late last night.”

“The suitcase,” I said, my voice shaking. “We need to check the guest room closet.”

We walked into the small spare room.

The mattress was stripped bare, the sheets gone.

I pointed to the ceiling hatch that led to the attic crawlspace.

“It’s up there,” I said. “Behind the air conditioning duct.”

The second officer brought a stepstool from the kitchen.

The metal legs scraped loudly against the tile.

He climbed up, pushing the painted drywall panel aside.

Dust drifted down into the shafts of morning light, making me cough.

“I see something,” the officer called down, his voice muffled.

He reached into the darkness and hauled down a heavy, dust-covered leather suitcase.

He set it on the bare mattress.

“Is this it?” Detective Miller asked, wiping his brow.

“Yes,” I said. “That is Derek’s private safe.”

The lock was a simple three-digit combination.

My hands shook so hard I could barely grip the small metal dials.