He had smiled.
He had thanked me.
He had promised everything would be clean.
By morning, I was exhausted and furious.
The police returned with a detective named Priya. She was in her 40s and spoke to me with more warmth than the officers had.
She sat across from me at the kitchen table.
"We found Mark's truck," she said.
"Where?"
"At a storage facility about 40 miles away."
"Was he there?"
"No. But the metal container was."
My hands went cold.
"What was inside it?"
Detective Priya opened a folder.
"Cash. Old jewelry. Several watches. Documents. Some of the items were linked to a robbery that happened 18 years ago."
I stared at her.
"That makes no sense."
"The previous owner of your home had a son named Dean."
"Walter's son?"
She nodded.
"Dean was suspected of taking part in the robbery, but he was never charged. He disappeared a few months later."
