Chapter 9 - Someone Found the Hiding Place Before Malcolm ReturnedMalcolm called the police before leaving the hotel.
This time, he didn't treat family secrecy as something to protect.
The house had been entered.
A hidden object belonging to Harrison had been taken.
Detective Naomi Pierce arrived with two officers.
The garage showed no obvious forced entry.
The security system had been disarmed using a valid code.
"How many people have codes?" Pierce asked.
Malcolm thought.
"Too many."
"List them."
"Me. Cassandra. Declan had one. Cordelia. Two senior staff members. Walter Keene may still have an emergency code."
Cassandra looked at him.
"Why would Walter have your house code?"
"Dad gave him access years ago."
Detective Pierce did not look impressed.
"Change all of them."
"Already happening."
The hamster cage sat on a workbench.
Its plastic bottom panel had been pried open.
Harrison had hidden the small metal key beneath a layer of cardboard.
Gone.
"Who knew?" Pierce asked.
"Me. Harrison."
"Cordelia?"
"She knew there was a key, not where."
"Cassandra?"
"Only after Harrison told me."
Cassandra nodded.
"Declan?"
Malcolm hesitated.
"Harrison said Declan asked about the hamster cage."
Detective Pierce wrote that down.
"Any chance your son moved it?"
"No."
"We'll ask him once, gently."
Malcolm nodded.
The photograph sent to Cassandra had been taken inside the garage.
That meant the sender wanted them to know the object was gone.
"What's the key open?" Pierce asked.
"We don't know."
She stared.
"You've built quite a story around an unknown key."
"I know."
"What might it open?"
"Something connected to my father's ledger."
"Where's the ledger?"
"Also missing."
Detective Pierce sighed.
"Start from the beginning."
Two hours later, she understood enough to request preservation orders for security logs and some financial records.
Not because she accepted a conspiracy.
Because there was evidence of unauthorized entry.
Potential forged documents.
And a suspicious message.
Harrison arrived with Ethan only after the garage had been processed.
Malcolm hugged him.
"Did you move the key?"
"No."
"Did anyone know where you put it?"
Harrison shook his head.
Then stopped.
"Maybe."
Malcolm's heart tightened.
"Who?"
"Uncle Declan."
"Did you tell him?"
"No."
"What happened?"
Harrison thought.
"When Mr. Pickles died, Uncle Declan helped me clean the cage."
Cassandra swore softly.
"Did he see the hiding place?"
"I don't know."
"Did Grandpa give you the key before or after?"
"After."
Malcolm frowned.
Then Declan could know the cage had a removable base but not necessarily that the key was there.
Detective Pierce asked:
"Did anyone else help with the cage?"
"Mr. Keene."
Malcolm stared.
"Walter?"
"He came to see Dad."
"When?"
"A few months ago."
"Why was he in the garage?"
"He said he was looking for golf clubs."
Malcolm closed his eyes.
The family attorney seemed to be everywhere.
Detective Pierce continued gently.
"Did Mr. Keene touch the cage?"
Harrison nodded.
"He said Grandpa used to hide things in weird places."
Malcolm looked at Cassandra.
Walter had asked Harrison about notebooks at the funeral.
He knew Frederick's hiding habits.
Maybe he knew more than Declan.
That evening, Julian Morse obtained access logs from the house security provider.
Someone disarmed the system at 2:14 p.m.
Declan had arrived at 2:11.
Rearmed at 2:58.
Then disarmed again at 6:43.
Malcolm frowned.
"I wasn't home until after eight."
"Who used the second entry?"
Julian looked at the code.
"WK-04."
Walter Keene.
The room went silent.
Cassandra whispered:
"He came back."
Security footage from exterior cameras showed Walter's sedan arriving.
He entered through the side door.
Stayed eleven minutes.
Left.
That was before Harrison opened Cordelia's bag.
Before the scream.
Before Cassandra arrived.
Walter had been in the house at nearly the exact time the key could have been taken.
Malcolm called him.
Julian stopped him.
"Speaker. Record if legally permitted."
They confirmed local rules and proceeded.
Walter answered pleasantly.
"Malcolm."
"Where were you at six forty-three tonight?"
Silence.
"Why?"
"My security system says you entered my house."
Walter exhaled.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Declan called me."
Malcolm looked at Cassandra.
"What did he say?"
"That he had left papers in Frederick's old study and asked me to retrieve them."
"Did you?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me you were there?"
"I didn't realize it mattered."
"Did you enter the garage?"
Pause.
"No."
Malcolm stared at Julian.
"Did you search Harrison's room?"
"No."
"Did you touch Cordelia's bag?"
"No."
"Did you know Dad had a ledger?"
Long silence.
Walter finally said:
"Malcolm, I think we need to meet."
"Answer."
"I knew Frederick kept personal notebooks."
"Did you ask Harrison about them after the funeral?"
Another pause.
"I may have."
"Why?"
"Probate inventory."
"Why ask an eight-year-old?"
Walter's voice sharpened.
"You're implying something dangerous."
"I'm asking questions."
"You should stop doing that over the phone."
Malcolm almost laughed.
Then Walter said:
"There's something you don't know about your father."
Everyone in the room went still.
"What?"
"Frederick wasn't investigating forged signatures."
"Then what was he doing?"
"He was trying to cover them up."
Malcolm stared.
Walter continued.
"Your father started this entire system years before Declan ever became trustee."
"Evidence?"
"I have it."
"Then send it."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because if I send it, you won't understand context."
Malcolm's voice became cold.
"You're done deciding what I understand."
Walter sighed.
"Meet me tomorrow morning."
"Where?"
"My office."
"No."
"Then choose somewhere."
Malcolm looked at Julian.
Julian shook his head.
Not yet.
Before Malcolm could respond, Walter said:
"One more thing."
"What?"
"If you found Cordelia's list, don't assume red means victim."
"We know."
"No."
Walter's voice lowered.
"You don't."
Then he said:
"Ask Cordelia why your father's signature appears on a transfer that moved twelve million dollars out of the Hartwell Trust."
The line went dead.
Malcolm turned toward Cordelia.
Her face had gone pale.
Again.
"Do you know what he's talking about?"
She whispered:
"Yes."
"Did Dad transfer twelve million?"
"No."
"Then who did?"
Cordelia looked at the floor.
"Your mother."
Malcolm stopped breathing.
May you like
Joanna Hartwell had been dead twelve years.
And suddenly a crime he thought began three years ago stretched back more than a decade.
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