Chapter 11: The Safe

Bram left for the tower at eight on Monday morning, kissed me on the forehead, and told me to eat something.

I waited until the elevator had closed behind him.

Then I took the Hopper print off the study wall.

The safe behind it was a gray steel box the size of a bread bin, with a keypad and a key lock.

Pavel had been a locksmith before he was anything else.

He had taught me the key lock when I was nineteen, over a card table in his shop, with the radio playing.

I took two thin picks from the lining of my boot.

It took four minutes.

The door swung open on a shelf of papers, and I felt almost sorry for how easy it had been.

The top folder held ledgers, with columns of numbers and a company name I didn't know written over and over.

Shell invoices.

Each one was flagged with a yellow tab.

Torben's signature was on every page.

This was what Pavel wanted.

I set it aside on the desk.

Under it lay a second folder, thinner, in a plain brown cover.

I almost didn't open it.

There was no label.

Something told me to open it anyway.

The first page was a police report from the Chicago Police Department.

HOMICIDE. CORWIN, HENRY J., 35.

The date was Tuesday, October 12, five years ago.

The location was the parking garage on Rush Street.

I read the line twice, and my pulse began to climb.

I turned the page.

There was a diagram of a parking structure, hand-drawn in blue ink.

An X marked the north stairwell on the third level.

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