No amount of hand strength was going to beat iron made for security.

My thoughts went to the dark garage, to the heavy steel bolt cutters Arthur had bought years ago for snipping thick fence wire.

They were still lying under the long wooden workbench behind the paint cans, tucked in the dry spot where the rain couldn’t get at them.

I unbuttoned my heavy wool coat and spread it over the top of the chain-link gate to keep the rain off Benji’s head.

“Stay right there on that dry wood,” I told him.