“This is private property,” Patricia said.

“Now it’s evidence, ma’am,” Bell said.

The metal bit through.

The shackle snapped and dropped onto the floorboards with a flat clack.

The door swung open on a smell of paper and cedar.

A shoebox of old receipts sat on the floor, and above it the shelf was jammed with brown envelopes.

Bell held out an arm.

“No one touches anything.” Inside, a black canvas deposit bag leaned against a cardboard box.