I reached into my canvas bag and took out the brass key tagged 1994, laying it on top of the blue folder.

The silver ring on my thumb clicked against the metal as I turned it twice.

“The padlocked basement door is exhibit number three,” Morales said, writing eight digits across the top of her pad.

“The municipal court clerk will stamp the summons at nine thirty tomorrow morning.”

“Will Richard be served in person?” I asked.

“A sheriff’s deputy will hand the papers to him right at 412 Maple Street,” Dalton said, lowering his glasses to look over the top of them.

“He has until Thursday morning to respond.”