81: The raccoon scrambled out of the bathroom, down the hall, and disappeared out the front door, which still hung open at the front of the mobile home.
Sarah jumped back, an embarrassed look on her face. “Come on, that didn’t scare you? Not even a little?”
“I’m trembling on the inside,” Porter told her, trying to suppress a smile.
He reached back for the doorknob, twisted, and opened the door on the left side of the narrow hallway.
A small bedroom.
Empty, but for some broken beer bottles piled up in the corner. The window was boarded over, busted out like the others at the front of the house.
Porter turned to the door on the right. “If there’s another raccoon, I’ll protect you.”
“My hero.”
He opened the door.
Another bedroom, this one furnished.
A full-size bed flanked by two nightstands occupied the left wall. On the opposite wall was a closet with what were once mirrored doors. Both had been smashed long ago, the pressboard beneath covered in graffiti. The drawers from the nightstand had been removed. Two were missing. The other two were in the closet, stacked in the corner. The mattress on the bed was stained an assortment of colors, none of which Porter could identify. The room smelled of mold and mildew, stale air.
“Nobody has been in here for a long time,” Sarah said. “That mattress might even be too gross for kids.”
“Never underestimate the power of a teenage boy’s hormones. This is like a penthouse when you’re sixteen.”
“I can’t imagine someone actually living here. This was someone’s home at one point.”
Porter went to the drawers in the closet, lifted the one on top—both empty. The dresser on the wall beside the door had been ransacked too. Three of the drawers were missing. His mind drifted back to the diary, to Bishop’s mother pulling out these same drawers in search of something.
He said, “Look to the place where the monsters hide, Detective. That’s where you’ll find answers.”
“What?”
“That’s what she told me, back at the prison.”
“Monsters hide under the bed,” Sarah said.
Porter lifted the mattress, forcing it up and leaning it against the wall with a grunt. The cloth of the box spring beneath had either rotted or been carted away by something for nesting. There was little left but ragged edges along the wood frame. “When I was a kid, I used to hide all the good stuff under my mattress, monsters or not.”
Sarah ran the beam of her flashlight over the box spring. “By good stuff, if you mean dust bunnies and more beer bottles, you’ve struck gold. What exactly are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure,” Porter admitted. “In the diary there was a large beige metal box under here.”
“Well, it’s gone now.”
Porter lifted the box spring and leaned it up against the mattress on the wall, then knelt. He ran his fingers over the floorboards, under the beam of his light. “The floorboards are uneven.”
“This whole place is uneven.”
“They’ve been pulled up, then put back.”
Sarah crouched down next to him. “I think the bad guys in the diary would have checked that, don’t you?”
“Maybe it was done later. I need a screwdriver.”
“If you think I packed a screwdriver before heading out on this little outing, you clearly don’t know me. I’m thrilled when I remember my iPhone charger—something I just realized I left on my desk.”
Porter pried at the boards with his fingers but couldn’t get a good grip. “What about the car keys?”
“Those I do have.” Sarah pulled the keys from her pocket and handed them to him.
He set his flashlight down on the floor, and Sarah pointed her beam at the boards as he worked the key into the small space between two of them. At first there was no give, then they both heard a pop as the first of three boards separated from the floor. He pulled it out and set it aside, then tugged at the next board. This one came out easily, as did the next. He removed five in all, creating an opening about two feet square.
Porter took his flashlight and shined the beam down into the hole.
“What do you see?”
He reached inside, pulled out a sleeping bag, and handed it to Sarah. “Looks like camping gear. There’s another sleeping bag and a backpack.”
He reached back in and retrieved the other two items, then searched the space again to be sure he didn’t miss anything. “That’s it.”
Sarah tugged at the backpack zipper.
“Hold on a second,” Porter said. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and handed them to her. “Put those on first.”
She frowned. “Do you honestly think this is evidence? It’s probably just kids again. One of the smarter ones hid his own bed so he wouldn’t have to make his prom princess lie down on that filthy mattress.”
“Best to be safe until we know for sure.” Porter put on a pair of his own.
Sarah slipped on the gloves and went back to work on the zipper. “It’s rusty, doesn’t want to move.” She grimaced and it finally gave, opening with a metallic rip.
Stale, musty air came out of the bag. The scent of something worse came up from the bottom.
“You better let me do that,” Porter told her, reaching for the backpack.
Porter shined his light down inside while trying to breathe through his mouth. Then he began removing items from the center pocket of the bag, placing them in a row on the floor. When the bag was empty, he leaned back, studying the items under the light.
“Why does it smell so bad?”
“Water got in at some point, recently I’d guess. Everything’s rotted, stagnant. It’s been down there a long time,” Porter replied.
He counted six shirts, four pairs of jeans, socks, and undergarments, both men’s and women’s. The clothes were damp, the material crumbling under his touch. One of the socks was balled up, the end folded in on itself. Doing his best not to damage the material, Porter pulled it open and smoothed it out, revealing a bulge, something inside the sock.
He exchanged a look with Sarah, reached in, grasped the contents, and set it on the floor.
Porter’s heart thudded in his chest. “Get a picture.”
Sarah nodded and raised the camera.
A locket, small, gold-plated, on a chain along with a rusty key. After Sarah got a picture, Porter pried the locket open. Although it contained a photograph, the image was faded and lost. On the inside were the initials L.M.
Sarah photographed that too.