Page 187 of Devil’s Disciples

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Smelled like he just decontaminated it. Probably mopped blood off the floor and cleaned it with bleach and Pine-Sol.”

“I can’t stand the smell of cleaning products,” I said. “Surprised you could smell shit, with that broken nose.”

“I can smell, it’s just, I don’t know, different.”

Because the smelly bedroom was the only thing that stood out as being suspicious about the entire home, I decided I wanted to smell it for myself.

“Let’s go up there,” I said. “I want to smell it.”

He turned toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”

I followed him up the stairs and into the room. As soon as we stepped inside, it was clear to me what the smell was. The room was freshly painted.

“It’s paint,” I said. “He just painted it.”

A quick check of the room’s trim revealed he’d painted only one wall – the one directly behind the bed’s headboard – and that he’d painted it the same color.

“Why the fuck would he paint only one wall,” I asked, not necessarily expecting an answer.

I touched the wall with the tip of my finger. The paint was dry. The room had only a faint hint of the paint’s smell, but the lack of air movement – from the air conditioner being set to an away setting – caused the smell to be more prominent.

I stared blankly at the wall.

Then, it came to me.

“All the tools are in the SUV?” I asked.

“That’s where Baker wanted them, why?”

“I need a stud finder. Is that on the list?”

He nodded. “There’s one in there. A digital DeWalt. Why?”

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

I ran to the SUV, got the stud finder out of the tool kit, and ran back to the room. When I got there, Baker, Goose, and Tito were bitching about the home being bare of anything valuable.

I looked at the men and grinned. “If I’m right on this, we’ll need a few sledgehammers and a couple of keyhole saws.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Baker asked.

“Gimme a minute,” I said. “Hopefully I’m right.”

I pressed the stud finder to the wall at the bed’s side. A standard sheet of sheetrock registered on the digital screen.

I jumped onto the bed and pressed the tool to the wall behind the headboard. The screen registered that there was three inches of wood behind the wall. I moved it over three feet. The same thing registered.

My heart raced.

I moved over five feet and checked again.

According to the readout, three inches of wood was concealed behind the freshly painted sheetrock. The scanner couldn’t discern three inches of tightly-packed money from three inches of wood.

My hope was that he’d hidden everything behind the wall.

“Grab some hammers and as many saws as you can carry,” I said excitedly. “Everything’s behind this sheetrock.”