Maybe Ronald Clayton once had a basement workshop. Sure as hell couldn’t tell from the look of the place now. The Arab’s wrecking crew had done their thing down here too—maybe they’d started here. They’d torn out the dropped ceiling, ripped the paneling from the walls, dismantled the furniture, and sliced up the cushions. He saw what looked like a disemboweled mattress and box spring, so he guessed there must have been a bed down here too.

Jack kicked through the debris and found miscellaneous electronic equipment—circuit boards, memory chips, and the like—but if they’d found a working computer, he was sure they’d carried it off to where they could inspect its hard drive down to the last byte.

He also came across some old, rusted-looking track lighting fixtures and noticed the oversize bulb holders. Doc Clayton must have liked it bright down here.

Jack poked around a little longer, then went back upstairs. He found Alicia in the dining room where he’d left her, standing by the pile of debris, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, looking ready to jump out of her skin.

“Find anything?” she said.

“Just another pile like this.”

“I… I’m sorry I couldn’t go down with you,” she said, not looking at him. “It’s just…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I wasn’t going to. I’m just telling you that this is the way I am right now, and there’s not a lot I can do about it.”

“Okay.” Just as well, he thought. This wasn’t the time or place for an explanation. “Then we’ll have to work around it.”

She spread her hands toward the carnage. “Are we wasting our time?”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “But I know some things about hiding stuff, maybe a thing or two they don’t. One thing I do know is that you tend to hide your most valuable stuff close to you, where you can keep an eye on the hiding place, and get to it quick if you need it.” He looked at her. “Where was your father’s bedroom?”

“Upstairs.”

“Any problem with going upstairs?”

“No. My room used to be up there.”

Jack led the way, with Alicia directing him. A left at the top of the stairs took them to the master bedroom.

Maybe it had been masculine-looking, maybe it had still retained feminine touches from the days when Alicia’s mother had lived here. All guesswork now. The room had been stripped to the walls; whatever once might have lent it character or personality now lay in a heap in the center of the floor.

He spotted a sledgehammer and a couple of crowbars leaning near a particularly damaged area of the wall in the far corner. He crossed the room for a closer look.