She sat across from me at the kitchen table.
“We found Mark’s truck,” she said.
“Where?”
“At a storage facility about 40 miles away.”
“Was he there?”
“No. But the metal container was.”
My hands went cold.
“What was inside it?”
Detective Priya opened a folder.
“Cash. Old jewelry. Several watches. Documents. Some of the items were linked to a robbery that happened 18 years ago.”
I stared at her.
“That makes no sense.”
“The previous owner of your home had a son named Dean.”
“Walter’s son?”
She nodded.
“Dean was suspected of taking part in the robbery, but he was never charged. He disappeared a few months later.”
“And the container was buried in my yard?”
“That is what we believe.”
I tried to understand how Mark fit into any of this.
“Did he know Dean?”
“We think so. Mark’s real name is Marcus.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Detective Priya continued.
I gripped the edge of the table.
“So he moved next door because he knew the money was here?”
“Possibly. He may have spent years trying to determine the exact location.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“He could have asked.”
“He may have feared you would contact the police.”
“He was right.”
Detective Priya gave me a sad smile.
“Yes.”
They found Mark that afternoon at a bus station. He had bought a ticket under another name and carried nearly $30,000 in cash.
I did not see him again until weeks later, when I attended a preliminary hearing.
He looked smaller in the courtroom.
His hair was uncombed. His shoulders sagged beneath the county-issued clothes. When he noticed me, shame crossed his face.
During a break, he asked his lawyer if he could speak to me.
I almost refused.
Then I realized I needed to hear him explain himself.
We stood several feet apart while an officer watched us.
“I’m sorry, Riley,” Mark said.
“Don’t call me that like we’re still neighbors.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I never meant to hurt you.”
“You destroyed my yard. You lied to my face. You made me wonder whether someone would come after me for whatever you stole.”
“I was desperate.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
He looked toward the courtroom doors.
“Dean told me about the container before he disappeared. I thought he was lying. Years later, I found one of his old maps. It pointed to your property.”
“So you moved next door.”
