“Look,” Leo said, his voice dropping to that slow, steady cadence he used when he was thinking about machines.
He pointed a small finger at the metal plate surrounding the brass dial.
I stopped my hand, holding the spray bottle of blue cleaner against my apron.
Just below the keyhole, a deep, jagged scratch cut through the brass polish, exposing the dull gray metal underneath. It looked fresh, the fine metal shavings still clinging to the edge of the groove.
“Someone used a hardened steel tool,” Leo said, his eyes staying on the mark. “It was too hard for the brass.”
My hand went to my left wrist, my thumb rubbing the bare skin where my husband’s silver watch used to sit.
“Do not touch it, Leo,” I whispered, looking back toward the double doors of the office.
“It is deep,” Leo said, standing perfectly still with his hands tucked behind his back.
At eight o’clock, the building was mostly dark, and the scent of citrus pine disinfectant followed me down the concrete stairs to the basement.
