Arthur Delbury had spent most of the night staring at Henry Whitlock's handwriting.
Not because there was something unusual about it.
Because there wasn't.
Henry had written the way he had lived.
Carefully.
Methodically.
Never wasting a word.
Arthur turned another page.
A list of names.
Then another.
Addresses.
Dates.
Short notes beside some of them.
A few had been crossed out.
Others had been circled.
One had been underlined three times.
Arthur had already read the papers several times.
Still, something was missing.
He knew it.
The evidence was there.
Henry had left it behind.
But Arthur had not yet understood what he was looking at.
He picked up the brass key.
W-17.
He turned it between his fingers.
The key wasn't particularly large.
No ornate markings.
No obvious manufacturer's stamp.
Only the inscription.
W-17.
Arthur placed it beside Henry's papers.
Then he looked at the first list again.
The first name had an address beside it.
