The teenager looked away.
The lieutenant waited.
Finally:
“The code was in association emergency records.”
The father, sitting twenty feet away, heard that.
His expression changed.
There were no HOA emergency records containing his lockbox code.
The only place the current code existed outside his own memory was a text message he had sent to one person three weeks earlier.
His daughter.
She had needed to let a plumber into the garage while he was at work.
The father’s stomach tightened.
The county lieutenant continued:
“Show me those records.”
“I don’t have them here.”
“Where are they?”
“Association office.”
“Digital?”
“Some.”
“Who maintains them?”
“I do.”
The lieutenant wrote.
Then interviewed the teenager.
His mother tried to remain present.
The lieutenant said:
“He’s seventeen.”
“You’re his parent.”
“Yes.”
“He can have you here.”
The teenager looked toward his mother.
Then said:
“I want her over there.”
Silence.
The woman stared.
“What?”
The lieutenant asked the boy:
“You want to speak without your mother?”
He nodded.
The mother’s face became pale.
The lieutenant directed another officer to remain within sight.
Then moved the boy several yards away.
The father could not hear the conversation.
He did not try.
Twenty minutes later, the lieutenant returned to the chief.
“Your spare code.”
The father nodded.
“What about it?”
“Who knew it?”
“My daughter.”
“Anyone else?”
“Plumber got temporary access but never had the code directly. She opened it for him.”
“Did your daughter share it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is she?”
“At her grandmother’s.”
“Can we call?”
“Yes.”
The father phoned his daughter.
Speaker only after asking.
She answered.
“Dad?”
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“I need to ask something.”
“Okay.”
“Did you give our garage lockbox code to anyone?”
“No.”
“Anyone in the HOA?”
“What?”
“No.”
“Did anyone ask?”
Pause.
Then:
“The HOA lady’s son did.”
The father became still.
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
“Why?”
“He messaged me asking how the garage package box worked.”
The father frowned.
“How does he have your number?”
“School.”
The HOA president’s son attended the same high school.
Different grade.
His daughter continued:
“He said his mom wanted to know because she was recommending lockboxes for neighborhood deliveries.”
“Did you send him the code?”
“No.”
“I sent a picture of the box because he asked what model.”
The father closed his eyes.
A picture.
Did it show anything?
His daughter added:
“But then he asked if the default code still worked.”
The lieutenant leaned closer.
The father asked:
“What default?”
“The model uses the last four digits of the serial number until you change it.”
“I changed it.”