anything yet, unless there’s—”
“Unless there’s evidence of a crime. I know. But how would we know if there’s evidence without looking?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it and breathed out through his nose. “Five minutes. Then we have to go.”
They spent the next twenty minutes scouring the apartment, looking for clues. Abby had long given up hope, but wasn’t going to quit until Robert—Officer Delano’s first name—made her.
But apparently Robert hadn’t given up, and was indeed looking for clues: “Whoa,” he said, placing a hand across her chest.
She looked down at it, then at him.
If she had been topless, she wouldn’t have had to worry about indecent exposure, for his arm rested neatly atop those bits.
He apparently didn’t notice, and was staring at a spot right near the bed, almost under it.
Abby backed up and his hand fell away. “Dirt?”
“A footprint. Could be nothing, but—”
“But it also could be something.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Looks too big to be yours. Where are his shoes?”
Abby gestured to the closet, and he went over and grabbed a shoe from it.
“This guy’s a minimalist. All he had.” He waved the sandal around in the air, then crouched down and put it next to the print. It was close, but off enough to give the impression that it wasn’t Ecks’s.
“Hmm,” he said, still squatting. “Not quite.” He stood. “You happen to have a camera? I’d like to take some photos, just in case, and my phone’s crap.”
“I have my phone. It takes good pictures.”
“Take a few of that, then text them to me.”
She did.
“All right then,” he said when she was finished, looking at the pictures on his phone. “Now we need to go, see if you can recognize anyone.”
“A lineup?”
He let out a laugh as he walked to the closest to put the sandal back. “No, Jesus. Just looking through some photos on the computer, see if any stand out.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“Not statistically. A lot of crimes are committed by someone the victim has seen in the past, or interacts with on a daily basis.”
Abby shrugged. “Lead on.”
She spotted the keys to Ecks’s car on the way out. They were on the floor, to the side of the door. She pointed to them. “Look.”
Robert came back inside to see what she was pointing at. “Keys.”
Abby nodded.
“Keys… near the front door, on the floor. Not a place most people would leave them.”
“What do we do?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s enough to get someone out here.” He bit his lip as he thought. He looked back through the apartment, toward the bedroom, then let his gaze drift to where the keys were. Finally, shaking his head, he said, “That’s strange. Okay, let’s get to the station. Lock up here—No! Don’t. Leave ‘em where they are.” He twisted the little lock on the bottom door handle. “We’ll leave everything as it is. Once we get to the station, I’ll see what I can do.”
He shut the door behind them as they exited into the hall.
“That’s two things now, plus the fact that we know someone’s after me. How’s that not enough?”
“A footprint and keys on the floor. Not exactly a smoking gun.”
They left the building, and Abby looked around outside as they walked to his patrol car. She didn’t know what she was looking for, and, surprisingly, didn’t find it.
She sat up front, contemplating all that had happened in the past few days as they drove to the station. Summer, Soren had said. Like that summer. What could he mean? Only one thing, really.
She needed to talk to him. As soon as she could get away from Officer Robert, she’d try calling him. But why had he mentioned his phone being out of minutes? Was that a warning? Was she overthinking this, or under? Which was worse?
…
A few hours later, Abby finished looking at the photos—no one she knew—and recounted as much as she could remember to a new detective, Robert’s shift having ended.
“Unless there’s evidence of a crime. I know. But how would we know if there’s evidence without looking?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it and breathed out through his nose. “Five minutes. Then we have to go.”
They spent the next twenty minutes scouring the apartment, looking for clues. Abby had long given up hope, but wasn’t going to quit until Robert—Officer Delano’s first name—made her.
But apparently Robert hadn’t given up, and was indeed looking for clues: “Whoa,” he said, placing a hand across her chest.
She looked down at it, then at him.
If she had been topless, she wouldn’t have had to worry about indecent exposure, for his arm rested neatly atop those bits.
He apparently didn’t notice, and was staring at a spot right near the bed, almost under it.
Abby backed up and his hand fell away. “Dirt?”
“A footprint. Could be nothing, but—”
“But it also could be something.”
He nodded. “Yeah. Looks too big to be yours. Where are his shoes?”
Abby gestured to the closet, and he went over and grabbed a shoe from it.
“This guy’s a minimalist. All he had.” He waved the sandal around in the air, then crouched down and put it next to the print. It was close, but off enough to give the impression that it wasn’t Ecks’s.
“Hmm,” he said, still squatting. “Not quite.” He stood. “You happen to have a camera? I’d like to take some photos, just in case, and my phone’s crap.”
“I have my phone. It takes good pictures.”
“Take a few of that, then text them to me.”
She did.
“All right then,” he said when she was finished, looking at the pictures on his phone. “Now we need to go, see if you can recognize anyone.”
“A lineup?”
He let out a laugh as he walked to the closest to put the sandal back. “No, Jesus. Just looking through some photos on the computer, see if any stand out.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“Not statistically. A lot of crimes are committed by someone the victim has seen in the past, or interacts with on a daily basis.”
Abby shrugged. “Lead on.”
She spotted the keys to Ecks’s car on the way out. They were on the floor, to the side of the door. She pointed to them. “Look.”
Robert came back inside to see what she was pointing at. “Keys.”
Abby nodded.
“Keys… near the front door, on the floor. Not a place most people would leave them.”
“What do we do?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s enough to get someone out here.” He bit his lip as he thought. He looked back through the apartment, toward the bedroom, then let his gaze drift to where the keys were. Finally, shaking his head, he said, “That’s strange. Okay, let’s get to the station. Lock up here—No! Don’t. Leave ‘em where they are.” He twisted the little lock on the bottom door handle. “We’ll leave everything as it is. Once we get to the station, I’ll see what I can do.”
He shut the door behind them as they exited into the hall.
“That’s two things now, plus the fact that we know someone’s after me. How’s that not enough?”
“A footprint and keys on the floor. Not exactly a smoking gun.”
They left the building, and Abby looked around outside as they walked to his patrol car. She didn’t know what she was looking for, and, surprisingly, didn’t find it.
She sat up front, contemplating all that had happened in the past few days as they drove to the station. Summer, Soren had said. Like that summer. What could he mean? Only one thing, really.
She needed to talk to him. As soon as she could get away from Officer Robert, she’d try calling him. But why had he mentioned his phone being out of minutes? Was that a warning? Was she overthinking this, or under? Which was worse?
…
A few hours later, Abby finished looking at the photos—no one she knew—and recounted as much as she could remember to a new detective, Robert’s shift having ended.
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