Chapter 51
Friday afternoon
JP’s stops that morning had given him exactly what he was starting to expect. Nothing.
The duplex on Peach Avenue had been sold twice in six years and was now occupied by a retired couple who answered every question with suspicion instead of substance.
The four-unit building off Mollison had a new manager, new paint, and no memory older than fourteen months.
By two-thirty he had heat, dust, and two more addresses crossed off.
He drove to the third one. It sat at the end of a narrow street behind an overgrown hedge and a chain-link gate hanging slightly off-center. A front house faced the road. Two smaller units sat in back, reached by a cracked driveway wide enough for one careful car.
This one felt like a good possibility. The kind of place nobody advertised, and nobody bragged about.
A teenage boy sat on the front steps bouncing a basketball hard enough to annoy neighbors. He looked about seventeen with a stringy build. His earbuds were in, and he wore a shirt advertising a band he probably didn’t listen to.
JP got out and waited until the ball came back to the kid’s hands. “Good afternoon.”
The boy looked him over. “I guess.”
JP showed his card. “Do you live here?”
“My mom manages the place.”
“Then you’re exactly who I was hoping for.”
That earned a half-smile.
JP pulled out a photo of Todd Maddox. “Do you know this guy?”
The boy nodded. “Yeah.”
JP stayed casual. “How?”
“He fixed a window in the back apartment last year. He broke the first one carrying it in, then acted like he was a hero for fixing it.”
“Which back apartment?”
He pointed past the driveway. “The far one.”
“Did he come more than once?”
“Couple times, maybe.”
“For work?”
“I don’t know. He talked to everybody like he knew them.”
JP brought out Bay’s photo.
“What about her? Have you ever seen her?”
The boy was quick again. “She lived there.”
Finally! He tried to keep his tone casual. “Is she still living there?”
“No. She’s gone.”
“Who else lived there?”
“Another girl. A pretty blonde about the same age, maybe. I think they were sisters. They lived with their dad.”
“How do you know he was their dad?”
The teenager looked puzzled. “I don’t, I guess. I just assumed cuz he acted like a dad.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Normal.”
“That’s helpful,” JP said.
The kid grinned. “You know what I mean. Just average. Medium height, not overweight, dressed like an older guy.”
Whatever that meant.
“Did the girls ever talk to you?”
“No. They didn’t really talk to anyone. Neither did the old man. They were all a little weird. They never answered questions. My friends would say hi, ask if they went to school, whatever. Nothing.”
“Maybe they were smart.”
“Maybe.”
JP glanced toward the back unit. “Did they ever have visitors?”
“Not unless you count Todd.”
“So, he talked to them?”
“He tried to.” The kid snorted. “He thought he was smoother than he was.”
“How many times did he come here?”
“Twice, as far as I know. Once to fix the window, and then he came back, but they didn’t seem to want to talk to him. He could’ve come more, but that’s all I saw.”
“Do you know the girls’ names?”
“I asked a couple of times, but they wouldn’t say. So, I quit asking.”
“That’s fair,” JP said. “Is your mom around?”
“She’s at work till three.”
“Do you think she’d know the renter’s name?”
“I’m sure she would. It’s probably in the records she keeps.”
“Do you think she’d mind if we looked?”
“She minds everything.”
“Can you be persuaded?”
The boy looked at him hopefully. JP handed him twenty dollars. The boy pocketed it so fast the bill barely existed.
“Come on.”
He led JP through the side door into a cramped office off the laundry room. Shelves held mismatched folders, old receipts, appliance manuals, and enough loose paper to document a small war.
“My mom says she’s organized,” the boy said.
“I bet she knows where everything is.”
They dug through a milk crate labeled RENTALS. The boy found a stack of handwritten receipts bound by a rubber band.
“Back unit, back unit…” He flipped pages. “Here.”
JP leaned over. They were all monthly cash payments, no check numbers, and no forwarding address. JP also noticed the rent included utilities, so there would be no utility bills.
The tenant was listed as David Rainer. That was a different surname than Rourke had given from the Oceanside lead. But a smart guy would use a different alias each time he moved.
“How long did they live here?” JP asked.
The boy checked dates. “Almost a year.”
“When did they leave?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Was it sudden?”
“Mom was mad they didn’t give notice.”
“Where’d they go?”
“No clue.”
JP photographed every receipt with permission the boy had no authority to give. Then he looked at the date range again. A year here. Before that, somewhere else. And always paying rent on time. Always moving. But this time, he’d only left with one of the girls. JP still hoped to find the other.