I killed the engine.
Ahead rose a 70s-style, tan-brick building with windows on the top two floors and a main entrance approached by a covered walkway. An illuminated sign in front read TYRELL INDUSTRIES, the words fractured in the downpour. Landscaping consisted of a row of evergreen trees along the walk and encircling the building’s lower floor.
“There’s Lloyd.” Bandoni opened his door.
A fit-looking man in his midfifties wearing jeans and a navy-blue polar-fleece jacket stood just inside the door. He waved.
“Guy looks good,” Bandoni said. “Fucking real estate. The hell was I thinking?”
He got out and slammed the door.
I hesitated for just a second. Then I pulled my lock-picking kit from my pocket and replaced it with a couple of ammo magazines.
I got out. The rain was shifting to sleet; silver pellets dive-bombed the asphalt. The ammo mags slapped against my hip.
Bandoni stood on the walkway. “You coming?”
I pulled up my hood and ran after him, my pumps skidding on the slick concrete.
Lloyd pushed the door open and called Bandoni’s name. As soon as we were inside, he grabbed my partner’s hand and shook it vigorously.
“Damn good to see you, Len,” he said. “But you look like shit.”
“What I get, serving the public. How the hell are you, Lloyd?”
“Good. Great.” He eyeballed Bandoni’s gut, then looked at me. “He still eat like he’s hoping for a heart attack?”
“Total garbage disposal.” I dried my hands on my slacks and held out my right. “I’m Sydney Parnell.”
“Pleasure.” Lloyd’s handshake was warm and firm.
Bandoni said, “The rookie’s so new she don’t even know how to find the can yet.”
Lloyd slapped his hand to his heart in mock horror. “And they stuck her with you?”
“Nothing like learning from the master.”
Lloyd grinned at me. “Bet he’s got you going through the paces.”
“Like being on a treadmill,” I said.
“Well, Len’s the best. He’ll get you up and running in no time.” He stepped back. “Now, what is it you guys want to look at?”
“A couple of things,” Bandoni said. “We want to rifle through anything left by Water Resources. We heard there were cardboard boxes stored in two of their offices. We need to take a look.”
“Hmm.” Lloyd’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t recall any boxes. But then, I haven’t been in the building in months.”
“When did the new guys move in?”
“Oh, they’re not here yet.” He locked the front door and pocketed the keys, and we walked with him into the lobby. “Not until April. Tax day, actually.”
I said, “Really?” as a faint unease trickled into my stomach.
Bandoni had a handkerchief out and was drying his face. “The building’s been empty since Water Resources moved out?”
“Almost a month now.”
“And you haven’t had any issues?”
Lloyd came to a stop in the middle of the lobby, his gaze on Bandoni quizzical. “I’ve never had any trouble with this building. I get good renters, and it’s a quiet neighborhood. Bit off the beaten track. But.” He frowned and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I guess you never get over being a cop.”
Bandoni tucked the handkerchief away. “Which translates to what, exactly?”
“Since the place has been empty, I’ve had one of my security guys come by a couple of times a week. Walk the property. Rattle the doors.”
“Nothing ever caught his attention? Cars that shouldn’t be here? People?”
“Nope.” The frown had reached his eyes. “What kind of trouble you expecting to find?”
“None.” Bandoni sighed. “We’re just pounding the pavement, crossing some t’s for the reports.”
“Ah,” Lloyd said. “Thanks for reminding me why I quit.”
“You quit ’cause your wife’s parents dumped untold millions in your lap.”
The frown vanished. “Well, there is that.”
“So now that I feel like shit, let’s get back to business. You’re telling me no one has moved in since Water Resources moved out.”
“Right.”
“They ask you to hold on to anything?”
“Nope.”
“Which means everything in the building can be considered abandoned.”
Lloyd spread his hands. “I can sign a consent-to-search form if you want, but as far as I’m concerned, anything you want, you can have.” He laughed. “Of course, I’d rather you left the furniture.”
“I’ll send the movers home.” He scraped a palm over his chin. “Where did Water Resources have their offices?”
“Third floor. They wanted the view.” He pointed down a hallway. “Elevator’s down there. When you exit on the third floor, take a right, and go all the way to the end.”
“You’re not going to hold our hands?”
“With the likes of you? I’m going to hang out here and make phone calls.”
“Big-shot Realtor, huh?”
“You know it.” He rocked back on his heels and tapped Bandoni’s belly. “Sure you wouldn’t rather take the stairs?”
“You always were an asshole,” Bandoni said.
On the third floor, the elevator opened on to velvet darkness. I used the flashlight on my phone to find the light switch, and fluorescent bulbs hummed to life. A long, windowless hallway came into view. Following Lloyd’s directions, we turned right, opening doors as we went. Bathrooms. A janitor’s closet. Two conference rooms.
A door at the end of the hall opened on to a large space divided into cubicles by soft-sided partitions. We walked through the area, noting metal desks and empty filing cabinets that probably didn’t fit in with Water Resources’ upscale digs downtown. The desks held scattered paper clips and thumbtacks, rubber bands, and pencils worn down to nubs.
Some of the cubicles still had name plates on them. I found Noah’s office near a window.
A metal desk. Filing cabinet. I went through the drawers. Paper clips and thumbtacks and an entire box of mechanical pencils. I dropped to the floor and peered under the desk.
A piece of paper. I stretched out my hand and caught it with the tips of my fingers. I stood and set the paper on the desk.
It was a photo of Noah and Ami in front of a pavilion in the Denver Botanical Gardens. A foot of snow lay on the ground, and Noah and Ami wore bulky coats and
