Damon looked back down at the paperwork. “So, I guess I’d better get this filled in for you.”
“Thank you, just a few minor details, in case we need to get in touch again.” Casey answered as she tidied up her notes.
“It’s a good legacy to leave behind,” Casey said reassuringly, but shot me a look while Damon was busy writing and I could tell she thought I had pushed too hard. “All this volunteering that you do, we can see that Millie comes from a good family. It will certainly help us while we process the application.”
Damon handed over his form and Casey closed the folder. “Thank you for your time.”
After shaking his hand, we left the building, not saying a word until we entered the truck.
Once we closed the doors, I looked at Casey and could see she shared my thoughts.
“We have a new suspect.”
Chapter 15
The street was quiet, as was the apartment building.
Damon rented a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a Logan Square apartment block, a far cry from the house that he used to own and live in. The financial crisis was not kind to him. He lost his family home, his business, and all of his retirement plan.
After the loss of his wife, he was left with nothing. Not a cent to his name after a life of hard work.
Casey scoped out the third floor first, and when she didn’t find any activity, I followed her, scoping for cameras as I went. There were none, not that I expected to find any. Damon had mentioned that he would be at the Veterans Club until after 5pm, so we had time to have a thorough look around.
After a quick jimmy of the door lock, it swung wide open. Locks aren’t too hard to pick, if you know what you’re doing, that is, especially older ones. One simple twist with two pins, and the door pops open, with a little bit of practice, of course. And I’d done plenty over the years. I’d started early, over twenty years ago, with a simple ‘how to’ book on the subject and had progressed through all the various picking tools and innovations as they were developed and came on the market. Oftentimes when I sat watching the television, I’d be practicing on a new lock mechanism, working away at it with the tools of the trade until I could crack it in moments. It used to drive Claire bananas.
We stepped in quietly, hoping to find the television on, and Millie watching it safe and well.
There was one couch, faced towards the old television, one small wooden dining table, two chairs, and a sparsely filled kitchen. The bedroom and bathroom were the same—spotlessly cleaned, dustless, and perfectly ordered.
There were a group of children’s books on the bookshelf, toys in a box next to the television, and boxes of children’s breakfast cereal in the cupboard, but no sign that Millie was currently staying there.
“I’ve got nothing.” Casey walked into the kitchen where I was looking through a drawer. “Not even a bill to a new place.”
“I’m the same,” I replied, banging the drawer closed with frustration. “Nothing to indicate that he was planning this, nothing to show that he researched it, and nothing to show that he has any connections to any old repair shops.”
Casey sighed sympathetically.
“Wrong guy?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “But I’m not wiping him off the list yet. He has the motive to do this.”
We checked once more through all the drawers, looking for a bill or a notice of rent for another place, anything that might suggest he had somewhere else to keep Millie, but again, we came up short.
Casey gave up and flopped down onto the sofa.
“There’s nothing here, Jack. What’s our next move?”
At that moment, we heard a knock on the apartment door.
We froze, our eyes locking on to the door.
“Damon, is that you?” An elderly woman’s voice called out. “Damon? I heard noises from your apartment, and you haven’t been around this week. And you haven’t returned my calls.”
We didn’t respond, barely moving, barely breathing.
She knocked again.
“You’ve missed the rent again this week.” The lady called out. “You’ve got until Friday to pay it. I know things are tight, but you can’t keep missing rent. I’ve been reasonable with you and I want to help, really I do, but I can’t give you beyond Friday, ok? This time it has to be paid, in full. Otherwise I’ve got no choice but to pursue eviction. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want you out on the street. But I’m not a charity either, understand? I still have bills to pay.”
Casey and I looked at each other. Financial troubles were certainly on his list of motives.
When we heard the light footsteps walk back down the hall, we exhaled.
“Let’s wrap this up,” I whispered to Casey. “Get out before she comes back with the keys.”
Quietly, we snuck back out of the building, taking the stairs and out the back entrance.
We walked to my truck parked a block away, our minds too busy racing through the possible scenarios to discuss it out loud.
We got in and sat quietly in the truck, not going anywhere, not talking, just staring into the nothingness.
“Do you think they’ll hurt her?” Casey finally broke the silence.
“I don’t know.” My hand gripped the steering wheel. “I don’t even want to think about it. That innocent girl doesn’t deserve any pain.”
I banged my fist on the steering wheel, causing Casey to jump.
“I really thought we
