Rena picked up her sandwich. Looked out the big window. “It’s pretty dark,” she said. “How long do you think they’ll search?”
“I suspect most everyone will either self-elect to go or be sent home in a couple hours. They won’t want some tired civilian tripping over tree roots and breaking a neck. And then back at it at first light.”
“Maybe we’ll figure out where she is before that?” Rena said.
“Hope so. Eat up. We’ve got people to talk to.”
“It’s after 9:00. People are going to bed.”
“Then we’re going to wake some folks up.”
* * *
There were two three-story buildings. They started with the closest one. The ten-by-ten-inch window on the unlocked front door was filthy. Inside, the floor of the small lobby was covered with early fall leaves. The walls were a dirty gray and most of the graffiti was something that he wouldn’t have wanted his daughter to see. A.L. counted mailboxes. Twelve. That meant four apartments on each floor.
There was no elevator. Just thirteen dirty steps per level. Twenty-six steps later, he knocked on Apartment 312. Waited. Knocked again. Hard enough to shake the door. Nobody answered. Maybe they worked evenings or maybe they were out for a late dinner. Or maybe they didn’t want to answer the door. But he didn’t think so. There was absolutely no noise to indicate somebody was inside. They moved on. At 310, a middle-aged woman cautiously opened the door, maybe a foot or so.
“Detectives McKittridge and Morgan,” A.L. said. He and Rena both held their badges steady. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The door opened wider. Behind the woman, sitting on a couch, was a teenage boy with earphones on. When he saw the badges, he took off the earphones and looked a little spooked as if he thought they might have come for his pot stash. Their couch was old and sagged in the middle. The tables were scratched but the kid’s drink was sitting on a coaster. There was a healthy-looking red mum in a pot on the windowsill.
“May I have your names, ma’am?” Rena asked.
“Gloria Anderson,” she said. “This is my son, Conner Anderson.”
“Anybody else live in this apartment?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m divorced. I...hope you’re not here about my ex,” she added, with a quick glance at her son.
“No,” Rena said. “We’re investigating the disappearance of a five-year-old child from the Lakeside Learning Center, about two blocks over.”
“We both got the alert on our phones,” she said.
“Have you seen this child?” A.L. asked, holding out his cell phone.
Gloria looked at the picture. Motioned for her son to get up off the couch and look. Both shook their heads.
“Where were the two of you today?”
“Working,” the woman said. “At Price Lumber. I’m a bookkeeper. Conner was in school.”
“What school?” A.L. asked.
The woman looked surprised at the question. It was good to get basic details from everybody. They might not run every story down but at least they had it in case it became important later.
“Baywood High. He’s a sophomore. I dropped him off on my way to work, around 7:45. He’s a good boy, a good student.”
“That’s great, ma’am,” A.L. said. “How long have you lived here?”
“Four years.”
He was more interested in newcomers. He passed his card to the woman. “If you see this child or think of anything that might be important, I’d appreciate a call.”
“Of course.”
“One last question,” A.L. said. “We’re interested in talking to two young men, both white, one with brown hair, the other with red hair and an arm sleeve of tattoos. Does that description ring a bell?”
“No,” Gloria said.
“Mom,” Conner said. “I saw those guys. A couple days ago. On the corner.”
“Which corner?” A.L. asked.
“The corner of Wake Street and Clayton Avenue. The bus stops there.”
Clayton was the next street over. Wake was two blocks down. It was the closest bus stop to this area. And the really good news was that all the city buses were wired with video. “Do you recall what day and time that would have been?”
“I think it was Monday and it was after school. So maybe 4:00, 4:30.”
“Anybody with these two men?” Rena asked.
“I don’t think so. I mean, I wasn’t really paying attention to them but the one guy has really red hair. He’s hard to miss.”
“Okay. Thanks,” A.L. said. “If you happen to see these two men again, give me a call right away.”
“I will. Did they take that little girl?” the kid asked.
“We have no reason to believe that,” A.L. said. “But we’re talking to everybody who might have some information.”
Both the mom and the kid nodded, but A.L. didn’t think that either of them believed what he was saying. They lived in a world where if the cops were looking for you, it wasn’t good.
In the ten remaining apartments in the first building, eight doors were answered. They heard nothing of interest from anybody and nobody had seen the two men. The most recent move-in date was a nineteen-year-old girl who’d left her parents’ house nine months earlier. They passed out cards and instructions to call if the two guys happened to show up.
They walked outside and stood for a minute, breathing in the fresh air. A.L. took out his phone. “I’m going to have the video pulled from the city bus that runs this route. Everything from Monday through Wednesday.”
“We should get the descriptions to the guys looking at the Perv List.”
Otherwise known as the sexual offender registry. “Yeah,” A.L. said. “Good idea. I’ll take care of that.” He put his phone back into his pocket. “Let’s do this other building.”
Ten of twelve doors were answered. One couple had moved in less than a month ago, but both had jobs that they’d been at on Wednesday. Nobody had seen the two men.
“You think the kid was right?” Rena asked as they walked to their vehicle.
“Good kid. Good student.”
“That was according to his mom. What else is she going to say?”
“Right now, I don’t have any reason not to believe him,” A.L. said. “What’s to be gained from him telling us that he’d seen the guys?”