Page 143 of The Last Close Call

She ushered him inside, and he wiped his shoes on the welcome mat before stepping into the apartment. The place was only partially unpacked, and cardboard boxes lined the wall. The living area had wood floors and a sliding door that opened out onto a fourth-floor balcony. Bryan recognized some of the furniture from his original visit to her previous place.

“You want coffee?” she asked, leading him past a granite kitchen island. Today she wore a T-shirt and jeans, and her feet were bare.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Beside the breakfast table was a child-size easel with a big drawing pad propped on it. He glanced around.

“Bella’s not home,” she said, guessing his question. “She’s with her dad this weekend, so I’ve been knocking out chores.” She tipped her head to the side. “Do you by chance know Chinese?”

“Chinese?”

She smiled. “Today’s project.” She stepped into the living room, where a shelving unit lay flat on the rug.

Bryan walked over and surveyed the little pile of screws on the floor next to an unfolded instruction sheet.

“Those are the leftovers.”

He glanced up at her.

“But I don’t think I’m supposed to have so many extras.”

“Yeah, that’s probably not good.” He crouched down beside the shelving unit and set the file he’d brought with him on the rug.

“Where’d you get this thing?” he asked.

“It was on clearance online.” She came to stand beside him. “Guess now I know why.”

He spied a plastic bag underneath a piece of foam and tore it open.

“You forgot the feet,” he said.

“Oh. How did I miss those?”

He examined the shelf for a moment, then attached the four wooden feet to the bottom with the remaining screws. He set the shelf upright and stood up.

“Nice. Thank you.” She sighed. “And this is why I shouldn’t start projects at two in the morning.”

Bryan rested his hands on his hips and looked at the shelf. Then he turned to her. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah.” She pursed her lips, looking at the shelf instead of him. “It’s weird. I thought after the arrest, things might go back to normal. Or at least, more normal.”

Guilt needled him as he noticed how tired her eyes looked. She was already under stress, and his visit wasn’t going to help.

“So.” She turned to face him and crossed her arms. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” She glanced down at the manila folder he’d set on the floor.

Bryan scooped up the file. “You mind if we sit down?”

She led him to the kitchen island and pulled out a barstool. Bryan took the one beside it, feeling nervous now, although he wasn’t sure why. She’d asked him to keep her posted on this, and that’s what he was doing. But now he wondered if he should have left her alone.

“We executed a search warrant at William Anderson’s home.”

She gave a stiff nod and stared down at the folder, obviously dreading whatever he’d brought to show her.

“We recovered a stash of items that we believe belonged to some of the victims.”

The collection had been found deep inside the garage of the house Anderson shared with his girlfriend, Sheryl Mason, whose name was on the lease. Anderson’s souvenirs were discovered in a toolbox buried inside a big plastic bin filled with camping equipment—cookstoves, flashlights, tin dishes. The top tray of the toolbox was filled with nails and screws, but underneath was a treasure trove of evidence, including a set of car keys, a charm bracelet, a gym card.

A silver locket.

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