Page 33 of By Sin To Atone

“Spencer. Mitch Spencer. He’s no longer employed at the property, but I’ve got someone looking into his whereabouts.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Pick me up. I’ll go with you.”

“No.”

“I want to help, Zeke.”

“No. You’re not part of this. I’m not getting you involved any more than you already are. You work on finding Spencer. I’ll call you once I leave the apartment.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Join the club. I gotta go.”

“All right, brother,” Jericho says after a long silence. “I’m here for you whatever you need.”

I nod, knowing he can’t see me, and disconnect the call. I head toward Blue’s apartment. I spent a few hours looking through her phone last night but didn’t find much. She has no contacts apart from her sister and a contact marked Rudy Nurse who apparently works at the facility. No socials, as I already knew. Her web searches and history were meticulously cleared. And the only email in her inbox was the one notifying her of my one-dollar deposit into her account.

Her texts with her sister changed abruptly about two years ago. She only sends her knock-knock jokes. There are messages from Rudy, too, who gives her updates on how Wren is doing. How must it feel to not know your sister anymore even though she’s right there? Is it a similar loss as death? In a way, it must be.

But I can’t care about that. I need to focus on the task at hand. Like I told Blue, she’s here because she fucked up. She has only herself to blame and I can’t care about the motivator behind her attempt to blackmail me.

The apartment building is about forty-five minutes away in a pretty shitty neighborhood. When I arrive, I park my SUV in the lot and look around. It probably costs more than all the cars parked here combined. I climb out, lock it, and look up at the five-story building that looks like it hasn’t had any work done to it in a decade at least.

In the corner of the lot, I see a worn-out Honda Passat, its black paint peeling, one of the tires looking like it needs air. The car stands out because it’s the only one with Pennsylvania plates. I cross the lot to take a closer look, peering into the window when I find the doors locked. I’m pretty sure it’s hers. I snap a photo of the license plate and send it to Robbie asking him to find out who it’s registered to.

I head toward the stairs that will lead inside. One of the two glass doors at the entrance has a crack in it that’s been taped up and the lock is broken. I push the door open and enter. The vestibule is messy with two broken umbrellas just lying on the floor and a bag of trash someone couldn’t be bothered to take to the dumpster I saw in the corner of the lot. It stinks.

Breathing through my mouth, first thing I do is find Blue’s mailbox. Using her key, I unlock it and take out the stash of mail, mostly circulars, a blank postcard of what looks to be a children’s book titled Run Rabbit Run, and an electricity bill. Taking those, I head up to her apartment hearing televisions, a baby, a man and woman fighting along the way. The air in the hallways is stale, old food and B.O. Blue’s apartment has a worn-out welcome mat at the door. I wonder if it’s hers or if it was left here by the previous tenant. I unlock three locks and enter. Once inside, I close the door behind me and flip the light switch because even though it’s daytime, all the blinds are down, and the apartment is dark. I take in the room.

First thing I notice is how neat everything is. The carpet is worn ragged, the furniture which consists of a sofa, a dining table with two chairs is mismatched and the TV is an ancient box. I wonder if it works. But contrary to the smells and look of the apartment building itself, this one smells of cleaning supplies.

Someone must use the sofa as a bed because a pillow and a folded blanket rest on one corner.

On the dining table is a notebook and a closed laptop. It’s an old Apple. I open it and it comes to life, the cursor blinking in the space to enter a passcode. Above the empty space is the word Lucky. There’s a picture of a young girl holding a kitten, trying to give it a lick of her ice pop. I peer close and I think it’s Blue.

I won’t bother trying various passwords and plan on taking it back with me.

The kitchen is tiny. It’s meticulous apart from the pot in the sink with the single fork inside it. There’s a box of cereal on the counter and a cereal bowl and spoon are in the drying rack.

I open the fridge and find it contains a container of milk and little packets of ketchup and mayonnaise. In the drawer are several apples.

From the kitchen I walk into the one bedroom. Inside is a neatly made twin bed and beside it the nightstand with a lamp on top. Nothing matches and it all looks old. In the closet, clothes hang neatly. I look through them, see the different sizes and style. Are some of these Wren’s clothes? Has Blue kept them here?

On the nightstand is a framed photo. I pick it up, look at it. It’s two girls and I recognize Blue, but she’s got to be ten in here. The older girl must be Wren. They’re standing on either side of a woman Blue resembles. Apart from the clothes, it’s the only thing in the place that’s personal. I get the feeling this is the one thing Blue would care about.

The bathroom is neat, with a small shoebox of makeup on a rack. Foundations and concealers as well as mascara and eyeliner.

There’s a closet in the living room and I check in there, too, but only find a denim jacket on a hanger and a vacuum cleaner, a folded blanket on a high shelf, so I go back into the bedroom to look under the bed. There, shoved to the very back, is a backpack. Finally, something. I reach to drag it out and set it on the bed. I unzip it and inside, I find some clothes neatly folded, two baseball caps, a box of hair dye, blue. Surprise. At the bottom of the bag is a large envelope. I take it out, and inside find a wad of money.

All right. Now we’re getting somewhere.

I count it. There is two-thousand dollars in cash here. I put it back and take out the smaller envelope. Inside that, I find a school ID. Wren Johnson. She must be sixteen or seventeen here. Used to go to Upper Darby Senior High just outside of Philadelphia. Blue’s is there too. She’s a freshman so I guess about fifteen in the photo. I put both into the envelope and feel the bottom of the bag to see if I missed anything but find nothing.

Carrying the backpack, I walk back out into the living room and set it on the couch. I return to the kitchen to look through the cabinets for more, for something personal about Blue. Something regarding the evidence she has supposedly bought about me. Anything. The cabinets don’t contain much apart from cleaning supplies under the sink, pasta and canned soup, salt and pepper are the extent of the spices. There’s a bottle of olive oil. Several mismatched mugs, glasses and dishes fill up one cabinet. It’s all kind of sad honestly.

This can’t be it.

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