Page 37 of Girl, Unseen

Luca inspected his arm. ‘Hurts. But all I did was hold Clive at gunpoint.’

‘Clive? You know his name?’

‘We had some time to kill while you were playing tag in the rafters. We got chatting.’

‘You learn anything?’

‘Yeah. He’s a Mets fan.’

‘Not about football,’ Ella snapped. ‘I mean about Felix.’

‘Oh. No. And the Mets aren’t baseball.’

Ella shot him a look. Luca zipped his mouth. ‘You ready?’ she asked.

Luca motioned towards the farmhouse door. ‘Age before beauty.’

Ella took the lead. She’d bet her badge that, if Felix was her killer, somewhere in this farmhouse lay evidence that confirmed as much.

Inside, the place looked like a tornado had picked a fight with a yard sale. Boxes everywhere. Papers scattered across every surface. The walls needed paint about three presidents ago.

‘Nice place,’ Luca said. ‘Surprised Family Services hasn't paid a visit.’

Ella grunted. The mess didn't faze her. She'd seen worse in the homes of upstanding citizens. Amazing how many skeletons could fit in the average suburban closet.

‘Martha Stewart's worst nightmare.’ Ella surveyed the chaos. Dishes crusted with ancient meals filled the sink. The fridge hummed like it was on its last legs. A stack of newspapers by the door dated back to summer. ‘Check down here. I'll take upstairs.’

'Aye, aye, captain.' Luca disappeared into what might have been a living room once before entropy got its hands on it.

Ella made her way upstairs to the sound of creaky floorboards and shoddy workmanship. The whole place had a vibe, like it was on its last legs. Maybe that's why the old man looked so weathered. Living in a house like this aged you prematurely. Then again, having a kid like Felix probably didn't help either.

Up here, the mess got personal. Clothes strewn across the hallway, more papers, what looked like college assignments. Three doors, all closed. She tried the first one. Inside, what Ella guessed was Felix’s dad’s bedroom. Second one opened into a bathroom that hadn't seen bleach in its lifetime.

Third door had to be Felix's room.

‘Found it.’

The space beyond screamed troubled youth so loud it probably kept the neighbors awake. Black walls, black bedding, draped flags with band logos Ella had never heard of with names like Putrid Flesh and Goat Semen. Empty beer bottles lined the windowsill. More clothes on the floor than in the closet. A desk drowning in papers.

And books. Lots of books.

‘You know,’ she called down to Luca, ‘I always imagined killers would be neater than they are.’

‘How so?’

‘Organization fetish. Control issues.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Luca shouted up. ‘You’re suggesting Felix isn’t our guy.’

Ella pushed aside a pile of clothes with her foot. ‘I’m not saying he isn’t. This just looks like every college dropout's room I've ever seen. You got anything down there?’

‘A traffic cone, if that helps.’

‘It does not. Not unless it’s got alchemy symbols on it.’

‘Negative. I’m coming up.’

Luca's footsteps announced his arrival. He whistled at the chaos. ‘Holy Hot Topic. Maybe Felix is a minimalist. Not every killer’s a hoarder.’

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