Page 33 of No Chance

From the passenger seat of Sheriff Carter's truck, Valerie looked in the rear-view window to see Charlie following in his car. The drive to Greensville had taken the better part of an hour, but Valerie knew their only hope was to keep looking for a lead. She hoped that victim number two's roommate, David Gillespie, would be just that.

What little of the sun that could be seen through the icy clouds above was setting as they arrived in the small town, its cold, dull light casting a spectral glow over everything. Despite this, Greensville was a cozy, smaller town with quaint, little houses and streets lined with trees. White picket fences ran along the roadside, and people waved to each other from their gardens as they drove by, despite the cold. It made Valerie feel safe and secure, and she briefly forgot about the danger lurking in her mind.

Sheriff Carter pulled up outside Mark Jacobsen's apartment, and they both got out of the car. Charlie parked behind them and then they walked up to the door of the building. The interior was a little more run down than the outside had suggested.

"There's a fire escape up there," Charlie said, pointing to the metal set of stairs clinging to the building. "This David Gillespie might try to run if he thinks he's under suspicion."

"But he's not, surely?" Sheriff Carter said, uncertainty in his voice. "He's known Mark for a long time."

"Everyone is a suspect until we catch the killer," Valerie said quietly.

"One of us should watch the fire escape out here, just in case," offered Charlie.

Valerie thought about it for a moment. It was a good insurance policy, but Valerie wanted to keep her best man by her side.

"Let's go up together," Valerie said. "I'm not sure he'd get far in that old fire escape in any case."

After entering the building, they took the elevator.

The elevator opened onto a dingy hallway with a bare, linoleum floor. The walls were stained and peeling, and the smell of old cooking lingered in the air. The lights were dim, but Valerie could make out the door numbers painted on each one.

Finally, they were standing in front of apartment 12.

Valerie knocked on the door, but there was no answer; if someone was inside, they either hadn't heard the knock, or they were choosing to ignore it.

Sheriff Carter looked at his watch. "David Gillespie should be home," he said. "He works in a local store, and he is usually well finished by now."

Valerie knocked again. But no answer came.

"Maybe he doesn't want to stay in a place where his roommate was brutally killed," Valerie said. "It would be understandable."

"Hold on, can you hear that?" Charlie said.

"Hear what?" Sheriff Carter asked.

"Someone just walked across a room in there."

"I didn't hear anything," Sheriff Carter said.

"Charlie could hear a pin drop," Valerie said quietly.

She banged her fist on the door. "FBI, open up!"

"Let me try," Carter said. He stood in front of the door and pushed his mouth close to it. "Hey, David. It's Sheriff Carter. You're not in trouble, but we'd like to ask you a few questions. I know you're afraid, but we're here to help."

There was a long pause and then the sound of shuffling feet and locks being undone. The door opened slowly and reluctantly, revealing a small man standing in the doorway.

David Gillespie was slight in stature with dark patches under his eyes. Valerie reckoned they were from lack of sleep. His eyes widened when he saw the three of them standing there, as if they were ghosts come to haunt him. He looked frightened, almost like a scared child who had done something wrong and been caught red-handed. He looked up at Valerie, his eyes wide with fear.

"Hey, David. It's okay," Carter offered.

Valerie could tell the man was scared; his hands were shaking as he motioned for them to come inside. "Please, come in," he said softly.

Valerie stepped into the apartment first, Sheriff Carter and Charlie following close behind her.

The apartment was small and sparsely furnished; there wasn't much in it apart from a sofa, an armchair, and a desk with a computer on it. There were no personal effects or photographs on display; just bare walls, empty shelves, and cold, hard floors that felt like ice against Valerie's feet.

David motioned for them to sit on the sofa. He took a seat in the armchair, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

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