Page 16 of Nothing Left

"So. Even if he didn't do it, perhaps he knows something. Perhaps he invited a friend around," Sierra suggested from the back seat. "It doesn't sound as if security in that apartment was good at all. And I didn't see any on-site cameras. I was looking out for them."

"No, I guess in a student area, they wouldn't have them everywhere," Juliette agreed. “And Diego did say that people went to the door for some reason. Maybe Enzo let a friend in?”

Sierra was absolutely right. Enzo was currently the wild card, the one they knew least about, the one who was not closely connected with any of the others.

If the police had followed up on Enzo's statement more thoroughly at the time, they might have been able to catch him in a lie or discover something that could have led them to the real killer. But dwelling on past mistakes wouldn't help them now.

Here was Enzo’s home street, a long, narrow road that wound its way inland, leaving the coast behind. The road was lined with apartment buildings that started out pristine and upmarket, but as the distance from the sea increased, Juliette saw that the apartments were becoming more and more dilapidated. Now, there were some signs of urban blight as they drove. Litter on the streets, the occasional broken window. As they headed deeper into this neighborhood, Juliette noticed passersby giving them and their car unfriendly looks.

"Okay. We're here."

The road had narrowed. The apartment buildings on either side seemed to loom above it.

"He's in this one." Juliette stared at it doubtfully. The building's plastered facade was chipped and peeling. The entrance was poorly lit, and there were no security cameras. Two dark-jacketed men walked out, deep in conversation, and her trained eye immediately noted a gun on the closest man's hip.

For sure, this was the wrong side of town, and it increased her suspicions about Enzo.

"Sierra, I think you should come with us," she suggested, and the young woman agreed, sounding relieved. This wasn't a place to leave anyone alone in a car, locked or otherwise. Juliette wasn't even keen on leaving their bags and laptops inside. Eventually, she placed everything in the trunk and made doubly sure it was locked up tight.

Then, they headed into the apartment building.

To her surprise, there was a security guard on duty, sitting on a stool behind a desk, watching them with a suspicious air. He had broad shoulders and a shaven head and a cynical expression on his heavy face that said he'd seen it all before.

Quickly, Juliette showed him her FBI ID.

"We're looking to speak to someone in this building. May we go upstairs? We won't be long," she said, not wanting to give more details in case their suspect ended up being warned.

But he simply gave a wordless shrug as if she was welcome to do what she needed to, and he was staying out of it.

"He's on the fifth floor," Wyatt muttered as they turned away, casting a dubious glance at the elevator. It was aligned about six inches below floor level, and the door seemed to be listing to one side.

The fact that Juliette could hear the tramp of footsteps up and down the stairs from the stairwell reinforced to her the wisdom of taking this option.

"Ready for a climb?" she asked the others, trying to break the unease with a lighter comment as they headed to the stairway and began walking up the worn steps.

Flight after flight, floor after floor, passed by until they were on the fifth floor, which was cool and poorly lit. The lights in the corridor nearest the stairs weren't working.

"Number eight," Wyatt confirmed, and they headed along the corridor.

Here was apartment number 508. Juliette's first impression was that it looked dark. She couldn't see any lights on in the windows. The door was firmly closed.

She knocked loudly. The sound reverberated in the corridor. From a couple of doors down, she heard a burst of rough laughter.

But from Enzo's apartment, nothing.

Juliette knocked again. She was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

"Where does he work?" she asked.

"It says here that he's studying in the evenings, and he works part-time in the week as a store attendant."

So that meant he would not be at work now. Was he out partying with what felt like most of Barcelona? After the police had warned him to stay home?

Wanting to be sure, Juliette walked around the corner. There was a window here, and although the curtains were drawn, there was a gap left as if it had been done carelessly.

She looked through, cupping her hands around her face to block out the light, straining her eyes to see inside.

There was a bed. The covers were roughly pulled over it. A drawer was hanging open. It looked empty. A few piled garments were on the bottom of the bed. The cupboard was open, and there were a few empty shelves.

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