Chapter 3: The Name on the Photo
"Marcus," Bennett said.
I stared at him.
"My cousin Marcus?"
"I've seen him at your place before.
Holiday dinners, that time you had people over for your birthday.
I'm sure it was him."
I took the phone back and looked at the photo again.
The angle was narrow — shot through the gap between the hallway door and the frame.
The man in the image had his back mostly turned, one arm braced against the doorway of my storage closet, the other wrapped around a box.
He was wearing a dark jacket, hood down.
I knew that jacket.
I'd been with Marcus when he bought it.
"When was this?" I asked.
"Yesterday afternoon.
Around two."
I handed the phone back.
My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"Does he have a key?"
"I don't know.
But your door wasn't forced.
I checked the frame this morning."
That landed like a stone.
I had given Marcus a spare key two years ago, when I'd gone on a work trip and needed someone to collect my mail.
I'd never asked for it back.
It hadn't occurred to me.
He was family.
"How many times has he been here?" I asked.
"At least three that I've seen.
Could be more."
I leaned against the wall and looked at the closed door to my apartment.
Behind it, I could hear the low murmur of a television.
Someone laughed.
It sounded easy and comfortable, the way people sound when they don't expect to be caught.
"I need to go in," I said.
Bennett put a hand on my arm.
"Wait.
If Marcus is connected to this, you don't know what you're walking into.
You don't know what they've done to the place."
"It's my apartment."
"I know.
I'm just saying — do you want me to come with you?"
I looked at him.
He was sixty-three years old, retired, and had spent the last two weeks quietly watching my door and taking photographs on his phone because he thought something was wrong.
He hadn't called the landlord.
He hadn't slid a note under my door.
He'd called me directly and waited.
"Yes," I said.
"Come with me."
I knocked twice.
Firm.
The television went quiet.
Footsteps.
Then Adeline's voice, closer than I expected, just on the other side of the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's me," I said.
"The person whose name is on the lease."
A pause.
Then the sound of a chain being slid back.
Adeline opened the door.
She was wearing my cardigan — the grey one I'd left in the hall closet — and her expression moved through three different things in under a second.
Surprise.
Calculation.
Then something that tried to settle into a smile.
"Oh," she said.
"We weren't expecting you."
"I know," I said.
"Can I come in?"
She stepped back.
I walked in.
The living room was wrong in a way that took me a moment to name.
The furniture was in the same place, but the surfaces were covered with things that weren't mine.
Cups, chargers, a pair of men's boots near the couch that were too large to be Asher's.
A child's drawing on the coffee table, done in red crayon.
Asher was standing near the kitchen doorway.
He had his arms crossed, and he didn't say anything when I walked in.
I looked at the hallway that led to the bedrooms and the storage closet.
The storage closet door was open.
It was empty.
"Where are my boxes?" I asked.
Adeline's smile didn't move.
"We needed the space.
We put them somewhere safe."
"Where?"
She glanced at Asher.
"Adeline," I said.
"Where are my boxes?"
Before she could answer, a door opened at the end of the hallway.
A man stepped out.
Not Asher.
Older.
May you like
Familiar.
Marcus looked at me and went completely still.
