“She would give me a list, and I would buy what she needed and bring it over,” Lydia said, following him towards the kitchen.
“What was her favorite meal to cook?” Quentin asked, walking into the kitchen and looking around. Everything was quite tidy. There were dishes in the drying rack, and he walked over to them, touching them briefly to confirm that they were completely dry. It was no surprise to him when they were.
“She likes lasagna.”
Quentin walked over to the pantry and opened it up, looking at almost-bare shelves. It was one thing to run low on ingredients, and one might if one relied on someone else for all of their grocery shopping. But the pantry was empty of even the basics—like flour, and sugar, and cereal, and pasta, and rice. Things that kept forever and were staples in the kitchen of any person who cooked, much less any person who enjoyed cooking.
“I, uh, we had just done a pantry clean out,” Lydia said, coming up behind him. “There’s …there’s plenty of food in the fridge.”
Nodding, Quentin walked over to the fridge and pulled it open, peering inside. Indeed, he spied milk, and eggs, and some cheese, and a package of bagels with one missing. There was a tub of yogurt and some lettuce and tomato beneath the yogurt, in a drawer. Some water bottles were on the door of the fridge and a six-pack of diet soda, with two missing, sat on the bottom shelf.
“I see,” Quentin said, nodding again. But inwardly, he added the kitchen to the list of things that didn’t make sense.
Walking over to the trash, he peered inside of the can. It was largely empty. Beside the can was the recycling tub, and it had a few grocery bags, two soda bottles, and some other wrappings in it. There was nothing useful there, just as there seemed to be nothing particularly useful anywhere in the apartment.
If he didn’t know better, he would say that it wasn’t an apartment that was frequently used. It had the appearance of being lived in, but when he scratched the surface, it didn’t feel as though anyone had really made a home there. Nothing was left about, there was no real personality. It felt like a rental place where someone might come in and stay for a few weeks or a month before moving on to the next place.
Quentin glanced at Lydia, starting to become suspicious of her. She had a very pretty face—a beautiful face, even. And she seemed to have a sweet personality, too. But he just wasn’t buying her story, and he didn’t know why she would have sought him out and told it to him if it wasn’t true.
So, it was time to put some pressure on her.
“Lydia, I’m concerned,” Quentin said, straightening up looking around the kitchen. “Based on what I’ve seen, I’m concerned that your sister did not wander off or choose to leave on her own. I think she was probably taken by someone.”
“Really?” Lydia said, seeming surprised. “What makes you think that?”
Quentin gestured around the apartment. “Well, all of her clothes, apparently, are here, except for an outfit she was likely wearing. There is cold food in the fridge, which she may or may not have left behind if she was planning to leave.”
“But her computer is gone,” Lydia said.
“Yes, but someone may have taken the computer along with her,” Quentin said, making up his explanation as he went. “It’s possible that, as much time as your sister spent here alone with just the Internet for company, she became involved in something that she should not have. She might have given out her address or invited someone over. That person could have shown up here and forced your sister out of the apartment.”
Lydia pressed her hand to her chest. “Oh, God ... Do you really think so?”
Quentin nodded, watching her expression closely. If Ginny did exist, then there was every possibility that he was right, so he didn’t feel too badly about what he was doing to Lydia, even though he would normally handle such a situation with much greater care. He wanted to see what her reaction was, and so far, she was giving him the textbook shocked reaction.
But he just didn’t feel it from her.
“So,” Quentin said, “I think I need to speak to the building manager and some of the neighbors. I’ll need whatever information he can give me, and I need to see when your neighbors last saw Ginny, if they saw anyone come in and out of the apartment besides her or you …I just need to do some recognizance of the building, in general. Then we’ll get her picture put up and maybe run it in the paper. Hopefully the information that the manager supplies me will help me get started.”
It was a plan based on general protocol, but loosely. He really just wanted to explain to her that he was going to start talking to people about Ginny—a lot of people. And that if she had something to come clean about, now was the time to do it.
Lydia seemed lost for words, and he waited, a solicitous expression on his face. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he said.
“Maybe I should talk to the landlord,” Lydia said, speaking somewhat abruptly. “He knows me. He’d be more likely to talk to me. And you can talk to the neighbors, although …I don’t think they’ll know much. Everyone keeps pretty much to themselves here.”
It was a blatant attempt to keep him from talking to the landlord or the building manager, and he saw right through it, but he nodded. “Okay. That’s fine. You find the building manager, and I’ll start knocking on doors. Just come back up to the apartment when you’re done. I’ll be here. And if you can get the building manager to talk to me, that would be really helpful.”
“Oh, of course,” Lydia said. But she didn’t move.
He nodded towards the door. “Ready? We don’t want to waste any time if your sister is missing.”
“Oh, of course,” Lydia said, hurrying towards the door with a jerky movement. “Yes—obviously.”
Quentin watched her go, shaking his head. She mystified him in both a good way and a bad way. She was quite enchanting, but she was also quite …dangerous.
And he didn’t know why.
Even though he’d said he would talk to neighbors, he didn’t—not right away. He walked towards the bedroom again, and he pulled out his phone, calling Barrett.
“Hey,” Barrett said, picking up on the second ring. “How’s that new case going?”
“It’s weird. That’s why I’m calling. You know how I like everything to line up and make sense?”
“Yeah …”
“Nothing lines up or makes sense here.”
Barrett laughed, slightly. “Well, that’s how cases work sometimes.”
“No, it’s not just that,” Quentin said. “It’s a missing person’s case. The woman, Lydia, came to the office today to say that her sister is missing. The sister’s name is Ginny Winn.”
“That’s an interesting name.”
“That’s not even close to being the most interesting part,” Quentin said. “Ginny Winn doesn’t work. She doesn’t have any friends. She doesn’t have many hobbies, except online shopping and cooking. She doesn’t go out on her own. She doesn’t do her own grocery shopping.”
“What does Ginny Winn do, then?” Barrett asked, as puzzled as Quentin was.
“Sits at home, from what I can tell. There’s supposedly a laptop, but it’s not here.”
“Clearly you don’t believe Lydia’s story.”
“No,” Quentin said. “I’m here in what is supposedly Ginny Winn’s apartment, but it’s sterile. It’s furnished, and there are a few little tokens of personality around, like a few pictures. But they look almost added in for effect. It doesn’t feel real. The place doesn’t seem lived in. The kitchen is almost empty, which it shouldn’t be if Ginny Winn loves to cook.”
Barrett made a small sound of agreement, pausing to think. “Well, you have to trust your instincts. They’re good instincts. If anyone has their head on straight, it’s you. So, investigate the way you need to investigate, but cover your ass. Because if she’s telling you the truth and her sister is in trouble, and you’re not really looking for her, then there’s a problem.”
Quentin nodded, looking in the clo
set again, going through the clothing piece by piece. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been very thorough and concerned so far. She doesn’t suspect that I suspect her. Not that I know of anyway. There’s something about her …I don’t know. I want to like her. I mean, I really want to like her. She’s got this aura that’s just nice. But I’m pretty sure that she’s downright lying to me, and I have no idea why. It’s not like I came to her and asked her where her sister was, and now she’s just trying to spin some story to cover up the truth. She came to me. She started this. If her sister isn’t missing, then what is she doing?”
“Sounds to me like that’s your real investigation,” Barrett said. “Give me her name. I’ll do a search on her.”
“Lydia Winn,” Quentin said again. “When we left the office, I thought the case was urgent, so I didn’t do all of the intake paperwork with her yet.”
“We really have to be doing that first,” Barrett said. “It’s part of our new crackdown system, you know?”
“I know,” Quentin said. “I wish I had done it first now because I would know more about her. But listen—if you’re going to look up stuff, look up the address for this place. I’ll text it to you when we hang up. I want to know if these are properties that are usually rented out on a month-to-month basis. For business people or vacationers.”
Barrett was already typing on his keyboard. “I’m on it. Text me the address. I’ll get back to you with what I find.”
“Thanks,” Quentin said, hanging up. He sent Barrett the address for the apartment, and he stared at the clothes for a few minutes longer. They didn’t go together. The clothes. There were some pants, and some shirts, and some dresses. But there was no cohesion to any of them. The pants and the shirts didn’t really seem to go together, and he didn’t see a single pair of jeans, which seemed unusual to him. The shoes didn’t really mesh with the clothing either. It looked more like a discount rack of random items than someone’s actual closet.
Murmuring to himself, Quentin opened his phone’s camera and took a few shots of the closet. He sent the pictures to Hannah.
Does this look like a functioning closet to you? he asked in the text he sent with the pictures.
When he was done, he headed out of the bedroom and then out of the apartment, stepping into the hallway. He looked up and down the hall, but saw no movement. He saw no cameras either, which was unfortunate because footage of the hallway would easily have established the last time Ginny had left her apartment. If Ginny lived in the apartment, in the first place.
Crossing the hall, he knocked loudly on the door of the apartment across from Ginny’s. There was no answer, and after giving the occupants a full minute, he knocked loudly again. There was still no answer, so he moved to the next door down. When he lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles against the wood, the door opened almost immediately.
“Hi,” a woman said, her hair tied up in a bun on top of her head and a toddler on her hip, his face covered in peanut butter. “How can I help you?”
Quentin waved to the baby. “Hi, there. I’m looking for Ginny Winn, the woman who lives just across the hall. I’m an investigator. Her sister hasn’t seen her in a few days, and she’s worried. Have you seen her around?”
The woman shook her head. “No, sorry. I don’t know anyone named Ginny Winn, I don’t think. That door right there?” She pointed towards Ginny’s door. Her little boy pointed, too, jabbing his sticky pointer finger in the same direction.
“That’s the one,” Quentin said, smiling at the toddler as he continued to wave his finger. “Hi, buddy,” Quentin said, waving his fingers back. “You look like you had a yummy snack.”
The mother smiled, shifting the boy to her other hip. “So that apartment over there, across the hall. Last I knew there was a man living there. I don’t know his name. He worked a lot. Left early, came home late. But that’s pretty typical around there. See, these apartments come furnished, so they’re great places for people who are in town working for a while. That’s why we’re here. My husband is in sales, and he’s doing a six-month stint in the area. This apartment came with everything we need. Anyway—I think that’s what that guy was doing. Hardly ever around.”
Quentin nodded along with her, keeping his expression neutral. “So, how long has the guy been gone, would you say?”
“Oh, no more than a few weeks. Maybe two, actually,” the woman said. “I think I last saw him when I was headed out to pick up my oldest from her friend’s house. It was the middle of the day, and it was weird to see him at that time, so I still remember it. Didn’t stop to chat. He wasn’t the sort.”
“No, who has the time to stand around chatting these days,” Quentin said with a smile. “Speaking of time—I’ve taken up plenty of yours. Thank you so much for your help.”
“Oh sure,” the woman said. “Let me know if you have any more questions. I’ll keep my ear to the ground for a Ginny Winn. Interesting name, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Quentin said, waggling his fingers at the toddler again. “You two have a good day.”
The woman disappeared back inside the apartment, and Quentin kept working his way down the hall. Most of the apartments were empty, but it was three o’clock in the afternoon. If the woman he had spoken to was right, then most people would be out at this time of day. He knocked on several doors without getting an answer, but he didn’t much mind because his thoughts were completely tied up with what he had learned. The woman had said that she had seen the man from the apartment across the hall just two weeks ago. Two weeks.
He hadn’t asked Lydia how long Ginny had lived in the apartment, but he knew without asking that she would say longer than two weeks.
The apartments came fully furnished. That was why it was all arranged so nicely but didn’t feel like a home. It would be easy to just walk into one of these apartments and have it all set up. It would be easy to pass off one of these apartments as a home without much effort. All someone would have to do is put some clothes in the closet, put some food in the fridge. Maybe some eggs and some milk. Maybe a random collection of clothing picked up from various stores.
Quentin walked away from the last door that he’d knocked on and received no answer, heading back towards the apartment deep in thought. As he walked, the elevator dinged and then the doors opened. Lydia stepped out, and their eyes met. He wanted to smile at her, just instinctively. She was truly lovely, standing there, watching him with an odd expression on her face.
But she was lying. And if there was one thing that Quentin didn’t tolerate …it was a liar.
Chapter 6
Lydia
There was a ball of tension in her gut. She hadn’t gone down and talked to the building manager because she knew that he wouldn’t know her. She knew that if Quentin talked to him, he would find her name on the apartment lease—a lease that had begun a few days ago and only lasted through the end of January.
She had called Jack instead, interrupting him at work.
“What’s wrong?” Jack had asked. “You sound stressed. How’s it going? You were going to approach the agency today, right?”
“Yes, Lydia said, standing off to the right of the building, trying to keep herself out of sight. “It’s not going well at all. I didn’t think this through, Jack. I thought I had this brilliant plan, but it’s already falling apart. His name is Quentin. He’s one of them—I know he is. The Rockwell Agency. It was just like I researched. It has to be them. He’s helping me track down Ginny, except I didn’t think he would ask all of these questions!”
“Well of course he’s got to ask questions, Lydia,” Jack said, his voice hushed as he sat at his desk. “That’s his job. He’s an investigator. I thought you had a furnished apartment, and you bought clothes, and you had the whole backstory. I thought you were going to fill in true details about the actual Ginny—you know, what she looks like and what she likes to do.”
“I did,” Lydia said. “I am. But he wants to talk to the building manager. And the ne
ighbors. He wants to look for footage to see if there’s a record of when she last walked into or left the building.”
“Damn,” Jack said. “I think we kind of thought the investigation was a front for what they really did, but it sounds like he’s pretty legitimate.”
“Very,” Lydia said, glancing towards the building door as someone walked out of it. “He hasn’t said anything yet, and he’s being really kind, but there’s no way that he’s going to buy this for much longer. I mean, the neighbors aren’t going to know her. I should have come up with something else. I should have made up some supernatural story. I should have said that I was hearing voices or something.”
Jack clucked his tongue. “Calm down. Keep it together. We talked about coming up with something supernatural, but we agreed that it was better to pretend like you’re totally unaware of the supernatural world.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t going to work.”
“So, think on your feet,” Jack said. “Come up with a reason for why this whole thing was a test. Or maybe you’re suffering from some delusion. Have Ginny fly down—have her tell him that she’s fine, and that you have some sort of condition that makes you panic and worry that she’s gone.”
Lydia pinched the bridge of her nose. “A condition that makes me panic, and lie, and rent a furnished apartment that I pass off as hers, filled with clothes and food that I picked out and passed off as Ginny’s?”
There was quite a pause before Jack sighed. “Yeah, that’s a tough one. I don’t know what to tell you, Lyd. Maybe you’re freaking out for no reason. Maybe he’s not questioning you. Maybe you just feel guilty because you know that you’re making all this up just to, you know, study him.”
Somehow, she didn’t think so. But it was her best hope. “I’ve got to go,” Lydia whispered. “I don’t want to leave him up there talking to neighbors for too long. I’ll call you tonight and update you …or I’ll call you when he throws me out on my face.”
Rockwell Agency: Boxset Page 52
