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Storm stands up from his chair and stretches. He’d been scrutinizing the report forensics had sent him from their assessment of India, paying attention down to the fibers and dust and chemicals they’d found on her body and hair and clothes. On the surface the report has nothing new, but Storm knows even the smallest detail could come in handy later on.
Storm follows Monroe out to the bank of desks Monroe shared with Leo and Remi. The other two swivel their chairs around to pay attention.
“His name is Kurt Gibbon,” says Monroe, “And he’s the registered owner of the house where Rachel Garrett was renting an apartment. My search showed that his own residential address is at the same house.”
Monroe hands Storm a printout, and as Storm scans it Monroe summarizes for Leo and Remi. “K
urt Gibbon is in his early fifties. He has run two failed businesses into the ground in the past eight years, one an attempt to start a model agency and the second a record label that quickly went bust. Lots of debt, but his criminal history is clean.”
“Human?” asks Leo.
Monroe nods. “Looks like it. There’s nothing to suggest he is anything other than human, although given that otherkind in London are not required to be registered, he—”
“Could be anything,” Remi and Leo finish simultaneously.
Storm notes with a frown that Kurt Gibbon’s address is on the same road that Diana lives on. The fact that she could just as easily have lived at Kurt Gibbon’s house bothers him. In fact, he has no idea who her landlord is. He really should find out.
Leo grabs his jacket and weapon’s belt as Storm goes to get his keys. As they drive to cut Gibbon’s house, Leo points out a take away place. “We could drop down by Diana’s apartment and take her some chicken soup,” he quips.
“Shut up,” Storm says shortly.
Leo chuckles.
Monroe’s information has shown no record of Kurt Gibbon being recently employed, so their chances of him at home are better than average. A tenant lets them into the house and points them up the stairs to the top floor. Five minutes of banging loudly on Gibbon’s apartment door yields no results.
Leo puts his ear against the door and listens. He shakes his head at Storm. There are no sounds audible inside.
Given that the source of the Agency’s information on Kurt’s relationship to Rachel is Jacob Jabari’s word, there are no reasonable grounds for Storm and Leo to enter the premises uninvited. Storm calls Monroe, asking him to check if Gibbon’s social media profiles show any information about where he likes to spend his time.
It is evening. Knowing that some of the house’s residents must be in, Storm and Leo begin knocking on doors, each taking an alternate apartment and working their way down each level.
The first to answer Storm’s knock are a trio of teenage girls. They are Chinese nationals, all three living in the same one-room apartment. They giggle when they see Storm. They tell him they are students. Their english is hesitant.
As soon as Storm asks about their landlord, their facial expressions turn worried. The one with the best english says no to every single one of Storm’s questions. She does not know where the landlord is. She does not know what he likes to do in his spare time. She does not know when he might come home. She hurriedly bangs the door shut when Storm is done.
The next to answer are a young couple in their early twenties. The boyfriend seems disinterested, saying he has no idea where the landlord might be. Music is blasting out of their room, and he is clearly more interested in getting back to whatever he was doing. When he goes back into the room, the girlfriend lingers at the doorway.
“Is Mr Gibbon in trouble?” she asks.
“Do you think he’s the type to get into trouble?” Storm asks.
She bites her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Do you know India Lawrenson and Rachel Garrett? They live in this building.”
She shakes her head. “They kept themselves to themselves. Rachel’s the girl who got killed recently, wasn’t she? We saw it on the news. You don’t think it was Mr Gibbon?”
“Do you think it could be him?”
She gives an anxious laugh. “I don’t know.”
“What’s Mr Gibbon like?” Storm asks her.
She shrugs. “Suresh deals with him mostly.”
Something about the way that she averts her eyes makes Storm ask, “Is that because you prefer to avoid Mr Gibbon?”
She glances nervously in the direction of her boyfriend, and then says in a hushed voice, “He gives me the creeps. He is not a nice guy. He’s always hanging around, watching. You know?”
