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“I’m going to take my own car,” I tell him as I gather my things.
“I’ll shoot you the address,” he says. I’m grateful he doesn’t argue because I know he’d use the travel time to discuss what happened. Although he’s not the type to spend any length of time chastising me, I have to guess he has an opinion on what happened. Especially since he told me at the campground that arresting him with so little evidence was a rash judgment.
Information has finally come through about Elizabeth’s address which has been difficult obtaining since she never changed her driver’s license when she left Red Mesa, Arizona. Her social security card hadn’t flagged for employment yet because she’d only been in Farmington for a couple of months, and the government isn’t exactly quick to update anything in their systems.
“See you there,” Colton says, knocking his knuckles twice on the doorframe before walking away.
I hold my head high as I walk through the office. The worst thing I could do is appear ashamed for what happened. It makes me want to double down on Sawyer Maddox, to prove that he’s somehow involved. I can eat a little crow right now, only to hand feed it to everyone that stares at my back as I leave later down the road.
Darkness is already creeping in on the neighborhood and an eerie sense of familiarity strikes me hard as we approach Elizabeth’s address. I was only a few blocks down, less than twenty-four hours ago, speaking with Rochelle Leach, the bartender from Jake’s, who was one of the last people to see Elizabeth alive that night.
Knowing this area of town houses lower income, renting singles doesn’t stop the wave of foreboding from washing over me. Colton is standing beside his car as expected, and I’m a little surprised he’s even waiting for me.
Taking a deep breath, I take in the home, trying to use fresh eyes devoid of any opinions I’ve formulated about the victim. Like Rochelle’s, the house is small, no larger than a two-bedroom if I had to guess. The yard is barren with barely any curb appeal. There are no potted plants on the small concrete porch, or any plants under the two windows on the front of the house.
I don’t notice the row of motorcycles parked at the curb until I climb out of my car, but my head starts to shake the second I spot them. Colton has to know this is a terrible idea.
I walk past all of them, not taking a second look at the bikers to determine if Sawyer Maddox is part of the group.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” I ask as Colton falls into step beside me.
“The Cerberus IT guy is the one who was able to track down her address,” Colton says.
Maybe I should be grateful, but I’ll never open my mouth to thank any of them.
“Or maybe one of them didn’t have to do much searching because they already knew she lived here,” I mutter.
I’m surprised Colton doesn’t stop me and attempt to reassure me that no one from the club would do such a thing.
We knock on the door despite Elizabeth never having been reported as a missing person in New Mexico or the surrounding states. No one comes to the door, but Colton is prepared with a crowbar.
“Dispatch spoke with the property owner, but since he’s out of town until next week, we’re not waiting for keys.”
I nod, standing a little behind Colton. I’ve made the mistake of standing too close before and was hit with flying debris when the doorframe shattered.
Colton doesn’t even grunt when he wedges the crowbar and pulls it to pop open the door.
“Too easy,” I mutter.
“Yep,” Colton agrees. “But people trust locks not realizing they’re only for honest people. Criminals can access just about any house at any time.”
We both stand in the doorway, using our senses before making another move. I hand Colton a pair of the shoe covers I stuffed in my slacks before leaving the department.
We spend the next several hours processing her home and walk away no more informed than when we arrived. There are no real details about her life. We didn’t find a purse, an employee badge, a scribbled number for a friend, no evidence of anyone else living with her or coming into her house after she left earlier in the day that she died.
The only relief I feel when we wrap up is that the row of bikes are gone from in front of the house. We collected samples from the sink, toilet, and bathtub, on the off chance that there’s evidence there we can’t see with the naked eye. We recovered writing samples, but I doubt those will help in any way since it was from an incomplete crossword puzzle. We have no information on next of kin. Elizabeth Burr led a life of solitude as far as we can tell.
