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“I know,” Sam said, because he knew what Goddard’s priorities were. But Sam had priorities, too, and looking after Devon Jones was one of them. “Crawford knew about the coins. That was definitely interesting. I need to look up that article.”
Goddard took out his phone, tapped at his screen. “Just sent you the link. I’m going back to the precinct—I want to see that video of the thief leaving the facility with the box of coins. I also want to go over those key-card logs. I want to know who entered where and when from Friday at sunset until now.”
“I want to know where Frankie went on Wednesday.”
Goddard nodded. “So do I. It could have been an innocent shopping trip, but I’m not counting on that. Would any of the residents know where he went and why?”
“Maybe. Frankie kept to himself, so it’s possible he told no one. I’m coming back tonight to stay with Georgia. If she doesn’t know, I can ask around then.”
“Thank you. Be careful, Doc. There could still be a killer walking around this place.”
A chill ran down Sam’s back. “I know.”
University City, San Diego, California
Tuesday, November 8, 7:30 p.m.
“We should have grabbed Adler yesterday morning,” Connor grumbled, standing in front of the door to Archie Adler’s third-floor walk-up apartment.
“Yep. I didn’t see his car out front, so I don’t think we’ll be any luckier this time.” Kit knocked on Adler’s front door for the second time that day. They’d come by once before, straight from the meeting in Navarro’s office, but had gotten no answer. “Mr. Adler, this is San Diego PD,” she called. “We need to talk to you.”
“He’s not there,” a voice said.
Kit and Connor turned to find a young man coming out of the apartment across the hall. He carried a motorcycle helmet in one hand and a very full backpack in the other. His red hair was unruly and he had a smattering of freckles across his nose, which made him look a lot younger than he probably was.
“Do you know where Archie is?” Kit asked.
“No, I sure don’t. I don’t think he’ll be back, though. I saw him loading up his car. Looked like he was moving out.”
“Shit,” Connor muttered. “When was this?”
“Around four o’clock, maybe four thirty,” the young man said.
He could be in Mexico by now, Kit thought sourly. Dammit.
“I’ll put out a BOLO on his car,” Connor said. He turned to the neighbor. “Does he drive a Kia Sorento? White 2015?”
It was the car registered to him and had given them pause. If he was dipping into the till at Shady Oaks, he should have been able to drive a better car than that. But now that he’d run? Yeah, he was involved somehow.
“He does,” the man said warily. “Why? What’s he done?”
“We need a warrant for Archie’s apartment,” Kit murmured to Connor.
“I’ll get one started.” Connor headed back down the stairs for the car, while Kit focused on the young man.
“I’m Detective McKittrick, San Diego PD. That was my partner, Detective Robinson. Can I get your name?”
“Roger McNichol. What’s going on? Has something happened to Archie?”
Kit hoped not. They needed Archie Adler alive. “We just need to talk to him. What can you tell me about Mr. Adler?”
Roger looked apprehensive. “He’s a grad student. Works a lot.”
She looked around. The apartment building was clean. Not lavish, but she’d seen far, far worse. “Does he have visitors?” She was hoping to establish that he’d met with either Crawford or Evans or both.
“Not really. Only his mom, and she doesn’t come all the way up here often. He usually goes downstairs and sits in her car to talk to her.”
That was a little unusual. Maybe Adler had been doing something in his apartment that he didn’t want his adoring mother to see.
