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Jack had not yet stepped in, weighing his options. There were certain legalities to consider here. Specifically, if they found anything that pointed to Rodman being the killer, they’d not be able to use it against him because they would have searched his apartment without Redman being present; and without strong probable cause, that was a big no-no.
“Well, he’s not here,” she said. “I say we go in and be quick about it. If we find evidence against him, at least then we’ll know. We can leave and stake out the building until he returns. We could get in without any argument on a technicality. You smell the pot, right?”
“I do,” Jack said, defeated and clearly understanding the fragile line they were tottering on. Still, all the same, he took his first step inside Redman’s apartment, and Rachel followed.
For the most part, the apartment was tidy. The door led into a small living space which was filled with a single armchair and a well-used couch. A paperback novel sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, and a small, flat-screen television was perched on a low entertainment center. The kitchen sat to the right, a small but well-designed space. The L-shaped counter contained a few dirty dishes in a roll of paper towels. Behind the living room and kitchen was a small open space that she supposed served as a hallway of some kind. An open door to the left revealed the bedroom, and a small bathroom sat directly ahead.
They made their way through the small apartment quickly. It really did feel as though Rachel had not missed a step. It was very natural to branch off, going their separate ways through the apartment as they had done countless times before while working together. Jack stepped into the bedroom while Rachel investigated the bathroom. She found it just as clean as the rest of the apartment, the only bit of mess coming in the dry toothpaste in the sink. She checked the small medicine cabinet behind the mirror over the sink, assuming she would find some sort of medicine related to Redman 's condition.
She came across two different painkillers in several antioxidant capsules and vitamins, but nothing that would directly point to his cancer. She stepped out of the bathroom and returned to the front of the apartment, where she looked over the living room and kitchen. She looked under the sink, opening each cabinet and finding nothing of interest. The same was true of the refrigerator and the cupboards on top of the counters.
“Hey, Rachel?”
Jack was coming across the living room, holding his phone. He showed her a picture he’d just snapped. It was an address scrawled in pen on a scrap of paper that looked like the edge of a bill or statement of some kind.
“It was sitting on his bedside table,” Jack said. “I’m assuming it’s recent because it was the only thing on the table, aside from the pen he used to write it.”
“Archer Street,” Rachel said. “That’s not too far away.”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
They started for the door, and as they passed through, Jack looked at her with a playful frown. “Any chance you’re done now? Ready to go home?”
She checked her watch and knew that she could maybe get one more hour before Grandma Tate might get suspicious. Rachel enjoyed the library, but not enough to simply waste two hours there. She also saw that she had another three hours before Paige got home from school.
“No. But the same rules apply. I’ll only be there to question and listen. But after this, I should probably get back home.”
“Good.” She took his smile as a sign of approval even though he was trying to play the part of the stern figurehead that knew they were breaking the rules.
They headed back down the stairs together, and for the first time in several weeks, Rachel wasn’t obsessing over her cancer or the limited number of days she had remaining.
***
Lunch-hour traffic was beginning to thicken up traffic, so it took a bit more than the estimated ten minutes to get to the address on Archer Street. Rachel wasn’t quite sure why, but she’d assumed the address would be to a business or building. Instead, it was one of several houses at the end of Archer Street just before the struggling businesses took over. The lots were slightly overgrown, and the houses were basic, square structures with old shingles, siding, and faded porches.
It was 12:26 when Jack pulled the car in front of the house. There were two other cars parked in front of it, as the house had no garage or driveway. The sidewalk to the porch connected with the street sidewalk, and that was all there was. They both reached for their doors at the same time, but Jack stopped as Rachel opened hers.
“I think you should stay here.”
“Why?”
“Two cars… one of which is probably Redman’s. We have no idea what’s going on inside.”
“How do we know it’s not just two friends watching TV?”
“Maybe it is. But you said yourself that your hunch is that Redman is angry. We’re already going to have to explain how we knew he was here—an explanation that we’ll have to lie about.”
“For all he knew, we were tailing him.”
“And that’ll be the lie we use. But until we know what’s going on in there, I want you to stay out here. If you don’t like the idea of sitting still, you can take the place out on the outside while I see what’s going on inside. I’ll let you know when it’s clear. We’re talking maybe thirty seconds, Rachel.”
She knew he was right and was again a bit disarmed about just how much he cared for her. Nodding in agreement, she got out and waited as Jack walked around the car and started toward the old porch. Rachel then headed to the right corner of the house, where she began to take a quick survey of the property.
Along the very side of the house, the grass was taller, nearly to her knees. Ironically, there was an old, busted lawnmower turned onto its side, the blade removed to show a rusted underside in the tall grass. When she came around to the backyard, she could just dimly hear Jack knocking on the front door. She looked out across the small backyard and found that there was nothing to see. Two old poles sat in the center of the yard, roughly fifteen feet apart—the remnants of an old clothesline, she supposed.
She then turned her attention to the concrete stoop behind her, what she assumed served as the back porch. As she stepped closer to it, she heard the sound of a woman’s voice. Only it wasn’t actually avoice.It was the crying out of a woman. At first, Rachel nearly rushed around to the front to give Jack an assist, but then she realized that it wasn’t a cry of pain. No… it was pretty much the opposite of that. The woman she was hearing sounded as if she was having a very good time in one of the house’s back rooms. Her cries of pleasure were almost theatrical as if she was faking every bit of it.
Not sure how to react to this, Rachel simply continued her search of the backyard. She came to the edge of the concrete block ofthe porch and saw the large, city-provided trash can. It was stuffed, the opt not quite closed. Wrinkling her nose, Rachel lifted the top up a bit and saw several garbage bags, the one on top nearly bursting. Among the bags, she saw several other odds and ends of litter, but two things, in particular, caught her attention.
