Page 60

“FBI! Lonnie Jennings or Dennis Eaton, open up!” Brice called out. His voice pierced the cold early morning air like a raid siren.
The inside of the house continued to be silent, but the neighbor’s light popped on and the door cracked open.
“What the hell? Some of us are trying to sleep here.” A squat and rotund man in a ratty bathrobe stepped onto his front landing.
“FBI Special Agent Vos,” she said, holding up her creds. “And you are?”
“The property manager.” He put his meaty hands on his hips.
How convenient…“Jerald Booth?”
“What’s it to ya? And what do you want with Lonnie and Dennis?” He came closer to them, and his breath was coming out in puffs of white.
He appeared to be wearing thick pajamas beneath the robe, but his feet were in thin slippers. He must be freezing. They were straightforward observations, but they kept her grounded in the present.
“It’s an FBI matter, but when did you last see either of them?” Brice asked.
The man smirked. “So I answer your questions, and you don’t have to answer mine? Is that it?”
“It’s how it works, Mr. Booth,” Brice said firmly. “That’s if you don’t want to be seen as interfering with an FBI investigation. Personally, I’d suggest you be more cooperative.”
Jerald simpered, crossed his arms, and angled his head. Unless they changed their approach with him, the man wasn’t going to say anything. After all, he had no reason to do so.Threats were often ineffective at motivating people. “Mr. Booth, you look like a standup guy,” she began.
“I try.”
“We’re just trying to protect the neighborhood and people like you.”
“Pfft. Police, feds, you all forgot about this area a long time ago. That is unless it’s to storm in here and arrest people for no good reason.”
She refused to get sucked into a debate. The truth was bad cops were out there. She’d try another tack. “There was an incident…” She almost saidearlier todaybut caught herself. In some ways it felt like time had stopped, but framing this statement reminded her it marched on. “Yesterday afternoon, early evening, involving Lonnie Jennings and Dennis Eaton.”
“Are they”—the man gripped the front of his robe, clenching it tighter together, seemingly having caught a chill—“okay?”
“We’re not sure and need to find them to know for certain.”
“Oh please.” The man flailed his arms in the air. “You’re playing with me.”
“I assure you I’m not.” Her calm tone alone made the point he could trust her. His shoulders relaxed. “They are potentially in danger,” she added, not stretching the truth by much. Once she found them, they would be. Even more so if they hurt Olivia.
“Let’s say I believe you. What am I to do about it?”
“To start, could you answer Special Agent Sutton’s question about when you last saw either of them?”
“Let me think. I saw them yesterday morning. Lonnie anyhow. Dennis goes to work early and is done around three in the afternoon.”
They’d track down Eaton’s employer tomorrow once the sun came up and find out when they last saw him, talk to his coworkers and boss, see if they had anything to offer. They mighteven be able to provide another friend’s name who they could question. “Do you have phone numbers for either of them?”
“I should have on their lease. Want me to go find out?” He jacked a thumb toward his house.
“That would be great.” Even if the number linked back to a prepaid SIM card, Tech had ways of tracking it down.
“One minute then.” Jerald ducked back into his house.
“Great job turning that around,” Brice praised her.
“Job hazard, but you should know. We’re wired to see things from the other person’s perspective.” It was certainly embedded in her after all these years. And focusing on this as her job, removing the personal, helped tamp down thoughts of Olivia.
“I have the lease.” Jerald returned holding up a stapled packet of legal-size papers. “Here.” He walked to them, and she and Brice helped close the distance too.