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Wayne Dyer hung up the phone and reached for his coffee cup. Detective Floyd had just given him a heads-up that a private investigator was also going to be working with them on the Rachel Dean case, and they had his permission to see the apartment.
Wayne sighed and took a quick sip, then made a face. It was stone-cold. He got up and popped it in the microwave to warm up, then went to get the passkey. This missing person thing wasn’t looking good for the Detter House. He’d already called Allen Carson, the owner, notifying him of what had happened. Carson urged Wayne to assist the authorities in every way. He wanted the issue cleared up and swept under the rug before the media turned it into bad PR for future rentals.
Wayne felt caught in the middle of the whole mess. He was the man with the passkey, and a resident disappeared from her own apartment without anyone knowing how, or where she’d gone.
He was the one who let cleaning crews in and out. The one who walked the pest control service through the building and through the respective apartments on a quarterly basis.
He’d let the cleaning crew into Rachel’s apartment the day she disappeared, and he’d gone into her apartment on his own to do a wellness check at the request of her employer. Wayne felt like he had a target on his chest, and was just waiting for someone to pull the trigger and blame him for all of it.
When the door to his office opened, the couple who walked in rendered him momentarily speechless.
He’d heard of Charlie Dodge, and he’d seen that woman who worked with him on TV a few months back. But he wasn’t prepared for the sheer power of their presence, and then Charlie smiled.
“Mr. Dyer, I’m Charlie Dodge, and this is Wyrick, my assistant. You know why we’re here.”
“Yes, Detective Floyd called, and please call me Wayne. I’ll take you up to Rachel Dean’s apartment.” He exited with the passkey in his hand as he led the way to the elevator. “I can’t tell you how disturbed we all are about this. Rachel is very well-liked here, and we’re hoping every day for some positive news.”
Just as the detectives had done before them, Charlie and Wyrick took careful note of the way the old mansion had been laid out into separate apartments, and when they exited the elevator and followed Wayne down to apartment 210, they also noticed the security cameras.
“Are those security cameras all in working order?” Charlie asked.
Wayne nodded. “Yes. I made a copy of the twenty-four hours before she disappeared for the police, and I can make a copy for you, as well, if you want.”
“Yes,” Wyrick said.
“Happy to help,” Wayne said as he glanced at her. He started to smile, and then saved it. She was a little scary and too serious to chance it. Then he paused at the door to Rachel’s apartment. “Here we are. She doesn’t have security inside her apartment, and that’s strictly the leaser’s choice. Some do. Some don’t.”
Charlie removed the yellow strip of crime scene tape that had been taped across the doorway, then Wayne unlocked the door.
“I have a question,” Wyrick said. “I understand a cleaning crew was here the day she went missing?”
“Yes. I let them in that morning, and they were gone long before she came home from work,” Wayne said.
“How many people in the cleaning crew?” Wyrick asked.
“Three. A man and two women. Do you want me to go in with you, or...”
“No, thanks,” Charlie said.
Wayne hesitated, then once again handed over the passkey.
“I’m sure I can trust you to lock up when you’re finished. If I’m not in the office, just drop it in the mail slot in the door.”
“Will do,” Charlie said.
Charlie and Wyrick walked in, shutting the door behind them. Then they stood in the foyer, absorbing the vibes.
Charlie was waiting for her to make the first move.
“Anything?” he asked.
“I don’t get any images of a struggle, but I get vibes of different people...probably the cleaning crew,” Wyrick said.
“Let’s check it out,” Charlie said and moved from the foyer into the living room on the right. It was neat and spotless. “I don’t think she was even in here after she came home from work,” he said. “Nobody sat on the sofa or in any of the chairs, because the throw pillows don’t look as if they’ve been moved since they were fluffed.”
Wyrick smirked. “Fluffed?”
Charlie frowned. “Well, what the hell do you call it?”