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20

JOANNA

“We need to sweep the place.” I scanned the apartment’s interior, noting the smashed vase, flowers on the floor, and overturned cabinet. “Make sure whoever did this is no longer here.”

West stepped closer behind me. “I’ve got you covered.”

I entered the living area, my gun held high, and pivoted, doing a quick visual check of the kitchen where it connected to the living room. I stalked around behind the counter. There were dishes on the floor and the tap was flowing, but there was no sign of anyone present.

I turned off the tap with one hand and strode to one of the two doors attached to the living room. I positioned myself close to the wall and opened the first one. The bathroom was empty, although the contents of the medicine cabinet were strewn on the vanity and floor.

I backed up and tried the next door. It swung open to reveal a bedroom. The bedding had been torn off, the mattress slashed, and the dresser had suffered the same treatment as the medicine cabinet.

A closet stood in the corner. I tilted my head toward it and West nodded. Together, we crossed the room, picking our way around Portia’s belongings. West grabbed the closet door handle, and I stood in front of it, gun raised.

He yanked it open, but there was nothing inside other than a few dresses and an assortment of costumes that must be for Portia’s job at the Red Door.

With a sigh, I lowered the gun. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that we were alone or disappointed not to have discovered someone who could give us answers. I returned to the living room, West on my heels.

“It seems like whoever was here was searching for something,” I said, mentally cataloging the damage. The fact every drawer and cabinet had been opened, and all the cushions slashed, suggested this devastation was methodical rather than the result of rage.

I turned to West. His arms hung at his sides; he looked pale and stricken.

“Perhaps Ortez found out that she was helping me, and he wanted to make sure she didn’t have any evidence of his criminal activities hidden in her apartment.”

I considered this. “It’s possible.”

His lips pressed into a grim line. I could already tell he was blaming himself.

“This isn’t your fault,” I told him. “Portia wanted to find Sasha’s killer. Maybe she nosed around the wrong person.”

He shook his head. “She wouldn’t be wrapped up in any of this if not for me. So yeah, I am to blame.”

I tucked my gun away and placed my hands on his upper arms, waiting until he looked me in the eye. “Even if Portia had never met you, Sasha would still have been gathering information about Ortez’s dealings to further her plans to replace his wife. She would still have been killed, and Portia probably would have tried to find out why. ”

He pulled away. “We need to see if there’s anything here that could lead us to her.”

I let him change the subject. After all, he was right. His feelings were important, but they weren’t urgent. Ensuring Portia’s safety was.

“Do you think whoever did this took her?” I asked, looking around. “Or do you think she came home, found the place like this and ran?”

He tapped his finger against his lower lip, then turned and strode into the bathroom. A moment later, he emerged and ducked into the bedroom.

“If she left of her own accord, she’d have taken toiletries and clothes,” he muttered, as much to himself as to me. “It doesn’t look like that’s happened, unless she has duplicates of all her toiletries.”

“Shit.” I’d really hoped she was just lying low somewhere, hiding out until we came for her, but West made a good point. “We have to call this in. We need to put together a search team.”

“I’ll call my handler,” West said.

“And I’ll call…” Not Thackery. West still harbored concerns over where his allegiance lay. “Deputy Chief Dominguez.”

His eyes widened. “Are you comfortable with that?”

My lips twisted. “Not really, but she’s our best option if we don’t want to involve the captain.”

He held my gaze for a moment. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” I paced to the other end of the living area, giving him space to have a conversation with his handler while I called Dominguez. The phone rang out on the first call, but the deputy chief picked up on the second.

“Lee,” she growled, her voice thick with sleep. “Why are you calling in the middle of the goddamn night?”

“I’ve got a missing woman,” I told her. “I tried to contact Captain Thackery, but he didn’t answer. I need approval to put together a search team. There’s evidence she may have been kidnapped.”

“Fine,” Dominguez barked. “Do what you need. Now, I’m going back to sleep. You can update me in the morning.”

“Thank you, Deputy Chief.”

She’d already hung up.

I made several more phone calls, initiating the procedures to get crime scene technicians to the apartment as soon as possible and officers available to start asking around about Portia’s whereabouts. With that done, I hesitated for a few seconds and then tried Hanson’s number, but he didn’t pick up.

“Hanson isn’t answering his phone,” I told West, who’d already finished his conversation with his handler.

His expression was grim. “Someone matching Hanson’s description was seen with Portia at the club, and now she’s missing and he’s out of reach. Think it’s a coincidence?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

I didn’t want to believe Hanson could be embroiled in this. It was possible he was simply sleeping deeply and couldn’t hear his phone, but somehow, I doubted it.

“Let’s search the apartment,” West suggested. “See if we can find anything useful.”

We started in the living area and slowly worked our way through the mess. Unfortunately, everything present seemed to belong here. Nothing stood out, and there were no scribbled notes or unidentified substances. Most likely whoever had done this was wearing gloves and had had the freedom to take their time.

“The neighbors?” I asked when our search proved fruitless.

He raised his eyebrows. “They won’t be pleased to be woken up. ”

“If a kidnapping had taken place in my building, I’d want to know,” I pointed out. “Besides, maybe they heard something.”

“We can’t go far. We don’t want to risk anyone compromising the crime scene,” he warned.

“I know. But we can at least try the neighbors on either side and across the hall.”

He sighed. “It’s a start.”

We left the apartment, closing the door behind us. I walked to the next unit over and knocked. When, after twenty seconds, there was no response, I knocked again, louder.

The floor creaked, and then the door inched open. An eye appeared in the narrow gap.

“Who are you?” a grumpy male voice demanded.

I held up my badge. “Detective Joanna Lee. Chicago PD.”

He opened the door wide enough to reveal a skinny, wrinkled face with deep-set eyes and hardly any teeth. “What business do the police have dragging an old man out of bed?”

“We’re sorry to have woken you.” West stepped up beside me, his charming smile firmly in place. “We just have one or two questions, and then you can head straight back to bed. Is that all right?”

The man grumbled but nodded.

“Do you know the woman who lives next door?” I asked.

He grunted. “Sweet girl. Shows too much skin though. What’s this about?”

“She’s missing,” I informed him.

His jaw dropped, and the haziness vanished from his eyes in an instant. “What?”

“I want you to think hard.” I paused to give him a chance to process. “Have you heard or seen anything unusual tonight?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his bloodshot eyes flicking back and forth. Eventually, his face lit up.

“There was a commotion,” he said. “A few hours ago. A bit of bashing and crashing. I didn’t think much of it. Assumed someone was moving furniture.”

In a way, he was right to assume that.

“What time was this?” I asked.

He pulled a face. “Around ten. Maybe eleven. I was in bed, but I don’t sleep well. My memory isn’t great either though, so I don’t know how much stock you want to put in that.”

“Thank you.” For now, his guess-timate was all we had. “Anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied regretfully. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not right now, but someone will be by in the morning to take a statement. Have a nice night.”

He grumbled and seemed reluctant to close the door, but he must have realized that there really wasn’t much he could do.

“That’s something, at least,” West said as we passed back in front of Portia’s door to try the neighbor on the other side.

I knocked, then knocked again and called out, but it was completely silent within. Perhaps whoever occupied the apartment worked the night shift.

When we tried the door across from Portia’s, a young woman opened it, rubbing her eyes. A sleeping baby was tucked against her side.

“What is it?” she asked wearily.

“Did you know the woman who lived opposite you?” I took the lead again, knowing that West would prefer to remain in the background.

“Portia? Of course. Why?”

“Her apartment has been broken into.” I spoke softly, so as not to wake the baby. “We can’t find her. Have you seen her today?”

“No.” She frowned. “I hardly ever do. She keeps strange hours.”

Disappointment sat like lead in my gut.

“Have you heard or seen anything out of the ordinary tonight?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, no. I’ve been crashed out hard.”

“What about earlier today?”

“Hmm… no. Nothing stands out.”

I sighed. “Thanks, anyway. Let us know if you remember anything.”

The woman cocked her head. “You’ll be around?”

I nodded. “Probably on and off until she turns up.”

“Okay.” She said a quick good-night and shut the door.

“What next?” West asked.

I considered for a moment. “The building manager. I walked past a room labeled ‘manager’ on the ground floor.”

“They’re probably not in at this time of night,” he pointed out.

“Worth a shot anyway. Do you mind waiting here while I go? I don’t want to leave the room unattended.”

He smirked. “You’d leave your bartender husband in charge of a crime scene?”

“Better you than no one at all. We can’t afford to waste time.” Every second we hesitated was another in which Portia was at risk.

His expression sobered. “I know. Go.”

I hurried along the corridor and down four flights of stairs. When I reached the door labeled “building manager,” I knocked. To my surprise, the door opened almost immediately. A short woman with long black hair loose around her shoulders, who was wearing a graphic T-shirt, looked up at me curiously.

“It’s nearly midnight.” She sounded confused. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Are you the building manager?” I hadn’t expected her to be quite so young.

“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not a tenant though.”

“No, I’m not.” I showed her my badge. “Detective Joanna Lee. Chicago Police Department. I’d like to look at your security footage from earlier tonight.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Do you have a warrant, Detective Lee?”

“No,” I admitted. “But one of your tenants has been reported missing by a coworker and her apartment has been trashed.”

Her eyebrow inched up even higher. “An apartment you entered unlawfully?”

“No. The lock was broken, and the door opened as soon as we touched it. Besides, we had reason to be concerned for the wellbeing of its occupant.”

She opened the door wider to reveal a wall of computers behind her, and a laptop on the center of the desk with a gaming console connected.

“What room?” she asked. “If I can confirm that it doesn’t look right, you can watch the security footage. Only the corridors, elevators and stairs.”

“I appreciate that,” I told her. “I’ll get a warrant in the morning to make it official.”

I doubted we’d be catching any judges this late, and hopefully we wouldn’t need to.

“Good.” She offered me her hand. “I’m Kim. ”

I shook it. “Nice to meet you, Kim.”

She released me and hurried away—presumably to check on Portia’s apartment. I considered following her but decided to wait instead. West was up there. All would be fine.

When she returned, she was muttering to herself, her face pale.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe no one noticed this. Shit. This is bad. This is so bad.”

I gritted my teeth. West obviously hadn’t calmed her before she came back down. She was spiraling, and I needed her back on task.

“The security feed from earlier tonight,” I reminded her. “Start at nine and work forward from there.”

“Right. On it.” She switched to a different recording, this time of a corridor—presumably the one outside Portia’s apartment. She fast-forwarded the footage, and we watched as someone left the apartment beside Portia’s and another person farther down the corridor returned home.

Around ten-thirty, a man dressed in dark clothes and a ski mask appeared from the door to the stairwell. He checked the unit numbers and stopped outside Portia’s apartment. He knocked, and then knocked again. He waited for several minutes, and when there was no response, he jimmied the lock open.

He wore gloves, and it was impossible to make out many details about him. Based on his height relative to the doorframe, I’d say he was less than six feet. When he glanced toward the camera, I caught a brief glimpse of the skin around his eyes.

“Rewind that and pause,” I ordered.

Kim did as I said, whimpering in the back of her throat and muttering under her breath once again about how bad this was .

I leaned closer. “He looks white, right?”

Kim blinked rapidly and tried to focus on the screen properly. “Yeah, I’d say so. He’s not black, anyway. Could be Asian or perhaps has some Hispanic heritage. It’s difficult to tell from just that tiny bit of skin.”

I grimaced. It wasn’t a lot, but at least it would allow us to begin narrowing the suspect pool. We were looking for a man, shorter than six feet, possibly Caucasian.

“I need to make a phone call. I’ll be just outside.” I left the room and closed the door behind me, then scrolled through my contacts and found Zeke’s number.

“What did your lying husband do now?” he grumbled after the call connected. “I was sleeping with a sexy redhead, dreaming very nice dreams.”

“Sorry for calling at this hour. I hope you left the room, so you didn’t wake her too.” I was well aware I was stretching the boundaries of our friendship, such as it was.

“Don’t worry. Fi is sleeping soundly. What’s up?” He sounded more alert by the second.

“I need a favor.” I hesitated to ask when I didn’t know what he might want in return, but this was an emergency.

“A favor for a favor.” The smirk in his voice came through clearly.

“Fine.” I explained the situation to him as best I could. “I need to know who took her, or anything that might lead us to her. Do you think you can help?”

“The apartment building has a security system?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I didn’t ask why he wanted to know, sensing that it would be best if I remained in the dark.

“Then I’ll do what I can. I’ll get back to you if I find anything.”

“Thanks, Zeke.” I ended the call and stepped back inside the office. “I’m going to head up to the apartment. Do you feel safe here on your own?”

She nodded, even though she was more subdued than earlier. “The door has a really good locking mechanism. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, but I’ll send an officer down as soon as the team arrives.” If the men who’d broken into Portia’s apartment hadn’t tried to take out the security system at the time, they probably weren’t interested in it now, but there was always a chance they’d want to destroy any evidence.

“Thanks.”

I backed out of the office again, turned, and squeaked, my heart leaping as I raised my gun at the figure immediately in front of me. I relaxed as recognition set in.

“Shit, Sewell. Don’t scare me like that. I could have shot you.”

He ducked his head sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Thought you’d have heard me arrive.”

“I was distracted.” Damn, I had to pay better attention to my surroundings. “Did Dominguez send you?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “She tried Hanson but couldn’t get an answer, so she asked me to partner with you on this one since… you know, I’m partnerless and all.”

Emotion flashed across his face, and I felt a pang for him. I hadn’t liked Neal, but he’d still been Sewell’s partner. It must be difficult to have lost him.

“I hope Hanson is all right,” I murmured, concerned for my own partner. The fact he hadn’t answered when the deputy chief called wasn’t a good sign. He’d never intentionally ignore her, which meant that he was either dead to the world in bed, in trouble—or he was the trouble.

I prayed he was just sound asleep.

“I’m sure he’s snoring as we speak.” Sewell flashed me a comforting smile. “By the way, I talked to Heather from the crime scene team. They’ll be here shortly.”

“Good. The sooner they get to work, the sooner we’ll have a lead to follow. At the moment, we’ve got next to nothing.”

“That’s unfortunate.” He glanced around, then frowned. “Did you leave her apartment unattended?”

“No.” My cheeks heated, and embarrassment coiled in my gut. “West is there.”

“West, as in, your husband?” He looked confused. “Why is he here?”

“We were out together when I got the call.”

“Uh-huh.” He seemed to be processing this. “Who reported her missing?”

“One of her coworkers.” I started toward the stairs. “Come on.”

He huffed. “Can’t we take the elevator?”

“The stairs will be good for you.”

He grumbled behind me as we took the stairs back up to the fourth floor. We were both breathing more heavily by the time we arrived, although neither of us were nearly as red-faced as Hanson would have been.

I led Sewell to the apartment, where West was waiting by the door.

“Good to see some backup,” West said, greeting Sewell with an up-nod.

“I’d rather be in bed,” Sewell replied, from behind me. “You haven’t been inside, have you?”

West’s lips twisted. “Only while Joanna was with me. I haven’t touched anything.”

He gave me a look, and I could sense he was frustrated that Sewell’s presence would limit his ability to participate and speak freely, but there wasn’t much I could do about that.

“Thanks for standing watch.” I kissed his cheek and murmured, “A man, less than six feet tall, possibly white,” quiet enough that only he could hear.

“No problem. I’ll wait out here if you want to show Detective Sewell around.”

“Sure.”

West stood aside and I opened the door and gestured for Sewell to precede me.

“Holy shit, this is a mess,” he exclaimed.

“Someone was looking for something.” I gestured for him to look into the bathroom and bedroom.

While he was doing so, a tiny ding sounded from somewhere nearby. I looked around, confused. That had sounded like metal hitting metal.

Nothing within my line of sight moved.

Ding!

I jerked, shocked to realize it was coming from outside. I strode over to the window and opened it. I hadn’t thought there was anything out here, but I’d been too hasty in coming to that conclusion. A metal fire escape staircase passed by the window, zigzagging from above, with a small balcony accessible by climbing through the window.

I leaned farther out, squinting in the darkness as I searched for whatever had made that noise.

Ding!

I glanced down, and my jaw dropped. Splayed on the balcony below this one lay the prone and bloody form of Detective Hanson.