Ella suddenly thought of infamous murderer Richard Chase, the Vampire of Sacramento. He believed that if a door was open or unlocked, the residents were welcoming him inside. Six people met their demise through this twisted belief.
“Now you’re thinking like a serial killer,” said Ella, but she made a mental note to talk through this with Paige later. Ella had to document every beat of their investigation with paperwork and she couldn’t just write that they walked into a person of interest’s home without invitation. It was a strict violation of protocol and privacy laws. Ella understood Paige’s enthusiasm though. She’d had the same mindset when she first got started.
Ella clutched the window frame, narrowly avoiding the jutting glass that remained in place, and climbed through. She opened the kitchen door ajar.
“What are you doing that for?” asked Paige.
“Covering your ass. Every report we submit is devoured by FLC to make sure we’ve played by the rules. They’ll overlook an open door, probably not a broken window.”
The FLC was the Federal Legal Counsel, a team of lawyers that ensured everything the FBI did was aboveboard. Most of the department was made up of ex-special agents, so a lot of them were happy to let a few things slide if it had a net positive on any ongoing cases, but there was always a risk.
“Gotcha. What if we find something that helps us?”
“If we don’t, then this never happened. If we do, then we heard a noise and rushed inside. It’s safe to say there’s no one here, though, which goes in our favor,” Ella said.
“This place looks like it’s been empty for ages,” said Paige as she trudged through the kitchen.
“No,” Ella said as she inspected the owner’s groceries. “Look at the date on that bread. Five days from now. He bought it recently. And the timer on the oven’s only elapsed three hours. He was here three hours ago. Look around, quickly and discreetly. Don’t move anything. I’ll stay back and keep an eye out in case Calvin comes home.”
“Roger that,” Paige said. She trod lightly, moving into the living room and then out of sight. Barely ten seconds later, Paige called out again.
“Ella, come look at this. Quickly.”
She rushed upstairs. Paige was standing in what passed as the bedroom, staring at a cardboard box in the corner. Ella followed her stare.
“Oh, Christ.”
It was a box of women’s shoes. Boots, heels, flats, pumps.
“You think a woman lives here?” Paige asked.
Ella surveyed the mess. An unmade bed, food cartons on the floor. “No. Don’t touch them. We need to find this guy and take him in, then we’ll get forensics to test them. They could be our smoking gun. Now we just need to figure out where he is.”
Paige breathed heavy and tip-toed away from the box to the other side of the room. Ella looked out of the window in case the owner was en route home. No sign of anyone else out there yet.
Paige opened a wardrobe and a few coat hangers fell out. She jumped out of the way.
“Careful, Ellis. Take nothing, touch nothing, leave nothing behind. That’s the rule.”
“Sorry,” Paige went to shut the door but something caught Ella’s eye.
“Hold up,” a second. “What’s that on the door?”
Paige pulled the door again. “Oh damn. A calendar.”
Ella moved in, scanning the days until she found today’s date. There was a scribble in red ink. One word. One phone number.
The word was therapy.
“Looks like our man is seeking mental help,” Paige said.
Ella pulled out her phone and dialed the number.
“You’re calling it?” Paige asked. “Shouldn’t we just wait him out?”
“No chance,” Ella said with the phone glued to her ear. “We know he targets specific sex workers and uses their professions to get close to them. What if this is no different?”
“Good point.”