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Cassidy nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
As soon as she stepped off the elevator and turned the corner, Cassidy laid eyes on an older gentleman dressed in uniform, a short-sleeved, light blue Polo shirt and matching pants that were a shade or two darker. He didn’t smile or greet Cassidy; he only used a universal key to unlock the door. A green light flashed on the keypad, overriding the control, before he yanked down on the handle and pushed open the door.
“How long you gonna be?”
“Not long. I’ll make this as quick as possible. I’m sure you’re busy,” Cassidy offered, opting to keep things cordial.
“Very,” he grunted. “We’re short-staffed today, and I’ve got a list a mile long. This isn’t helping.”
“Got it. I promise I’ll hurry.”
Cassidy gave him a soft nod before she stepped into the apartment. She removed a pair of latex gloves from her purse she’d brought from home. She would have to risk tracking in debris from her shoes because she didn’t have booties. Not that she cared at this point.
The air inside the place smelled stiff and closed in. It had been a few days since the shooting, and no air was currently circulating. Cassidy glanced around the living room, taking in her surroundings. There were a few signs that CSU had searched the place, but the apartment was still orderly, for the most part, appearing only slightly lived in.
Cassidy traveled to the bedroom. There, things were less organized. The bed had been tousled. The sheets and comforter were moved away from the bed, and the pillows were tossed around but not in the way of someone sleeping there. CSU had been searching for evidence. DNA. Cassidy swallowed thickly, wondering what they’d found and who it might have belonged to—if there was anything there.
She slowly walked around the bed and peered at the bloodstained carpet, staring blankly at memories of Niles’s—Jerrod’s—body playing in her mind. When she felt overwhelmed, Cassidy closed her eyes, blinking away the image to center her focus.
“Why am I here?” she whispered.
She knew CSU would have collected anything relevant, but she had to come. Cassidy needed to see if there was anything they’d missed. Anything.
She lifted the strap to her purse and repositioned the small bag to hang across her body and out of the way before starting with the dresser. Slowly, she pulled open each drawer, pushing around clothing. Anger crawled up her spine as she thought about how the contents were the same as the ones on his side of the closet at the house she and Niles had shared—socks, briefs, tees, all bearing similar labels.
Nothing.
Her next stop was the nightstand, where she found stacks of bills, bank statements, and credit card statements.
Jerrod Williams.
One in particular caught her eye: a renewal notice for a safe deposit box. The bank wasn’t one she and Niles were associated with. Opening the statement, she realized there was also a checking account at the same bank in Jerrod Williams’s name. The balance on the most recent statement was $682,987.32. That had been two months ago.
Where did you get that type of money?
Cassidy took a photo of the statements, then neatly tucked them back into the drawer before searching the bathroom and the closet. By all accounts, Jerrod’s life mirrored Niles’s life with Cassidy through clothing and personal items such as jewelry and cologne. Yet, another confusing layer to this mess that was now her life. Why have a secret identity if he was basically the same person?
But it isn’t the same, is it?
This life that Jerrod Williams lived didn’t include me.
Despite the similarities, Jerrod’s life had erased Cassidy’s existence.
“Lady, you about done in there?” The terse, irritated voice from outside the apartment startled Cassidy but made her refocus.
“Yes, coming now.”
She hurried out of the bedroom, through the living room, past the maintenance guy, mumbled thank you, and then hurried toward the elevator. She now had one more piece of a puzzle she had no clue how to solve. Despite her reckless behavior, Cassidy had no other choice if she wanted to prove her innocence. So, her next stop was Capital Bank.
8.
“Davis . . .”
At the sound of his name, Davis paused and backtracked, peering into the corner office.
“Yeah, Captain.”
“Where are we with the Williams case?”
