Page 131 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

“Take your time.”

“I did.”

“She may have had different hair. Might’ve been with another girl, blonde, about the same age.”

“No.”

“She ever come by asking about renting without paperwork?”

The woman’s face tightened. “I keep paperwork.” She handed the photo back. “Not here.”

JP showed her Maddox’s picture next. “This man?”

She made a face. “Him I seen.”

JP waited.

“He came around asking if anybody needed junk hauled. I told him no. He smelled like beer.”

“When?”

“Few months ago. I never gave him any work. I don’t let men like that past the gate.”

There was no gate, but JP understood the sentiment.

“Did he talk to any tenants?”

“Not that I saw.”

JP glanced past her into the small courtyard. Four doors. Nowhere to disappear. Too much visibility, too much manager attention. She was telling the truth.

“I appreciate your time, ma’am.”

He crossed off the address before he got back to the truck.

The second property sat behind a chain-link fence two blocks west, a converted Craftsman house with a detached garage apartment in back. The front porch sagged a little. Wind chimes hung from the eaves. A lemon tree shaded the driveway.

A man in his seventies answered the door wearing suspenders and a hearing aid that whistled when he turned his head.

JP introduced himself and raised his voice just enough. “I’m trying to locate two young women who may have stayed nearby.”

The old man frowned. “Police already came about that dead fella.”

“I’m not police.”

“Then why you asking?”

“Because sometimes people talk easier when there’s no badge.”

The man considered that, then opened the door wider but didn’t invite him in.

JP showed Bay’s photo.

The man squinted. “Pretty girl.”

“Seen her?”

“No.”