each other’s units if the blinds were open.
Lucy involuntarily shivered. She hated the thought of someone watching her.
But then she thought, had the police talked to the people who lived across from Mona Hill? Would they have seen anything?
“Do you have something a bit bigger coming up?” Patrick said. “I work from home for a computer software company, and Lucy is getting her master’s and needs her own quiet room. We’re saving up to buy a house, but we don’t want to be miserable or cramped, either.”
“All our three-bedroom units are on the fourth floor—we even have several four bedrooms. They’re in high demand. I have a three-bedroom coming up in about a month … I don’t know exactly when.”
“Can we see it? Or are they still living there?”
“We, uh—well, there was a domestic situation. I shouldn’t even tell you, but a guy killed his girlfriend, at least that’s what we got from the police. They haven’t let us into the unit yet, so I don’t know the condition, and the police said there is no next of kin. So when they clear it, we will contact whoever is on the paperwork when the resident filed.”
Patrick was holding Lucy’s hand, and he squeezed it. Probably to make sure she didn’t say anything to correct the woman.
“That’s awful,” he said. “I saw security cameras downstairs—but I guess you can’t always know who is who.”
“Well, the killer wasn’t a resident. We run a background and credit check on everyone on the lease.”
“And security?” Lucy asked, her voice sounding unnatural.
“We have cameras in the lobby, the mail room, and in the elevators. The main doors are locked at ten P.M. and then residents use a card key to enter—same key that opens the other common areas like the gym.”
“Do you have security guards?” Lucy asked.
“No, but we record everything, and if there’s a problem we can go back up to thirty days. I don’t really know a lot about it, we have a company that stores and retrieves data. The only time we’ve ever had to use it—other than this situation with the police last week—was when some packages were going missing. I had to go through hundreds of hours of recordings from the mail room to find the culprit. It was the son of one of the residents. He didn’t even live here, but used his mom’s card key when he visited. Collected her mail, stole from others. We’ve changed the way we handle packages now.”
“What about the garage?” Patrick said.
“Well … no cameras, but we take a photo of everyone entering and exiting. You need a card key to get in the garage.”
They chatted a bit more, then Patrick thanked her for her time and said he and Lucy would talk about it and let her know.
“We have two other people interested,” she said. “So if you can get your application in by the end of today, that would give you priority.”
“Thanks, I’ll definitely let you know.” Patrick’s smile was charming and easygoing, and the manager returned it. Lucy and Patrick walked out.
Patrick said, “Anyone could get into that building without much effort. I want to show you something.”
They walked around back to the underground parking entrance. An arm swung up when you placed your card key on the sensor. They spotted the camera on the wall above it. “When you activate the sensor, it takes a photo. Anyone can walk in and out without triggering the camera.”
“And if there are no security cameras on the staircase, someone could use the staircase to get up to Mona’s apartment.”
“Exactly.” Lucy remembered that Mona called Sean after she’d seen Elise in the building. “The manager said they keep the recordings for thirty days. Elise was in the lobby last weekend. If we can prove that, it’ll go a long way in substantiating Sean’s statement.”
“The police should have them, but we’ll talk to Kate and make sure.”
“The police here don’t seem inclined to do anything that might exonerate Sean.” But Kate would. Agent Pierce would follow up. This was one small piece of evidence, but it would help.
“Hold that thought.” Patrick glanced at his watch. “Time to talk to the pizza guy.”
* * *
Ned Williams was a tall, skinny Black kid with glasses and an award-winning smile. He held a video game controller in one hand, and had headphones draped around his neck when he opened the door of his dorm room.
“I’m Patrick Kincaid,” Patrick said, “a private investigator looking into the murder of