Only once it disappears behind a thick cloud does she fully enter the idling cab.
If she hadn’t mentioned an uncle, I would have happily declared she is Tobias’s daughter. Now I feel far from the scent. Excluding Isabelle, Tobias doesn’t have any known living family members. His father passed away at the end of last year, his brother died decades ago, and his mother was never cited in any records.
Rumors circulated that Tobias’s dedication to eradicate sex trafficking rings was because of his mother, but since those rumors were mostly based on speculation rather than facts, I brushed off the agent’s comments.
Lies always travel further than the truth.
I learned that the hard way many times the past six years.
Once the taxi disappears into a gulley, I move out from the bush and make my way to the front door of the residence disclosed in Tobias’s anagram. Even aware it most likely will go unanswered, I press in the doorbell. When its old-style buzz goes unheard, I jimmy the lock, or should I say, ‘I attempt to jimmy the lock.’ Tobias’s security is tight, meaning I’ll need more than a credit card and a bobby pin to gain access.
While observing the area for nosey neighbors, I slip down the side of the paint-peeled property. I whistle like I’m calling the family pet to get a treat to ensure no attack dogs are waiting in wake before climbing over the six-foot steel fence.
“Fuck it,” I grumble to no one when my trousers snag a bent piece of wire. My descent saves my dick from being sliced, but my thigh isn’t as lucky. It’s now harnessing a nasty three-inch-long gash.
“Hello… is anyone home?”
It takes me a few seconds to remember why the hunt for my gun comes up empty. I had to hand it in at the commencement of my suspension. It’s probably being logged into evidence as we speak, then Leesa will have more than bad-mentoring to argue when she pleads her case.
“My name is Brandon James. I’m an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
When my introduction falls on deaf ears, I test the back door to check if it’s locked. It is, but the lace curtain on the window is thin enough I can see through to the kitchen. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, the standard kitchen you find in many homes. Even the photographs on the fridge are the same. They show Tobias a good three decades or so ago with his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a much smaller and somewhat younger African American woman.
There are several pictures of them, but I’m more interested in the ones scattered between them. It’s a timeline of events that leave no doubt that Tobias had a daughter. Even from a distance, I’m confident in declaring she was the woman who left here only minutes ago.
Isabelle looks around three or four in the first photograph up until a recent one that appears to be her first day of college. She’s easily identifiable via her chocolate-brown eyes and button-shaped nose.
When I spot her in an image with a woman I swear I’ve seen before, I dig my cell phone out of my pocket. Because the fridge is on the far wall, and the picture is at the bottom of the stack, I can’t get a good view of the stranger’s face, but hopefully, the zoom on my phone will fix that.
After flattening the camera lens on the back of my phone against the glass, I wait for the familiar click to sound through my ears before dragging it back down. The quality is horrendous when I zoom in, but no amount of pixilation can detract from my belief that the woman photographed with Isabelle is Katarina Rouse, once lover of Henry Gottle, the mob boss of New York.
What the fuck?
Is this how Tobias and Henry met?
Is Katarina Isabelle’s mother?
She has the same dark, wavy hair and petite features, but I’m still cautious. There are reports that Henry orders wakeup calls for any men stupid enough to date his ex, so there’s no way he would have left Tobias breathing if he’d slept with Katarina. But what other reason would there be for Isabelle and Katarina to be photographed together? She’s clearly young, and there are no additional pictures of them, but still, this is a development I never saw coming.
With my curiosity at a pinnacle, I check all access points of the house to gain unlawful entry. When my inspection of