Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
The toilet tank lid had been removed and set on the floor beside the base. The shower curtain had been torn free from most of its hooks and now sagged, half inside the tub. A damp towel lay balled up in the corner.
Walter stepped into the doorway. “Whoever did this took their time.”
Laurel said nothing. The evidence didn’t suggest panic or urgency. The sequence had a rhythm. Methodical, not chaotic.
She exited the bathroom and entered the bedroom to the left. The mattress had been removed from the frame and now leaned against the far wall with the gray and blue bedspread crumpled beneath it. The dresser drawers had been pulled out and placed in a row on the floor. Clothing had been thrown about. The closet door stood open. Only one bent hanger remained, twisted sideways on the rod.
“Can you tell if anything is missing?” Laurel looked back at Sandra.
“No,” Sandra whispered, her face pale. “I mean, I don’t think so. Not from his bedroom.”
No female clothing. “You don’t live together?” Laurel asked. Sandra shook her head. “No. We have keys to each other’s apartments, though.”
Across the hall, Laurel stepped into a smaller room. Foam acoustic panels covered most of the walls, though a few had been peeled off and now leaned against the baseboard. A condenser microphone lay on the floor beside a detached boom arm, and a metal-framed desk had been cleared. A desktop tower sat open, side panel removed. Several internal components were missing, but the remaining ones looked undamaged. A monitor leaned against the far wall, unplugged but intact.
The red vinyl chair sat pulled back slightly from the desk. No overturned furniture. No broken glass. No clutter on the floor.
She crouched and scanned beneath the desk. Dust marked where the tower had originally sat. No debris, no scattered screws.
Walter stood near the door. “I take it we’re missing items here?”
“Yeah,” Sandra said. “His hard drive obviously. Also, he keeps notebooks near his computer with his research. Three of them, and they’re all gone.”
Laurel studied the room.
Tyler could have staged this himself for his conspiracy podcast. Maybe this mess gave him material. Maybe it fed the narrative. Or maybe it was for marketing. The visual chaos played well into his themes.
Or someone else had searched the place and taken the computer and notebooks. She wanted to interview Sandra, but this couldn’t be Laurel’s case. She lacked jurisdiction. “Sandra, how long has he been living here?”
“About six months.”
“He ever mention being worried about anyone local? Businesses? Neighbors?” Laurel asked.
Sandra shoved her hand in her pocket. “Tyler always thought people were watching. But he never mentioned names.”
Laurel looked around. “Walter, what do you think?”
“Hell if I know.”
She moved back to the hallway and paused from the new angle. “Walter?”
He stepped up beside her. “What is it?”
She pointed to the doorframe. A smear, about chest height. Dried. Red-brown in color, with irregular edges. “That looks like blood.”
Walter leaned closer. “Yeah. Could’ve come from someone reaching out, maybe holding themselves up.” He turned to Sandra, who hovered by the destroyed sofa. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
She raised both hands. “Because they won’t believe me. I know how that sounds, but I’m serious. I just saw the damage, looked around quickly, and called you. I didn’t even see that blood.” She wiped her eyes. “Seriously. I should have but just didn’t. I feel like I’m in a fog. Something bad happened to Tyler. I just know it.”
Laurel observed her speech pattern and body language. The response lacked defensiveness. Her cadence had slowed, and vocal tension had diminished. “Why do you believe the police would disregard your report?”
Sandra shifted her weight. “Tyler doesn’t trust the government. He’s had a few arguments with local officers, nothing violent, just a few conflicts. He talks about it on his podcast. They know who he is, and I think they’ve stopped taking him seriously.”
Laurel flicked through her memory. There had been an episode listed on Tyler’s site about the Elk Hollow Police Department. She’d have to listen to that later. “I think we need to call the local police, Sandra. This apartment appears as if a fight occurred either before or after a search.”
Sandra turned to Walter, her eyes wide. “You think Tyler found somebody searching his home?”
Walter glanced at Laurel. “I don’t know.”
If Tyler had interrupted a robber, where was he? Laurel watched the young woman.
Sandra paled. “Tyler said if anything ever happened to him, if he disappeared, I should call you. That’s how I had your number. He trusts you. Not them. You have to find him.”
Laurel crouched and looked closer at the gray and blue carpet. Against the scratched baseboard, a series of dried red dots disrupted the uniform pattern. “There’s more blood,” she said. “It has soaked beneath the baseboard.” She stood slowly, her gaze sweeping the space once more. No assumptions. Not yet. She cataloged what was visible, noted what wasn’t. Mainly, more blood.