everyone was up to. His dream to be a published writer kept him watching and kept him writing every afternoon. He looked down to notice the autumn leaves had begun to fill the small yard at the front of the brownstone. Adam made a mental note to go out and rake up the leaves that had fallen from the big oak, which sat at the edge of the sidewalk and his property. Being outside, the fresh air always helped clear his thoughts whenever he experienced writer’s block. He then opened the paper, to the headlines of the day, to read about any recent homicidal activity in New York. This was his daily routine in hopes of obtaining an incident to help provoke more writing. Adam had finished a psychological thriller but still hashed through it with edit after edit. He called it a work-in-progress and didn’t want to rush it. He wanted it perfect so it would be a bestseller.
His phone rang as he had grabbed his jacket, ready to head out and tackle those leaves.
“Crawford Property,” he answered by the third ring.
Great. Just what I need.
Adam told the detective he’d be at the brownstone all day. Not that he knew anymore about Beth’s disappearance than he’d already told the cops. He figured after six weeks, with no news and the missing person’s report, he could rent the apartment. Adam cursed under his breath as walked down the corridor of the third floor. He glanced at the door at the end of the hallway before he entered the staircase. He wondered if they’d find Beth’s body.
Adam liked Beth. She reminded him of Sara. The girl he lived next-door to in Manhattan, the same girl who broke his heart when she betrayed their friendship and his love for her. That same night, he’d arrived home to a police car in his driveway. His mom had been killed in a car accident. He found his devastated father in tears. Since that night, Adam was alone and lost with no one to talk to. His father began to drink heavily and lost his job. Within months, the bank foreclosed on their home, and they were forced to leave Manhattan and move into the dingy little apartment at the brownstone.
Chapter Five
Riley pulled up in front of the brownstone and called Adam’s number.
“Crawford Property”
“Mr. Crawford, Detective Riley; we spoke earlier.”
Riley’s words were as brief as Adam’s greeting and response.
“Third floor; apartment number three.”
He opened the front door and walked in. Riley looked at the buzzer board on his way through and turned to Kennedy.
“Guess he’s not big on security.”
Kennedy nodded. He didn’t look impressed.
Riley missed Steve. He missed the action he’d been used to in the undercover drug operations. He belonged on the streets and not at a desk in Missing Persons. His life had changed suddenly and not for the better. Kennedy irritated him with one question after another on their way over. Riley could easily tell that Kennedy had been stationed at the thirty-seventh precinct since he graduated from the academy and had never left. He didn’t have the street smarts that Riley developed over the years. He only hoped the man would keep his mouth shut and follow his line of questioning with Adam.
“Nice place,” Kennedy sarcastically mentioned, as they entered the lobby to the brownstone.
Riley took in his surroundings and nodded. “I’ve seen worse.”
“I can’t believe some people actually live like this,” Kennedy continued to ramble.
Riley walked in front of him and rolled his eyes. Riley had been to places in worse shape than this. At least this brownstone appeared to have a mopped floor. Riley remembered some places he’d want to wipe his feet on the way out. He could easily tell the old brownstone hadn’t been kept up over the years. The tenants were probably low-income and likely, drug dealers. Not the ones his team would