D.D. pushed by Keynes’s larger build, which nearly filled the narrow space, to cross to the bed. She leaned over the thin pillow, sniffed experimentally. When she looked up again, she spotted Keynes studying her.
“Searching for chloroform,” she provided. “It has a distinct smell, which takes a bit to fade. Might be traces on the pillow. Or maybe that’s just my imagination.”
“He would have to have subdued her quickly,” Keynes said. “Otherwise, given Flora’s training . . . Where are the signs of a struggle?”
He had a point there. The apartment appeared relatively untouched, one of the more unsettling things about the situation. And indeed, given what Flora was capable of . . .
“He had already made a key for the locks. It’s possible he was already inside, waiting for her.”
“Not likely. Rosa was here for several hours before Flora returned home. When Rosa is anxious, she doesn’t just cook, she cleans.”
“And if she was puttering around, tidying up this small space,” D.D. filled in, “where could an intruder hide that she wouldn’t have seen?”
“Exactly.”
D.D. nodded, following the train of logic. “All right. So first Rosa arrives at the apartment. Let’s herself in, does her thing. Then you drop off Flora. Mom and daughter catch up, exchange words . . . ?”
She eyed Keynes expectantly. But he refused to take the bait. Apparently, he either didn’t know what Rosa had said to her daughter—which D.D. didn’t believe for a minute—or he didn’t feel it was relevant to the investigation.
“Mom departs shortly after one. At which point, we know Flora didn’t make any calls and didn’t use her computer or credit cards. Which leaves us with?”
“She took a nap.”
D.D. liked it. Certainly, in her experience, unconsciousness was about the only thing that kept a younger person from his or her electronics.
“When she woke up,” she said, gazing at the rumpled bed, “he was here. Already in the room. Already standing over her.”
“Because this is where he chloroformed her,” Keynes said.
“Yeah. And she never ate again. I mean, up all night, then returning to muffins and fruit . . . I gotta say, first thing upon waking, I would’ve been famished.”
“I’m told you’re a woman who appreciates an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
“Checking up on me, Shrink Man? You’ve been told correctly.”
Keynes ignored her sarcasm, staying focused on the matter at hand. “He already had a key made. Meaning he could enter the apartment at any time.”
D.D. shook her head. “He wouldn’t go after her in daytime. Come on, the kind of guy who takes the time to copy a key is the kind of guy who does his homework. Given Flora’s rap sheet—”
“Not a matter of public record.”
“He would’ve done some digging. That whole ruse, posing as a building inspector? This guy has patience. He would’ve taken proper precautions to abduct a target as high risk as Flora. Not to mention, this is a third-floor walk-up unit. She puts up a fight, the other occupants would come out to the stairwell to discover what’s going on.”
D.D. paused, considered the matter. “He needs it to be dark,” she reiterated. “Otherwise, he’s too exposed. Think about it. He can’t use a rickety metal fire escape without calling attention to himself, meaning he had to have used the main stairs, just like the rest of us.”
“Does the building have a camera?”
“Former residential home? We’re not that lucky. But consider his options. He knows he can get into the apartment. He’s planning on ambushing Flora, rendering her unconscious, which means he then has to carry her out. Carrying an unconscious body down three flights of stairs is pretty noticeable. So he’d pick a time after dark. When most residents wouldn’t be coming or going.”
“He watched the apartment. Got to know the routines.”
“Consistent with someone patient enough to scam himself a set of keys.”
“He’d also be watching Flora. Getting to know her routines,” Keynes provided.
D.D. nodded. She pushed her way back into the main living area, where she crossed to one of the front-facing windows. She drew back the filmy curtains Flora seemed to favor—the kind of gauzy affair that offered some privacy while also still permitting plenty of light—and peered out onto the street. “We should investigate vantage points,” she murmured. “Maybe even a new tenant in the surrounding area. If our theory is correct, our guy would’ve had to have been hanging out for a while in order to learn everything he needed to learn.”
“Permit parking,” Keynes commented.
D.D. nodded, having noticed the signs earlier. Meaning parking on these streets was restricted to locals, who had to prove residency in order to gain a parking pass. Those who parked without one risked being ticketed. Something else to have a local detective check out. Because their suspect definitely would’ve parked close in order to escape with an unconscious woman. Meaning if he didn’t have the proper permits, they might find a trace of a parking ticket.
“Does Flora have a car?” she asked Keynes, as it was possible the kidnapper had stolen Flora’s own vehicle for transport.
“No.”
“All right. So we’re talking early nightfall. Not so late that Flora had woken up and eaten dinner, but not so early that it was still light out. Say, five thirty, six.”
“Seems like a high-traffic hour,” Keynes observed. “Risks the other residents coming and going from work.”
“Unless that’s how he does it.” D.D. paused, the idea grabbing hold. “Social engineering. That’s his thing, right? Pretend to be a building inspector in order to get a key. Maybe he dressed up for yesterday’s event as well. Boyfriend? Taxi driver?”
“Escorting an unconscious woman from her apartment?” Keynes raised an eyebrow.
“EMT. Home health worker.” She glanced at him. “Local cop? An occupation that could easily explain the situation, assuming he was noticed. Then, he’d simply brazen his way through. Walk straight down the stairs, with his drunk or sick or groggy female companion. In a neighborhood as high traffic as this one, simply acting as if you belong is half the battle.”
Keynes nodded. “Officers should canvass for neighbors who were out and about yesterday around dusk. See if anyone noticed a particularly large guy who appeared to be assisting an impaired woman. Maybe an official worker of some kind who blatantly stood out.”
“A particularly large guy, just like Stacey Summers’s kidnapper.” D.D. glanced at him. “Did you know Flora’s mom is a mentor for Stacey’s parents?”
“Rosa mentioned it.”
“Flora seems to have taken an interest in the case as well.”
“As you can tell from the bedroom wall, Flora is interested in a good many cases.”
“But she’s looking for Stacey Summers’s abductor in particular. The way she spoke at the crime scene yesterday . . . That’s who she was hoping to discover at the bar. And immediately, she drew a connection between that case and her own attacker.”
“Do you know why she does it?” Keynes asked softly. “Why Flora continues to put herself in dangerous situations?”
D.D. shrugged. “Adrenaline rush. Post-traumatic stress. Some God syndrome where she enjoys reveling in her own power after four hundred plus days of feeling powerless.”
“I don’t know,” Keynes said, which surprised her. “I doubt Flora knows why she’s doing what she’s doing either. Or, at least, can put her finger on one particular stressor. Who she reminds me of is a soldier who returns home from her tour of duty, only to re-up again and then again. At the end of the day, real life feels too alien, while knowing the war is still going on, that she has brothers out there still fighting . . .”
“Is that what those articles are?” D.D. asked. “Her brothers-in-arms? The missing people she can’t leave behind?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you think there’s a connection between Flora’s disappearance and Stacey Summers’s kidnapping?”
Keynes didn’t answer as much as he hesitated. D.D. did a little double take, letting the curtain drop and stepping away from the window.