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Thirty

It was two in the afternoon when Madison and Terry were getting out of the car at Jerrod Stevens’s house. In a couple hours, she had two back-to-back appointments. She wasn’t looking forward to either one and had considered canceling the one with her general practitioner. After all, her stomach hadn’t kicked the muffin back out.

She knocked once, and footsteps headed toward the door.

A man stuck his head out and grimaced. “Cops or religion?”

He wasn’t the first person to ask that question, but every time it happened, Madison wondered what it was about her and Terry that had people thinking they were on some sort of religious mission.

In response, both she and Terry held up their badges.

“Are you Jerrod Stevens?” Madison asked.

“The one and only, and thank God, because the world can only handle one of me.” Stevens grinned and winked at her. “Come on in.”

“We’re Detectives Knight and Grant,” she said, thinking she should record those words and simply hit play for the number of times she had to say it during an investigation. “We have some questions for you about a former tenant.”

“Shoot.”

She gave him the address in question. “Saul Abbott. We believe he rented from you before Mary Smith, who took over in November.”

“All right, well, that’s my property, but—” he scratched the back of his head with the fervor of a dog going after a flea “—I don’t know that name.”

She pulled up his picture on her phone and showed it to him.

“Nope, never seen him before. Doesn’t mean he didn’t drop around. I used to rent that place to a young woman. Maybe he was a friend of hers?”

“Do you know her name?” Madison asked.

“I’d have to go look at the records. My memory’s not as good as it used to be.”

“We’ll wait,” Madison assured him.

“All right…” He left them in the entry and headed toward the back of the home.

The part of the house they could see was tidy and compact with everything seeming to have its place. There was a mild odor that kept hitting her, but she couldn’t quite pin its source. Her guess was something food related.

“Here we go…” Stevens was back, holding a ledger open. He drew a fingertip down the page, licked his finger and flipped to the next page. “Ah, here we go.”

“Do you manage or own a lot of properties?” she asked.

“Five properties. Some are duplexes, and others, small apartments.” He looked up from where he’d been in the book. “Here it is. Name’s Shannon Keller.”

“Do you know where Keller moved?” Maybe if they could find her, they’d find Abbott.

“I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“And she moved out when?” Madison’s phone pinged with a text message, but she’d check it after they left.

“October.”

That would make sense, as Mary Smith had told them she moved into the place in November. “And how long did you rent it to her?”

“A few years.”

Madison nodded. “Do you have her phone number by chance?”

“Nah, sorry.”

“Well, thank you for her name.”

“Don’t you mention it. I stand behind Stiles’s finest.” Stevens closed the book and tucked it under his right arm and waved his left hand.

She smiled at him. “Thank you,” she repeated.

“No. Thank you.” Stevens shoved out his hand, nearly dropping the book in the process.

She shook his hand, then Stevens took Terry’s.

“Thank you,” he told Terry.

Terry just dipped his head, also smiling.

It felt like she was walking tall on the way back to the car. It had been far too long since the last time someone had expressed their gratitude for cops. Sadly, many people tended to judge the whole of law enforcement by the bad ones. Stevens’s faith instilled an even greater desire to bring down the corrupt cops before they destroyed all she held dear.

She checked her phone, and the message was from Cynthia. “Looks like we have another lead.” She filled Terry in after reading. “Cynthia received the phone logs from Stiles Wireless. One number called Carson fifty times in the week leading up to her murder. Cyn tracked it back to a John Clayton, here in Stiles.” She put the car into gear.