Frank and I arrived at the steel-and-tinted-glass apartment complex on West Fifteenth Place and Halstead just after twelve thirty. The apartments looked better in person than they did on the dated website with its underexposed pictures. Robert’s building was one of four that appeared to be in the same complex, with two on one side of the street and two on the other.
I shrugged as I stepped out of the cruiser and onto the sidewalk. “See any signs that say office?”
Frank did a three sixty and said no. I didn’t see any signs either.
“May as well check this side first, then.” I walked to the nearest building on our side of the street and pulled open the glass door. Inside the vestibule was the tenant directory showing the apartment number, the tenant’s name, and a button for the intercom. A wall of built-in mailboxes was next to the panel. Looking through the door that opened to the hallway, we saw an elevator, an exit sign at the back of the building, and an arrow pointing left to the exercise room and pool. I imagined each building was the same.
I scanned the directory of forty-eight names—none were Robert’s, and none had Manager written next to them.
“Let’s move on,” Frank said.
We checked the building next door and had the same results.
“The manager has to be in one of those buildings across the street.” I tipped my head that way.
“Are you sure there’s an on-site manager at all?” Frank asked.
I didn’t know that to be a fact, but I assumed there was—most apartments had managers. I jerked my chin toward the other side of the street. “There’s only one way to find out.” I looked both ways before stepping off the curb.
We entered the third building and scanned the directory.
“Here’s Robert’s name.” Frank tapped the ninth name on the panel. His apartment was on the first floor—number 1-9. “No manager listed, though, and we have one more building to check.”
We walked out then entered the last building. The first name on the directory for apartment 1-1 showed T. Sorensen-Manager.
“Thank God.” I pressed the buzzer, and we waited. Thirty seconds passed, and I pressed it again. “Damn it, he isn’t home.”
The glass door opened, and a woman and her dog walked out. She gave us a smile as she passed to the outer door.
“Excuse us, ma’am, but do you know where the manager is?” Frank exposed his badge so she wouldn’t think we were solicitors.
A surprised expression crossed her face before she answered. “You’re the police? Did Ted do something wrong?”
“Is Ted the manager?” I ignored her question.
“Yes, but he works during the day. If someone calls with an emergency during his work hours, he has an assistant who helps out.”
“Do you know where Ted works or what time he gets back home?”
“No and yes.”
I stared.
“No, I don’t know where he works, and yes, I know when he gets home because I live next door to him in apartment number two. He’s usually home by five thirty.”
“Do you know Robert Smith from the building next door?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Most everyone does their own thing. We don’t really get together unless there’s a community event going on, but no, I don’t recognize his name.”
We thanked her, and I pushed open the door, allowing her and her pup through. “So it’s safe to say that Ted should be here between five thirty and six?”
“Yes, I always hear him open his door around then.”
We had no reason to stick around, so we headed to the precinct, where we exchanged updates with Lutz. We explained that the manager of the apartment where Robert lived would be home later, and we would try again then. Lutz told us that Cliff was Cliff Howard, and officers from the Eighteenth District had gone to his residence and asked him about the incident with Jasmine Ortega. He’d denied running her off the road and said she was driving erratically, so he got past her as quickly as he could. When he glanced at her car, she was texting on her phone. The officers pulled his driving record and saw that it was clean and he’d never been arrested. He lived in a nice home in a nice neighborhood, so they gave him a warning and left.
Lutz raised his palms. “That’s all I know about the incident, but now we have his full name and know where he lived. I’ll get a warrant to search his home and Robert’s too. Maybe we’ll find a common thread that connects those two men with someone else.”
Little by little, our case was advancing. We knew two out of the three victims’ names and where they lived. Now to get inside their homes and find some shred of evidence that would tell us what they were doing, and with whom, on the last nights of their lives.