Page 252 of What We Bury

“Tyler could Google ‘how to tie a noose’ and get a hundred tutorials. Seven coils are traditional. It doesn’t mean he knows shit.”

Milo doesn’t look convinced, but he nods. I appreciate that he trusts my process even when he wants to argue.

“Where’s Amy?” I ask.

“Probably at work. Or with Tyler.”

“She said she needed space from him this morning,” Milo provides.

“You think that could push him to do something like this?” Micah asks.

“It could,” I say. “A guy like Tyler gets rejected, gets scared, gets pissed off, starts deciding fear is leverage.” I glance at Sage. “But I’m not marrying that theory yet.”

I move to the door first. Lock intact. No splintering around the jamb. No fresh scratches obvious at first glance, but this isn’t the kind of lock that would show much if someone competent picked it. I crouch, angling my phone flashlight over the keyway.

“Milo. Do me a favor. Check the building entry if you can—camera coverage, neighboring Wi-Fi, smart doorbells, anything that might have caught the hall.”

“On it.” He’s already pulling out his phone, thumbs moving.

I inspect the windows next. Latches engaged. Dust on the sill mostly undisturbed. Fire escape outside is rusted enough that a fresh shoe print might show if somebody used it, but Knox already said it looked clear. I trust his eyes almost as much as mine.

Micah keeps one arm around Sage while Eli stays crouched in front of her, still anchoring her with his hands. Knox stands near enough to kill God if he needed to.

I straighten. “All right. I’m going to talk to the neighbors. See if anyone saw anything unusual today.” I look at Knox. “Stay with her. Nobody leaves until I’m back.”

“Not going anywhere,” Knox says, in a tone that suggests he might also never go anywhere again.

I leave the apartment and work the floor. Badge out, notebook open, the version of me that gets answers through authority and patience rather than rope and retribution.

The building is old and nosy, which works in my favor. There are four units on Sage’s floor, two more above, three below. I knock on every door.

Unit 2A, directly across the hall, is a retired woman named Dorothy who watches television with the volume cranked so high I can hear the game show from the landing. She opensthe door on a chain and squints at my badge with undisguised suspicion.

“We’re investigating a potential break-in across the hall. Did you notice anyone unfamiliar in the building today?”

Dorothy thinks about it with agonizing slowness. “There was a young man,” she says finally. “This afternoon. I heard him in the hall. Thought it was the girl’s boyfriend—the loud one.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Tallish. Baseball cap. Carried a bag. I didn’t get a good look—he was already at her door when I came out for my mail.”

“What kind of bag?”

“A backpack. Dark colored. He let himself in with a key.”

“What time was this?”

“Before my shows. So . . . two? Two-thirty?”

“Did you see him leave?”

“No. I went back inside. My shows were about to start.”

I thank Dorothy and keep moving. 2C is empty. 2D is a guy who works nights and was sleeping all day, heard nothing.

Upstairs and downstairs give me nothing useful. But Dorothy’s description circles in my head.Tallish. Baseball cap. Backpack. Let himself in with a key.

Tyler is tallish. Tyler could have Amy’s key.