Brantley approached, held out his hand. “Brantley Walker. This is my partner, Reese Tavoularis. With the governor’s task force.”
The man’s gaze was steady, assessing. It moved over them both as though attempting to determine if they were telling the truth.
“And you are?” Brantley prompted.
“Sebastian Buchanan.” The man held up his detective shield.
“Came by earlier,” Brantley informed him, “but Reese wanted to have a second look. Mind if we take another look around?”
Detective Buchanan motioned around him. “Be my guest. I just got here. Haven’t started poking around yet.”
Reese left the two men to chat. He moved past them, pausing to take in the living room. A closer look this time. He wanted to view it from Corinne’s perspective, then as a cop might. Brantley and Detective Buchanan continued their conversation in the kitchen while he made his way through each room, peering in drawers, cabinets, looking at the washer and dryer tucked into a closet.
Like earlier, he came up with nothing. No cell phone, no lead as to whether she had come home or not.
He paused to check out the view through the door to the balcony, which they hadn’t bothered with during their earlier visit.
The blinds were encased in a glass frame that fastened to the door. He pushed the handle upward, opening the blinds so he could see out. He’d expected a small space, surprised to find that the outdoor patio was almost as large as the living room. Reese went to unlock the door, found it wasn’t locked, then looked down as he reached for the doorknob. Something flashed on the floor, caught by the light and the angle. He squatted to get a closer look, noticed an earring. Single teardrop diamond dangling from what reminded him of a fish hook.
Rather than pick it up, Reese pulled out his phone. He took a quick picture just to have it, then pulled up his Facebook app. The last thing he’d viewed had been Corinne Greenwood’s profile, which was exactly what he was looking for. Scrolling down her timeline, he found the images taken the night before. Most of them had been by her friends, who had tagged Corinne.
“Find something?” Detective Buchanan asked.
“She was wearin’ this last night,” Reese said, peering up at the man.
Footsteps sounded as Brantley joined him. Reese passed over his phone.
“Here,” the detective offered, handing over a small evidence bag.
Using the bag to pick it up, he sealed the earring inside and passed it back, taking the phone that was traded before opening the door.
“Have you been out here yet?” he asked Detective Buchanan.
“No.”
Reese nodded toward the door handle. “It wasn’t locked.”
Perhaps Corinne didn’t feel the need to lock her balcony door because of the location of her apartment. She was used to living in Coyote Ridge, where it still wasn’t necessary to lock your doors, so it was possible.
When he opened the door, Reese was hit with a gust of wind that made the lightweight curtains hanging from a rod overhead flap. Looked as though Corinne could shield a portion of the patio from the sun if she chose. Probably wouldn’t do a lot of good with the wind though.
The patio was decorated with a large turquoise rug made for the outdoors. On the left, tucked into an indention in the railing, were two rattan chairs, a small table between them. To the right, a wicker barrel chair with a turquoise-colored cushion that looked as though it could seat five full-size adults. There were a few throw pillows, none of which were faded by the sun, suggesting either they were new or Corinne kept them stored.
“Notice the chair’s dry,” Detective Buchanan stated. “And everything else is still wet from last night’s rain.”
That was a good observation. And the detective was right. It would mean that Corinne would’ve had to come home after she left the bar, taken the cushion out from wherever she kept it. If it had been left out while she was at the bar, it would’ve been soaked.
Reese stepped around the chair to see what was on the other side. There on a small side table was a dark bottle, a wineglass with maybe a swallow left in it. Beside it, a cell phone.
“Detective, you might wanna check this out.”
The man stepped forward, clearly sensing Reese’s concern.
Pulling on a latex glove, the detective picked up the phone, tapped the screen, bringing it to life.
“This is Ms. Greenwood’s phone,” he muttered.
Reese didn’t bother to mention they’d overlooked this earlier. The look on Brantley’s face said it all. He’d likely been hoping to find exactly what they’d found earlier. Nothing to show Corinne had come here after her night out. Because the blinds were all closed, the doors shut, Reese hadn’t even thought to come outside.
He watched as Detective Buchanan skimmed through what appeared to be a bunch of missed calls. Likely from her mother. Maybe some additional ones from family and friends having heard the news, hoping to ping the phone and get Corinne to answer.
