I moved away from the doorway and Troy took me to the end of the hallway. Gordon’s hallways were wider than most. If I stuck my arms out to either side of me, my fingers wouldn’t have touched the sides. It was the perfect house for a person who needed a wheelchair.
Maybe that was why Maryanne Albright stayed with Gordon rather than with Leonard and his wife, where she would have had two people to care for her. Either that, or Gordon bought this house recently with his mother’s needs in mind.
I should mention the house to Saul in case his current home wasn’t as well suited.
Troy opened a door at the end of the hallway and stepped in. “It’s a small room. Is there something you want me to bring out for you?”
A tight feeling filled my chest like a balloon inflating in a space two sizes too small. Troy was probably only trying to be helpful, but his presence was starting to feel a bit intrusive, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that he either wanted to be done here or he was trying to block my investigation.
Neither made any sense. Chief McTavish wouldn’t allow him to be part of this case if he had any connection with the victim or the accused. The more likely explanation was that Troy’s personality and mine didn’t mesh well. His desire to be fastidious and watch over everything was likely unintentionally pressing the button inside of me that reacted when I felt my abilities were being questioned.
And that was okay. I didn’t need to have a friendship with every member of the Fair Haven police department. It was probably better that I didn’t.
What I did need to do was find a way to work with him.
Which meant phrasing things carefully. I didn’t want to make it sound like I didn’t trust him to find what I wanted. We wouldn’t work together any better if he thought I felt he wasn’t smart enough to notice things.
“I need to take a look myself. My client wouldn’t appreciate it if I wasn’t personally managing looking into this aspect of his case.”
He gave a grudging nod. We swapped places, but Troy stayed in the doorway. He still had the demeanor of a babysitter watching over a stubborn child, but at least he wasn’t in my way anymore.
He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said the space was a tight fit. The room wasn’t much more than a closet. The desk where the computer must have sat was wedged up against one wall, and two filing cabinets stood along the perpendicular wall.
With only two filing cabinets, it wouldn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. I pulled open the first drawer. It was empty.
I looked back over my shoulder at Troy. “Did the police take any paperwork?”
Troy shook his head. “Computer only. They looked through the cabinets, but I guess nothing there was pertinent.”
They didn’t know to look for evidence that Gordon had stolen from his mother because they were only looking for evidence that Clement killed him. Even if they’d seen financial paperwork, they wouldn’t think to examine it. So their idea of pertinent and mine would be different.
The next drawer contained nothing but blank printer paper, still in its packaging. There wasn’t a printer on the desk. Would there be a reason for someone to take his printer? Maybe I simply hadn’t noticed it. Space was limited. I craned my neck and looked under the desk. There was the printer. Minor mystery solved.
The second filing cabinet contained all the warranty information and manuals for the medical equipment and appliances. The fourth drawer was empty again.
I wanted to slump down, but Troy was still watching. Unless I could find something to refute Leonard’s story, I’d never get the truth. He had no reason to tell me anything other than what he had. I didn’t know what the truth might be, so I didn’t know where to look beyond here.
“I shouldn’t be away from the station too long,” Troy said.
Patience, Nikki. Patience.
And he can learn some patience too, the imp in the back of my mind said.
Police work wasn’t all about the excitement of watching over suspects. He might feel like he was missing out on something more interesting here, but this was part of police work, too.
I smiled serenely at him. “Investigations can be a bit tedious at times. I shouldn’t be too much longer, but I have to make sure I don’t miss something important that could hurt the case.”
Nothing changed in his expression. The thought that he probably wouldn’t even sneeze if I tickled his nose with a feather flitted across my mind.
But he was going to get his wish. I was done here unless I could figure out where else Gordon might have stored paperwork if not in his office. He’d have had no reason to hide it in his own house.
When I was sorting through Uncle Stan’s belongings after he passed away, I’d found some boxes of old records up in the attic. “Does this house have an attic?”
“Nope.”
Strike that one. A garage might function the same way, though. I headed back down the hall to the door off the kitchen that connected to the small one-car garage.
Mail rested on Gordon’s kitchen table—likely from the day he died or the day before—already opened. I flipped through them, making sure not to make eye contact with Troy in case he disapproved. Two of them were bills, and both showed that he wasn’t carrying an overdue balance.
If he was a drug addict, he was the most responsible, conscientious one I’d ever seen.
The ramp into the house for Maryanne Albright’s wheelchair ran up to the front door, suggesting that Gordon brought her in that way. It was possible he used the garage for storage rather than for parking his car.
I pushed open the door. The car wasn’t parked inside, but he did have a push lawnmower. And shelves filled with clear plastic tubs. I walked along beside them and peered into each. Winter clothes. Tools.
Papers.
Jackpot.
Since the bin was at head height, I pointed at it. “I need that one, please.”
Troy didn’t audibly sigh, but I could have sworn I felt a disturbance in the Force, as a Star Wars’ character might say. He got it down for me anyway. He must have realized that, the quicker he complied, the sooner we’d get out of here.
I couldn’t imagine that the cement floor would be warm, and there wasn’t anything useful to sit on nearby. I squatted down next to the bin and popped the lid.
It wasn’t simply papers inside. These were definitely tax returns.
I pulled out the previous year for Gordon. Gordon’s income was in line with what I’d seen of the house and his car. Yet another thing that didn’t line up with him having a drug addiction. If it’d been ongoing for long, he should have already lost his house, or there should have been overdue notices. Addicts tended to rack up bills quickly, and paying them off even once they got clean took time.
