Page 45 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
“I’m teasing you,” she says, lowering her voice as we near the residence. “While I don’t think that’s the family’s truth, there’s always the possibility their truth isn’t what they claim, which would be a problem if it came out.”
“Giving Louie—and whoever sent the note—reason to say they told us so.”
“Also the fact that it came from someone like Louie might affect your impartiality.” When I glance over, she lifts her hands against my look. “Understandably affect it.”
“The fact he’s an asshole doesn’t mean he’s wrong. That’s why I’m here.” I motion at the family residence and lower my voice. “Was that your way of ducking the question about addiction?”
She shakes her head. “No. If that was an issue, I’d tell April so she understands the situation. I think there’s been oxy addiction in Dana’s circle of family and friends, but these days, that goes for pretty much anyone. I had an uncle who got hooked on it after surgery.”
“And I had a detective partner whose wife got hooked. So, yes, nothing remarkable there.”
We reach the family residence building. It’s two stories, with three units top and bottom. Right now, we’re letting couples stay in the empty ones, with Dana having the only family. All these units have exterior doors—there’s a balcony along the second level. It’s not much in the way of privacy, but conservation of space is too important to give families private homes … which would also have the singles complaining over their own dorm-style living.
I rap on Dana’s door. When no one answers, I knock again. Still nothing.
“Are they out with the search teams?” Isabel asks.
I shake my head. “Dana joined for a while last night. We didn’t feel right saying she couldn’t. But she should be home sleeping now. She has the day off work, obviously. Carson’s usually doing his schoolwork at this time, but again, no one expects that. I asked him to help Mathias today.” That was mostly for Carson’s sake, so Mathias would be there if he needed to talk about what he’d done to Max, ignoring his claim to have seen the bear-man.
I knock again. Still no answer.
I turn the knob. It’s unlocked. That’s common here, almost as if some leaving their doors open obligates others to do the same, to prove they have nothing to hide.
When the door opens, I stick my head in. “Dana? Carson?”
No answer. I glance at the tiny entrance, with a mat for shoes and boots. It’s empty.
“She’s out,” I say to Isabel.
At this point, I should retreat and shut the door. I don’t. I peer into the dark apartment, the blinds drawn.
I have the right to search any apartment at any time.
The technical right, granted by the contract residents signed.
The ethical right, though? To paw through their belongings without a solid reason to do so?
Louie is an asshole. He’s jumping to ugly conclusions based on bigotry and a perverse glee in insisting Dana’s story is a lie.
Isabel warned about dismissing his concerns on the basis that he’s an asshole. If anything, I’m liable to overcompensate and investigate this lead because I’m concerned about bias.
When Louie first raised this possibility last night, Dalton and I dismissed it out of hand. And now I’m at Dana’s door, contemplating a quick search of the premises, looking for evidence that Louie could be on to something.
Looking for evidence to support his claim?
Or to refute it? To dismiss him and move past a theory I really don’t like?
I back up a step and bump into Isabel. She retreats out the door, and we say nothing as we walk toward the corner of the building and—
“Oh!”
It’s Dana, coming around that corner with her cane.
Dana’s moving so fast she barrels into us and then falls back, pulling her jacket tight. Her gaze drops as she fusses with the coat.
“Sorry about that,” she says. “It’s getting so cold out here, and I was in a hurry to get home.”
She pulls the coat together and shivers dramatically. Then she goes still, and color flushes up her cheeks. “And here I am complaining about the weather when…” She swallows. “Dare I ask if you’ve found anything?”
