Page 201 of Bound By Fire
“It’s fine.”
She crosses to the window and pulls the drapes back. I step up next to her and look out. Her room shares a wall with Howe’s place. The parking strip runs along the side of the building, and there’s one spot directly across from her bedroom, just as she said.
“That’s his,” she says, pointing.
There’s a small white sedan parked in the spot now.
“I take it that’s his car?”
“Yes. He drives a Toyota. He’s had it forever.”
“All right.” I take a step back. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed.”
“He’s a nice guy,” she says as we walk back toward the front door.
“He’s not under any suspicion at this point.” I keep my voice easy. “It was a routine check. I appreciate you taking the time.”
“Anytime.”
She stands in the doorway as I head back down the path. I get into the SUV.
Howe was more than likely home. I can’t rule him out completely, but he will drop down to the bottom of my suspect list.
Yesterday, I sat in my office until well after midnight, going through every second of the CCTV footage from the streets around Robyn’s apartment building, yet again. I worked through it again this morning. I had headshots of all twelve people on the access list spread across my desk, and I matched faces against every figure that walked through the frame in the seventy-two hours leading up to the break-in.
I got sweet fuck all. None of their vehicles were there. I couldn’t pick up on a face, either.
I check my watch. Patel’s address is across town in one of the nicer suburbs. I called his wife half an hour ago to arrange a meeting while her husband is at work. I need to get over there.
His street is wide and tree-lined, with big yards and the kind of houses that have water features by the front door. Patel’s is a two-story house with a steep tiled roof and a manicured strip of lawn out front.
I park at the curb and walk up the path.
The door opens before I’ve even reached the top step.
She’s tiny and in her mid-forties, even though she doesn’t look it. She’s wearing a green dress. Her hair is loose about her shoulders and cut about halfway down her back.
“Hello.” She gives me a quick, warm smile. “You must be Ridge.”
“Mrs. Patel?”
“One and the same. Please, come in. And please, call me Avani. Mrs. Patel makes me sound like my mother-in-law.” She gives a small laugh as she steps back to let me in.
“Avani. Thanks.”
The entryway opens onto a wide hall with polished wooden floors and a console table topped with framed family photos. There are children in most of them. Two boys, one in a soccer kit, the other much younger. Patel grins out from one of the frames with his arm around her.
“Come through to the kitchen. Can I get you something? Herbal tea? I just put the kettle on.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Are you sure? I have a lovely chamomile-lavender blend a friend sent from the Mainland.”
“I appreciate it. I really am fine.”
She leads me through to a bright kitchen and gestures to one of the stools, and I sit. She perches on the one opposite.
“So, what can I help you with, Commander?”
