Chapter 31 THE CLEAN UP
\[ INVESTIGATOR DAVID POV\]
I’ve been with Ethan Cross for a solid three years - no short stint, that’s for sure.
He pays good money - checks in now and then, wants things done right.
Tonight's job is simple: make sure there's nothing in his apartment that ties him to those murders.
I show up at the place around midnight. A black car sits there. The windows are darkened. Its plates link to some fake business.
There's no way it leads back to me.
I use the key Ethan handed me a while back. He said - Keep it safe. Keep it ready, if things go sideways.
Smart man.
The flat’s up on the fourth level. I climb it step by step instead of riding up. There’s zero video showing the steps.
Open the lock. Then go in.
All is still. Aria Kane isn't around - she’s down at the station instead. Because I checked first, just to be certain.
I put on gloves - then kick off the research.
Ethan spelled it out - knew just what I should keep an eye on.
The drawer was locked. Yet someone had pried it loose - maybe Aria.
I take a look inside. Nothing there. That container with paper birds? Missing. Maybe she grabbed it.
Who cares? On their own, they’re nothing but sheets.
I check the next drawer - stuff inside. Journals sit there, old pages piled up. Pages filled with writing, messy lines everywhere. I skim a few, quick glances only.
Nothing suspicious here. Only made-up stuff. Stories, that’s all.
Still grab 'em though - safety first, after all.
I shove them into a sack.
Head over to the table. The laptop is shut. So I lift the lid.
Password protected.
I hook up a USB stick - it bypasses the password straight away. Only needs a couple of minutes.
Open his files.
Look up whatever’s linked to the survivors - images, files, stuff like that - but check every lead without skipping a beat.
Look for a folder marked "Research
Open it.
Court pictures - though everyone’s available online. Press stories instead. Still no sign he showed up.
I wiped out the folder regardless.
Empty the trash.
Use a cleaning tool. Be certain no data comes back.
Done.
I head into the bedroom.
Look inside the closet. Some dark jackets are there. Also, a few baseball caps. No weird stuff found.
Look beneath the bed. Nope.
Look in the bathroom. Open the medicine cabinet. Try the drawers. Still no luck.
Kitchen next.
Check the drawers. Then move to cabinets. After that, look inside the pantry.
Look inside - there’s a stash of old pens. Metallic color. Just like those spotted near where it happened.
I take them.
Look in the bin. Nothing there. He made sure it was clean.
Living room.
Rows of shelves catch my eye. I glance through the spines. Mystery stories sit there. Next to mind studies. Mixed with body guides.
It’s not against the law to have those.
Still, I snap pictures. Record whatever’s left behind. Just in case folks wonder down the road.
I look behind the shelves. Below the seat covers. Through the air slots.
Nothing.
He's clean.
Maybe he was clever - so he didn't store a thing here.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Sinclair.
How's it going?
I reply quickly: Nearly finished. Not a thing around here.
Good. Make sure.
I am.
Officers want a search order. Still, the court turned them down - yet they plan another attempt.
Let 'em go. Nothing’s out there anyway.
Good work.
I slide the phone into my pocket.
Check once again. Start with the living room. Then move to the bedroom. After that, hit the study. Next up - the kitchen. Finish off in the bathroom.
Everything's clean.
I take the bag full of notebooks plus a few pens.
Move toward the exit.
Stop.
Take another quick glance all around.
Aria Kane stays here as well - her stuff’s scattered around. Pictures pop up in corners. Garments drape over chairs. Novels pile up on shelves.
She doesn’t know the person sharing her home.
Maybe she knows it today.
Either way, that’s on you.
I head out. Behind me, the door clicks shut.
Head downstairs using the steps.
Skip into my ride.
Drive away.
Twenty minutes pass, then I reach a storage spot on the other side of town. This one’s rented by Ethan - using a name that isn’t his.
I open it. Then I lift the door up.
Inside sit boxes - some files, maybe gear.
This is the spot where he hides the actual proof.
Yet the cops aren’t aware of this spot - nor will they ever find out. Unless somebody spills it.
No one’s gonna either.
I toss tonight’s bag onto the stack.
Lock it up.
Drive home.
Job done.