Growden approached the busy apartment building with his laptop case neatly tucked under his arm and a slouch hat placed perfectly to hide his mess of unbrushed hair. He was approaching a point in his life where it seemed reasonable to start each morning with a cup of black coffee and existential dread. Yet he found it completely unreasonable to plan for retirement- but that was another matter.
He intended to introduce the possibility that their suspect had been someone along the lines of a completely opposite train of thought than before. It would be easier now that their other leads had dwindled into ashes and they'd scraped through even the ash for any sort of answer. Adriel typically didn't like to move to a new theory until the last one had been completely debunked anyhow.
He knocked twice on the apartment door before pushing it open and moving through the space towards Adriel's work room. For whatever reason, Adriel had started the mindless habit of leaving the apartment door unlocked at all times. Growden had locked it himself on several occasions only to approach it again later and find it unlocked again. Eventually he gave up, choosing not to bring the manner up in conversation.
"Adriel, I'm back."
No response rang out but it was rather typical of the man to be sitting at his desk with noise canceling headphones in. Growden pushed through the office room's door, surprised to see the shutters of the large window drawn open and midday light pouring in.
Adriel sat exactly where Growden imagined he would be with the headphones dangling about around the pocket of his jacket. The locks of blonde waves were insufferably shiny in the sunlight- Growden moved to the empty chair on the opposite side of the desk and let his book bag slap onto the desk with a thump. The motion prompted a glance from Adriel as he looked up from a stack of miscellaneous papers he'd been skimming through.
"Did you find anything?"
Adriel shook his head as he pulled the headphones.
"Not a damn thing. What about you? How'd it go?"
Growden tapped his fingers along the edge of his bag with weary eyes. He'd always been shoddy when it came to interpersonal skills- it was possible being an orphan had something to do with it. Still, he tried his best.
"Well don't get too excited but I've definitely found something."
The eye bags around Adriel's eyes as they shot to Growden's face made the detective uncomfortable. The two of them had been putting a minimum of twelve hours into trying to solve the case every day for months now and so far every lead they'd discovered led to a cold, useless end. Growden unzipped the edge of his bag and shuffled through the mess of documented notes until he got to the photos he'd snagged from the auto body shop. He had gone to a photo printing company and paid a solid amount to have the photos printed and processed in high quality. He slapped the photos on the desk and avoided Adriel's hungry gaze as the man reached over to pick up the pictures.
A beat of silence passed. Then another. It was so thick that the air could be cut and Growden fiddled with the edge of his coat jacket nervously.
"This is him."
Adriel's voice rasped but there was a certain emptiness to it.
"He carries her off- it's all right here."
Growden's hazel eyes found a permanent spot on his shoes. He wasn't sure what to say.
"Who is this? Growden-"
The detective was shaken from his nerves and he met Adriel's saddened eyes.
"It's not anyone we've considered yet. This isn't any of your competitor's."
"Maybe they were hired?"
Growden shook his head quickly. The families wouldn't have hired anyone else to do their dirty business- it was a risk they'd avoided at every conflict in their pasts and people were creatures of habit.
"Then who?"
Growden sighed, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.
" I have a new theory, if you don't mind."
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Adriel was excruciated by the idea that he hadn't considered Growden's theory sooner. It was such an obvious possibility. Yanire had an entire life outside of him- of course it was possible that whoever had taken her was one of her enemies rather than one of his. It embarrassed him to think he hadn't thought of it sooner.
Soon enough, he and Growden had compiled a list of people relevant to Yanire as well as everything the two of them knew about those people. The list didn't even scrape ten names and the brunt of them were already dead. It saddened Adriel that most of the people she loved had already passed and she herself had just turned twenty eight.
Joeri
Yanire's son, age six
Took piano lessons
Deceased
Secoiya Polson
Alvarsson Inc bodyguard
Deceased, close friend to Yanire
Mr. Mark Johnson
Joeri's piano instructor
Based in Virginia
Emesta Quema
Yanire's sister
Lives in Maine
Katherine Quema
Yanire's mother
Strained relationship, location unknown
Mallari Quema
Yanire's father
Deceased
Rose Washington
Close friend
Book club member in Virginia
Growden had immediately eliminated every name of the list as a suspect. The only living male name of the list would be nearly 80 years of age by now and the person from the video footage had picked up more than a hundred pounds in their arms and ran down an entire block without stopping for a breath. He skimmed the names until his eyes landed on one and he gestured to capture Adriel's attention.
"Emesta, the sister, where is she now?"
Adriel furrowed his brows in uncertainty. Yanire had expressed in the past that she missed her sister and eventually wanted to reconnect with the woman, but where she was living had never come up in conversation.
"I'm not sure."
"Can you think of a way to find out?'
Adriel shrugged. Yanire's old phone hadn't kept the number in its contacts but it was possible to find the woman by going through her friends on social media.
"Probably, why?"
"It's likely that Emesta would know of anyone who'd want to hurt Yanire. They lived together for a while, right?"
"Barely two months."
Growden shrugged.
"Still a better lead than no one or an eighty year old man. See if you can contact Miss Emesta and ask some questions about Yanire."
Adriel nodded, pulling out his phone from the pocket of his jeans.
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