Making the Rent the Hard Way - 6

 

I stuck the key in the lock of the hallway door to my office Thursday morning, turned it, and couldn’t get in. That's when I realized the door hadn't been locked to start with. A bit slow on my part? Yeah. But when things are habit… I got the door unlocked then paused before punching in the code on the security box. Good thing I did, because if I'd entered the code, I would have armed the system, not disarmed it.

Those were my first clues I'd had a visitor overnight. And I call myself a detective? Damn. Yeah, I'm being sarcastic, sort of. The next clue was the open file cabinet drawers in my office. At least whoever had paid me a visit had been neat. There was nothing strewn around the floor. One thing I knew for sure. They couldn't have gotten into my computer. It's as protected as Luca's, which is saying something, given how well protected his is.

I ran a check of the files in the cabinet to see if anything was missing. It took a while but, in the end, I decided nothing had been taken. Photographed? Possible, of course. All this made me wonder what they had been after, although I had a good idea, considering the timing. It made me glad I'd taken the file on Luca home with me.

I also pondered the fact that whoever had been here had made it pretty obvious they'd searched the place. Trying to scare me off an investigation? If so, why not leave something that said what they were looking for, so I'd know which of my few clients they were interested in? When it came down to it, none of my present clients, except perhaps Farnham, rated even a passing interest from someone else.

Since there was nothing I could do about what had happened, I decided to ignore it for now, other than to change the security code. I doubted the cops could, or would, do anything about it since nothing had been taken. Whoever had gotten in here would have been smart enough to wear gloves—ergo, no prints.

So I started to do what I'd planned before all this happened. I booted up my computer then set to work running checks on Luca Montana.

His home address was valid, but I knew that, although all I could find was his present one. None of my search engines listed anything before that, which was strange. I also knew he had a legitimate business as a graphic designer—not only from talking with Ms Holden but because he had a website with all the bells and whistles. Actually, if I ever find him, I might have him redesign my website. Like I could afford it—not. There were no wants or warrants out on him. As far as I could ascertain, he wasn't in any of the hospitals, either as a mugging victim or otherwise, or in jail. Without his Social Security number, there were some things I couldn't find out, so that was the next step in my investigation.

I went back to his apartment complex, but this time it was to talk to the building manager.

"Mr. Montana? Let me think," Mrs. James said, tapping her pen on the desk. "He moved in four years ago, if I remember correctly." She went to a file cabinet along one wall, dug through it, and came back with a folder. "Yes. In June." Then she asked what she should have to begin with, once I'd identified myself as a private investigator. "Why are you looking for him?"

I lied, of course. "His mother hired me. She hasn't heard from him for a month and is very worried." Given that she had three pictures of what I presumed were her children on the desk, I figured that would get to her.

It did. She shook her head, looking at the first page of the rental form he'd filled out. "The original is with the management company," she said. "I keep copies for all of the tenants on file." Running her finger down the page, she commented, "He didn't list any family to contact in case of an emergency." She turned it so I could see, as if to prove her point. There it was, his Social Security number. I asked if she could give me a copy of the form. "It might help me find him."

After hesitating, she shrugged. "I don't see why not." She made a copy, saying as she did, "He hasn't picked up his mail for quite a while, which is worrisome. I hope nothing bad has happened to him."

"That's what I intend to find out." I thanked her when she gave me copies of both pages of his rental form, told her I'd let her know if I found out anything, asked her to contact me if she heard anything from or about him, then left.

As soon as I was back in my car, I looked at the second page of the form. At the bottom was a photocopy of his driver's license. There was an address on it, but obviously not the one for the apartment complex. I knew what my next stop would be.