Chapter 11

Carlo sighed. No answers in here, either. He couldn’t rifle through the man’s drawers in search of clues. Joe would notice anything different, and Carlo didn’t trust he could return everything back to the same order. The best he could do was peek into the closet, but that just revealed a series of crisp, white shirts and sharply pressed pants hanging on wooden hangers. On the floor were two pairs of shoes. On the shelf overhead was a large hatbox.

He glanced over his shoulder, as if Joe was there and ready to walk in on him at any moment. The box was probably nothing. It could be empty or even storage for something mundane like, well, a hat. But it was the only thing in the apartment without a lock, and the simplest thing to return to its hiding place.