Chapter 10
Nobody accused Dustin.
That may have been the most important thing we did that night.
Six hours earlier, I would have seen two initials and called them proof.
D.R.
Dustin Reed.
Simple.
Neat.
Wrong, perhaps.
Life had taught me that the explanations people wanted most were usually the ones worth examining twice.
Marcy must have seen the question on my face.
“It wasn’t necessarily him.”
Dustin gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Not a lot of D.R.s at the gym.”
“How many?” I asked.
He thought.
“Two.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Who’s the other?”
“Danny Ruiz. Evening maintenance.”
Marcy frowned.
“I’ve met Danny.”
“So have I,” Dustin said. “He’s seventy.”
“Sixty-seven,” Eddie said from the doorway.
None of us had noticed him arrive.
He carried Marcy’s work bag.
She sat upright too quickly and immediately regretted it.
“Where did you find that?”
“Your office building.”
He handed it to me instead of her.
“The security guard had it.”
Relief passed around the room.
A simple explanation.
Exactly what I had hoped for.
“Anything missing?” I asked.
Marcy opened the bag carefully.
Laptop.
Notebook.
Charging cable.
A blue folder.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
“The printout isn’t here.”
Dustin exhaled.
“Are you sure?”
“I put it in the front pocket.”
She searched again.
Nothing.
Eddie sat on the windowsill.
“The guard said a janitor found the bag near the rear steps.”
“Which janitor?” Marcy asked.
“He didn’t know.”
I looked at Eddie.
“You came all the way here yourself?”
“I needed to tell you something.”
He looked older than he had at the gym.
Not physically.
Burdened.
“What?” I asked.
Eddie glanced at Dustin.
“I know who D.R. is.”
Dustin’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you talking about?”
“Those initials aren’t staff initials.”
Marcy stared.
“Then what are they?”
“Door codes.”
She blinked.
Eddie explained.
May you like
The gym’s security system had been installed years earlier using cheap software. Instead of listing full user names in older records, it logged two-letter access profiles.
D.R. didn’t mean Dustin Reed.
