"Told you," Maria muttered. "He's already building his case against you for interfering with his investigation."
"Let him try." Kari was too focused on the ticking clock to worry about department politics. "Where are we on that phone trace?"
Maria checked her computer, then smiled for the first time that morning. "Got it. Phone's active, currently located in the Sunnyslope area. Address is pulling up now—looks like an apartment complex on Dunlap Avenue."
"That's not far. Twenty minutes?" Kari was already mentally planning the approach. They needed the woman to trust them,to see them as allies rather than threats. Coming in aggressively would just make her run again.
"About that." Maria grabbed her keys and badge. "Let's go. But Kari, when we find her, let me take the lead initially. She's more likely to respond to a local detective than someone from tribal police. No offense."
"None taken. I'll follow your lead." Kari checked that her own badge was visible, her weapon secured. "But if she's scared enough to run from a crime scene, she's not going to be easy to convince."
"We'll figure it out. We have to." Maria headed for the exit. "Because if we don't find something to change the narrative in the next two hours, Thomas Hatathli is going to be formally charged with three murders he didn't commit, and the real killer is going to disappear while we chase ghosts."
CHAPTER TWELVE
The apartment complex on Dunlap Avenue looked exactly like dozens of others scattered throughout Sunnyslope: two-story stucco buildings arranged in a rough square around a central courtyard with a pool in need of regular maintenance. The kind of place where residents minded their own business and questions about neighbors were met with shrugs and suspicious looks.
Maria parked near the address the phone trace had provided—unit 214, second floor, corner position. The morning heat was already building, the sun turning the asphalt parking lot into a griddle. Kari checked her watch as they got out of the car: seven-forty. One hour and twenty minutes until the press conference.
"You want to knock, or should I?" Maria asked, one hand resting casually near her badge.
"Your city, your case. I'll hang back unless you need me." Kari scanned the surrounding area, noticing a few residents heading to their cars for morning commutes, no one paying particular attention to the two women walking toward the stairs.
They climbed to the second floor, their footsteps reverberating on the concrete walkway. Unit 214's door was closed, blinds drawn in the single visible window. Maria knocked three times.
"Phoenix PD. We need to speak with the resident."
No response. No sound of movement inside, no television or voices. Maria knocked again, louder this time.
"We're not here to arrest anyone. We just need to talk about what you witnessed last night."
Still nothing. Maria looked at Kari, who shrugged. They'd expected this—someone scared enough to flee a crime sceneprobably wasn't going to open their door for police the next morning. Not unless they'd had a change of heart.
"Let's talk to the property manager," Kari suggested. "See if they can tell us who lives here."
The manager's office was on the first floor, a cramped space that smelled like stale coffee and cigarettes. The woman behind the desk was in her sixties, wearing reading glasses on a chain and an expression that suggested she'd seen everything and been impressed by none of it.
"Phoenix PD," Maria said, showing her badge. "We need information about the tenant in unit 214."
"You got a warrant?" The manager didn't look up from her computer.
"We're not searching the unit. Just need to know who lives there."
"Still need a warrant for me to give you personal information about my tenants." The manager finally looked up, her eyes sharp behind her glasses. "Privacy laws."
Maria pulled out her phone and played the 911 recording. The woman's voice filled the small office: "I need to report a death. I just found someone—I think he's been shot..."
"This call came from a phone registered to unit 214," Maria said. "The woman who made it fled a murder scene. We need to locate her—she may be in danger, or she may have information critical to our investigation. Either way, we need a name."
The manager listened to the recording twice, her expression shifting from defensive to concerned. "That's Tessa. Tessa Crane. She's been here about three years, pays rent on time, never causes problems."
"Is she home now?"
"Haven't seen her since yesterday afternoon. She left around six, looked like she was heading to work—dressed nice, carrying that leather bag she always has." The manager pulled up recordson her computer. "She works evenings mostly, comes home late. But she's quiet about it, doesn't bring her work home if you know what I mean."
Kari and Maria exchanged glances.
"Has anyone else come looking for her?" Kari asked. "Anyone asking questions, hanging around her unit?"
