He had wanted to ask her on the drive over how she was doing, but Laurel was even worse than he was talking about feelings after the miscarriage. Plus, his mind had been locked on Tyler, the kid’s disappearance gnawing at him even before he’d arrived at the apartment.
The officers emerged from the apartment, their boots thudding against the uneven cement. Rain plastered their hair to their heads, droplets clinging to their jackets. Officer Jillian Jackson, a stocky brunette with pale green eyes and a sharp jawline, crossed her arms as she approached. Her partner, Officer Diaz, stood at least six-five, his frame lean and stretched, like he hadn’t quite filled out his height. He had cropped close black hair and dark eyes that gave nothing away.
Both cops glanced at Sandra before making their way over to Walter.
“You called it in?” Diaz asked.
“You know I did.” Walter looked up the four or five inches to the younger officer’s face. The man was seriously tall, built like a basketball player, and his expression held a flat neutrality. Walter took out his badge, the flash of metal catching what little light seeped through the overcast sky. “FBI.”
Diaz’s eyebrows rose. “Why is the FBI here?”
Walter held his gaze. “Tyler Griggs is my brother.” The words tasted strange in his mouth. Raw. Like he hadn’t said them out loud in years.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “Your brother?”
“Half brother,” Walter corrected. “He hasn’t been answering his phone, and his apartment looks like it’s been tossed.”
“Yeah, we noticed,” Officer Jackson said. She glanced toward the open door of Tyler’s unit. “The place looks like somebody tore it apart, probably looking for something specific.”
“Or Tyler staged the break-in,” Diaz added, his gaze fixed on the doorway. “This could be a stunt. We know he’s into conspiracy theories, and maybe he’s trying to gain notoriety.”
Walter kept his face neutral, but the idea clicked too easily. Tyler loved attention. Drawing an audience to whatever theory he’d latched onto that week would’ve been a temptation for him. A dramatic break-in might fit his agenda. But it didn’t explain the blood.
“Any idea where he might be?” Jackson asked, her focus shifting to Sandra.
Sandra shook her head, her voice tight. “No. He’s not answering my calls. He should be home. We were supposed to record a new podcast today.”
“About what?” Walter studied Sandra’s face.
She appeared exhausted with her pale skin and red-rimmed eyes. “All I know is that Tyler was on to something big. He said he had enough to go national with this one.”
Of course. He’d probably found evidence that the government had not only hidden the existence of Bigfoot but created him in the first place. Walter sighed. “You must have more details than that?”
“I don’t,” she whispered.
Diaz folded his arms. “If this isn’t your case, Agent, you might want to step back and let us handle it.”
Walter didn’t flinch. “Fine. As long as you’re handling it.”
Jackson’s jaw tightened. Diaz’s expression didn’t change. Walter caught the edge of irritation in the air, but it didn’t bother him.
Laurel remained silent, her attention locked on the officers. Walter knew that look. She was studying them, measuring their responses, and cataloging every inconsistency. The rain continued to fall, the rhythmic patter against the pavement the only sound for several long seconds.
“Can you do a missing person’s report?” Sandra asked, staying close to Laurel, with the toes of her shoes nearly touching Laurel’s heels.
The officers exchanged a glance. Diaz’s mouth tightened, a muscle twitching along his jaw. Jackson pulled out a notepad, the paper already damp and curling at the corners. Her pen moved fast, the strokes deep and hard. “We’ll take a missing person’s report and put out a BOLO for Tyler.”
Diaz rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jillian.”
“There’s blood in there,” Jackson added, her voice flat but clipped. “If it turns out he staged it for the notoriety or his podcast, we’ll arrest him.”
Diaz’s mouth twitched. “Okay, that sounds good.”
“We didn’t stage anything.” Sandra’s words shot out quick, her fists tight, knuckles pale. She glared at Diaz, but her gaze darted to Walter like she expected him to back her up.
Jackson kept writing. “When was the last time you saw Tyler?”
Sandra pulled in a breath, shoulders rising and falling fast. “Friday night. I was away all weekend on a girls’ trip and got home this morning. When Tyler didn’t answer my calls, I headed here and opened the door with my key. I saw the mess and called Tyler’s brother. I didn’t know what else to do.” Her eyes shifted to Diaz. “I knew you wouldn’t believe us.”
