"Let’s hope he’s not getting rid of evidence," I mutter.
"Time for our move," Ennio says sternly.
"We need to assume he could come back at any moment. He doesn’t follow a fixed schedule."
Ennio rests a hand on his hip, where he is carrying a weapon.
"I’m aware."
"But I don’t want to kill him. He could be the key to—"
"This isn’t what you think," Ennio cuts in. "It’s a sedative."
I grimace, remembering Harvey Bram firing something like that at Salt. I carried him in my arms for almost a mile afterward, all the way to the ferry. I will definitely remember it for a long time.
Ennio tilts his head. "I also have the classic option," he adds, patting the second holster on the other side of his belt, "but I’m aware it would be better to talk to him. The information he has could be invaluable."
"Yeah."
Then I look him over. "You good at climbing the downspout?"
Ennio gives me a look that shuts down any follow-up questions.
As it turns out, he climbs first and does it in about half the time it took me. He is lighter than I am, looks wiry and athletic. Even though it’s been a decade since he trained in martial arts, it is obvious he has retained a lot of that physical capability.
Soon we are both on the roof. When Ennio sees the poorly taped cardboard over the window, he gives me a pointed look.
"Well, you didn’t handle this very professionally," he says dryly.
"Oh, come on. I’m not a professional criminal. And I was desperate."
"That’s obvious to me."
I do not respond, since he’s being typical Ennio.
We slip into the attic. I listen carefully the whole time, but for now, Tanner is not here.
We both move down to the lower floor, and I explain which areas I already searched. Ennio studies the walls, cabinets, and floors just as carefully.
His black eyes track along the surfaces with focus and intent.
Eventually, we enter the recording studio. I show him the bed and the thin seam in the floor running around it.
He circles the bed, checking it from different angles.
"The bed is permanently fixed to the floor," he says, touching one of the legs. "And it has a solid metal frame, not wood."
"What could that mean?"
He touches the bedding, then the pillow.
"All of this is secured. The pillows are sewn to the sheet. You can’t lift anything on this bed," he says, narrowing his eyes.
"Uh… weird. Maybe so the actors don’t destroy it during porn shoots?"
"It could also mean there’s a trapdoor under the bed."
"A trapdoor?"
