“Bergen Cole?” The old guy looked confused. “Ain’t no one here by that name. I’m Merv. This has been my place for going on eighteen months now.”
“Does anyone live with you?” I asked.
He scowled. “What? Gonna rub it in that I’m all on my lonesome? No, asshole. No one lives with me.”
Fiona’s friendly expression didn’t waver. “Do you know who had the apartment before you?”
Merv shrugged. “I heard it was some artist guy who moved to Seattle. Don’t know his name.”
Fiona and I exchanged a look.
“Thank you,” she said. “We’re sorry to have bothered you. Have a lovely day.”
Grumbling, Merv shut the door in our faces.
I ran a hand through my hair. “I guess he’s not here then.”
“Are you sure it was this apartment?” she asked. “You didn’t get the number wrong?”
“I’m certain.” I didn’t make mistakes like that. In my previous line of work, they could have been deadly. Unfortunately, Bergen’s absence raised an issue I’d rather not broach. “We may have to consider the fact that your ex isn’t the one behind the theft.”
Fiona gasped. Her mouth dropped open and she glared at me like she wanted to slap me. I inwardly sighed. I hadn’t missed that look.
“I’m not saying he isn’t,” I clarified. “But we need to keep an open mind.”
