Page 132 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

“She could’ve been here with a blonde girl. Quiet. Kept to themselves.”

“No girls here.”

“Who rents the back unit?”

“My nephew.”

“How long?”

“Six years.”

“Anyone before him?”

“My sister was there, but she died.”

JP nodded. “Anyone use the garage, storage, anything like that?”

“No.”

He showed Maddox’s photo.

The man’s face showed instant dislike. “That one I know.”

JP’s pulse nudged. “How?”

“He came asking for work. He said he could fix my fence.”

“Did he?”

“No. The fence is still broke.”

“Did he ever work on the back unit? Plumbing, hauling, painting?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

The old man leaned closer. “Son, I’m old, not absent. Nobody works on my place without me knowing.”

JP believed him. The property had too much ownership. Too much history. The kind of place where every footstep belonged to somebody’s story. Bay and Hannah had not lived there.

JP thanked him and returned to the truck. He made a second line through the list.

The third address looked more likely from the street. A low stucco duplex sat behind a taller hedge, with a detached unit barely visible down a narrow driveway. No sign. No manager’s office. No posted rules. Just two mailboxes, a cracked walkway, and window blinds that stayed closed because everyone had something to keep out. This one felt possible.

He parked half a block away and walked in.

A woman in scrubs was loading a toddler into a car seat in front of Unit A. JP waited until she finished buckling the child before approaching.

“Ma’am. Sorry to interrupt.”

She looked up, guarded. “Yes?”

He kept his voice gentle and showed his card. “I’m looking into a homicide involving a man named Todd Maddox. I’m trying to find out where he did odd jobs.”

“I don’t know him.”

JP showed Maddox’s photo.