The police had left the heat off, perhaps to keep from running up the bill, so it was freezing in the apartment. Benji must’ve had the same idea because he quickly fingered the thermostat, the heating unit kicking on with a mellow hum only seconds later. Deven glanced around, first noting how uncharacteristically clean the room was. Even the fresh smell of lemon and bleach hung in the air. Had the police returned to clean up the place? Had the dead body left some kind of lingering odor?

The living room held the aura of a museum and looked hardly used. Deven remembered how, only months before, she was helping her sister move in with wall-to-wall stacks of boxes. Kennedy had since decorated the place to feel more like home. She didn’t have a TV in here, but she’d hung canvas wall art and even painted an accent wall a beautiful shade of gray.

The kitchen looked a little more settled as opposed to the living room. Dishes in the dishwasher, a single wine glass turned upside down in the drainboard. The refrigerator was a little skimpy, with the exception of some essentials and a Styrofoam box of leftovers. Still, nothing out of the ordinary.

Deven opened cabinets and drawers, not exactly sure what she was looking for. She knew she would recognize it when she saw it. However, nothing stood out, unless the junk drawer of miscellaneous household items and empty trash could account for something.

Deven glanced up, for the first time noticing that Benji wasn’t in the room with her. She started down the hallway, assuming he’d found something of interest in her bedroom.

She wouldn’t have known Benji was in the spare bedroom if she hadn’t heard the faint rustling of papers. Why was he in there? And he had pulled the door closed to a crack, which was even more puzzling. Deven angled her eye against the inch slit and peered inside.

She couldn’t see him, but she could definitely hear him, even though it was clear he was trying to be as quiet as possible. More papers being shuffled, then the snapshot of a cell phone camera. Twice. Three times. What was he taking pictures of?

The black of Benji’s jacket came into view for the briefest of moments and Deven saw him trifold, then half-fold a small stack of papers and jam them into his pocket. He disappeared for a second, then his figure breezed by once more, blurred with his speed but clearly carrying something (was it a shoe box?) in his hand. Deven had to curse herself for trusting this man. Without any further hesitation, she nudged the door open and stood over the threshold, her eyes glaring at him.

Benji’s head snapped up and true indeed, she saw the guilt before he quickly neutralized his face. “Hey,” he greeted way too casually. “Find anything?”