Rachel placed a call to Branson and asked him to run a search for a man named Ronald Welch, assumed to be either forty-five or forty-six years of age. He called back seven minutes later with two hits. One was an employee with a small yet successful law firm. The other seemed to be unemployed and was drawing disability. Though the records on file did not specify the disability, Rachel was quite sure this would be the Ronald Welch they were looking for. It seemed to her that a man drawing disability would run a much larger chance of suffering from depression than someone working at a successful law firm.

With Ronald Welchs address plugged into Jacks GPS, they headed into the East Side. Welchs apartment was on the first floor of an apartment building that had the sort of exterior that was easy to pass by without even realizing it was there. Crammed between another apartment building and a currently vacant storefront, the front of the building was featureless aside from its windows. Rachel and Jack had the good fortune of climbing the stairs just as an older lady was coming out, so they didnt have to be buzzed in.

They made their way through the lobby, which looked to have been recently mopped but still somehow smelled of old shoes and faint body odor. They followed the hallway down to Ronald Welchs apartment, number 121, and knocked on the door. Rachel could hear a television through the door, the channel tuned to something that had a bit of overdramatic music playing in the background. Given that it was now officially afternoon, she wondered if Ronald Welch might be a fan of daytime soap operas.

She heard an annoyed grunt from inside the apartment and then the squeaking of springs as someone pushed themselves out of a chair. Several moments later, the door was answered, opening only a few inches before coming to a stop thanks to the chain lock up top. A man with a pudgy face peered through the crack, a single blue eye staring out at them.

Yeah? Whos it?

Are you Mr. Ronald Welch? Jack asked.

Might be. Who are you?

Jack and Rachel both showed their badges, but Jack continued to do the talking. Agents Rivers and Gift, FBI. Were investigating a few recent deaths and are looking for anyone who might be able to offer insights into them. As weve been digging into it, your name came up.

My name? About deaths? Welch seemed genuinely confused and surprised. Who gave you my name?

If youd allow us to come inside, we could discuss it at length, Rachel said.

She saw a slight flicker of embarrassment in Welchs one eye that she could see. Er, well, I dont usually have company. Id be real ashamed for you to come in and see the place like this. Is it okay if we just talk out there in the hallway?