North re-entered at that point, carrying a gust of chemical pine scent with him, and he flopped down at his desk in the corner. Shaw didn’t like the desk over there. He didn’t like that North had moved it there without asking, without even a word about it.

“Did Pari spill the Pine-Sol again?”

“What? I don’t know.”

“Well, why does it smell like cheap air freshener in here?”

“That’s my new cologne.”

“No, seriously. Did you spray something?”

“What did you find on Mark?”

“If you really did get a new cologne, I didn’t mean it smelled cheap. I just was having a hard time placing it.”

“Mark Sevcik. What did you find on him?”

So Shaw told him. And when he’d finished, North rolled the chair toward Shaw’s desk, the casters thumping over the uneven boards, and displayed his phone. “City assessor’s website. Property records. All nice and available for a quick search.”

“By owner?”

North shook his head. “Privacy concerns. But you can look them up by address. And what do you think about that?”

Taking the phone, Shaw scanned the screen. It listed all the properties for Mark’s building. Most of the condos were owned by individuals, but for unit 3D, Mark Sevcik’s unit, the owner was DDD Collaborative, LLC.

Shaw shrugged. “I thought it was an apartment, not a condo, but who’s DDD Collaborative?”

“Great question.” North’s hands brushed Shaw’s as he took back the phone, opened a second tab, and returned it.

This time, the page showed a State of Missouri Business Filings search. The entry for DDD Collaborative listed the type—Limited Liability Corporation—the charter number, the status—Active—and, most importantly an agent. With a physical address.

“Maybe we should visit Lee Brueckmann and ask him why he’s letting Mark use his condo. Did Brueckmann have to say what the LLC does?”

Another electric rasp of North’s hands against his own, and then the screen showed a scanned Articles of Organization that listed the purpose of the LLC: Any or all lawful business for which a limited liability company may be organized under the laws of the State of Missouri.

“Not very helpful,” North said, taking back his phone.

“I’m going to need more than that, North.”

“What you need is to work outside in the sun in the middle of August laying irrigation pipe.”

“Like you.”

“I turned out all right.”

“I should probably buy a Carhartt jacket. And a trucker hat. And a pair of those Red Wings. Steel toe, of course.”

“Say another word about my Red Wings. Say one more word.”

Shaw grinned and mimed zipping his lips.

“The address is a P.O. box. Barring a favor from your new buddy Jadon, we’d have to wait like thirty days—business days—just to get a Freedom of Information request processed and come back with the boxholder’s physical address. I think I’m going to have to ask for a favor.”

Shaw’s cheeks were still hot from the snipe about Jadon—a part of Shaw wondered, briefly, if he had missed something, if Jadon might have been a little friendlier than a detective needed to be—but he understood the significance of North’s statement.