Before leaving the store, I pulled the black knit cap down on my head and put on the sunglasses, hoping they would provide me some cover out on the streets this morning now that my face was being splashed across TV. Especially because I had to walk right back to the same block of the crime scene where I was now a suspect. I wondered if news like this would somehow make its way back to the States. Could Taylor be watching CNN this morning and suddenly see my face up on the screen? I doubted it, although it still made me uneasy. Had I made a huge mistake coming down here? It certainly felt that way at the moment. I had no choice but to keep going.
Back out on the sidewalk, I hustled to backtrack through the same streets I’d traveled an hour ago and returned to the four-story apartment building. Arriving, I made sure to stay clear of the side street where I could now see several police cars, medical vehicles, TV news crews, and a small crowd of onlookers behind a police barrier. I thought about Raul and shook my head with grief. The man had been so helpful to me. And now he was dead. If I made it out of here, I vowed to make it up to his family somehow.
Head tucked low, I headed up the sidewalk to the front of the apartment building and then slipped inside. Apparently, the elevator wasn’t working, as most people were taking the stairs up and down. So I did the same and ascended to the second floor. Upstairs, I found a few young kids playing with toys out in the hallway. One boy was pushing himself back and forth on a scooter. I smiled at him and moved past, my eyes studying the numbers on the outside of the doors. I finally came upon 227. For a moment, I wondered if I should just knock and ask about the phone number. But then I decided against it. Whoever had the phone obviously wasn’t interested in talking to me based on their ignoring my phone calls and text messages. Instead, I drifted down to the opposite end of the hallway, where I hung out near the stairwell and pretended to be on my phone. Hopefully, no one would question what I was doing there.
Ten minutes later, someone stepped out of 227. A woman in probably her thirties, wearing a blue dress, black flats, and a big purse over her shoulder. She shut the door behind her and began to head toward me. Could this be the one? Already prepared, I pressed “Call” on my phone and dialed the same number that had sent me the text from Joe. The woman made no movement toward her purse. The phone rang twice on my end before it went to an automated voice mail, which led me to believe someone had pressed “Ignore.” It wasn’t this woman. I turned my back as she entered the stairwell behind me. Then I returned to watching the apartment again.
It took another thirty minutes before a second person finally stepped out of the unit into the hallway. A teenage boy wearing a black hoodie and jeans. I placed the call, watched the boy. The teenager pulled his phone from his pocket, examined it, pressed a button, and sent my phone call straight to voice mail.
FORTY-ONE
I wondered what to do next. The teenager had the phone that was used to send me the text from Joe yesterday. Should I confront him about it? Or follow him? I decided to follow him. Maybe he would lead me right where I wanted to go. Maybe he would take me straight to Joe. The boy bounced with young energy and descended down the stairwell two and three steps at a time. I had to hustle to keep up while also trying not to be obvious I was trailing him. The teenager hit the sidewalk outside. He paused a moment to place earbuds in his ears and then got moving again. Thankfully, the boy seemed to have no interest in what was happening with all the police cars and crowds off to his left and headed up the sidewalk in the opposite direction.
I followed closely behind him. If this was real, I wondered how a teenager could be involved with Joe. How had my father-in-law gotten use of the boy’s phone? Did this kid let him use it? If so, why? I hoped to find out soon. I stayed ten feet back as we both paused at a streetlight and waited for traffic to clear. The streets and sidewalks had quickly grown congested. This was a city of twenty million people, and it seemed as if most of them were out and about right now. A metro bus pulled to the curb, and passengers got on and off. The kid was on the move again, even though we didn’t have a “Walk” sign. He eased around the front of the bus and out of my sight for a moment. I hustled forward. When I got to the front of the bus, I saw the kid sprinting across the street. I cursed. Why was he suddenly running? Did he know I was following him?
I took off running after him. The kid was fast. But I was motivated to catch up to him. Everything was riding on not losing the boy. The teenager hit the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street and hustled past a high-rise construction site surrounded by a security fence. Workers in hard hats were out on the sidewalk. The kid easily threaded them. I did the same, like I was back on the football field carving up the defense toward the end zone. We were getting some stares from onlookers. I hoped no one recognized me from the news. I was gradually catching up. The boy was only fifteen feet ahead of me now. Even though I was in great shape, something told me the kid had more stamina. If I didn’t find a way to grab him soon, I would run out of gas.