CHAPTER TWO – A CUP WITH A NUMBER

The officers moved Daniel’s chairs away from the window but did not allow anyone to shake out the coats.
Ortiz explained that a professional inspection would determine whether any insects had escaped.
The lid appeared intact, which was fortunate, but the cup had been thrown hard enough to crack the edge.
Daniel asked whether he could sleep in his own house that night.
She said he could, subject to whatever the pest inspector recommended, and warned him not to begin spraying chemicals on his own.
The distinction mattered because Daniel had already imagined throwing everything he owned onto the curb.
Warren photographed the cracked screen and traced the cup’s label through the clear outer container.
A handwritten number appeared below the manufacturer’s mark.


It read C-19.
There was no address, no signature, and no explanation.
“Is she under arrest?” Daniel asked.
“We have questions to ask her,” Ortiz replied.
“I watched her do it.”
“We watched her push an object through the screen.”
Ortiz met his eyes.
“We still have to establish what that object was, who put it together, and why.”
Two officers approached Carol’s porch while Daniel waited behind his own door.
Carol answered with her chain attached.
He could not hear their questions, but he saw her shake her head and point at his house.
Eventually she shut the door and left them standing on the steps.
Warren returned looking annoyed rather than surprised.
“She says she was returning something you dropped in her yard.”
Daniel almost laughed.
“She told you she had never been inside.

”
“She also says she doesn’t remember what she returned.”
Ortiz looked at the coat donation bags.
“Tell me about Maple Court.”
Daniel had begun volunteering there eight months earlier after a local repair group asked for help replacing damaged closet hinges.
He worked in building maintenance during the day and spent some Saturdays fixing loose doors, sticking windows, and broken furniture for residents who could not afford private repairs.
Maple Court housed older tenants and several families with children.
A woman named Mrs. Alvarez coordinated their small community room and the winter donation program.
For three weeks, the residents had been collecting warm clothing and bedding from churches and neighbors.
Daniel’s house was only a temporary sorting point because the community room was being repainted.
“Why would Carol know about it?” Ortiz asked.
“Everyone on our street knows,” Daniel said.
“I put up flyers.”
He noticed that both officers were studying the pile with new interest.
“What’s happening at Maple Court?”
Ortiz hesitated.
“We’ve had several complaints involving pest treatment notices and sudden demands that residents discard belongings.”
“Who made the complaints?”
“We can’t discuss other people’s reports.”
Daniel thought of a repair visit ten days earlier.
An elderly tenant called Ada Finch had stood in her doorway holding a stitched quilt made by her sisters.
She told him that a contractor had declared half her bedroom furniture contaminated without examining it.
The contractor offered to haul away everything before the weekend.
Ada had cried because he refused to explain where her belongings would go.
Daniel had assumed it was a misunderstanding between building management and an exterminator.
Now he remembered the contractor’s name on the notice taped above Ada’s mailbox.
ClearHaven Restoration.
“Carol knows somebody at that company,” he said.
Ortiz’s pen stopped.
“How do you know?”
“I saw her talking with a man who wore their jacket at the grocery store parking lot.”
“When?”
“Last Thursday.”
He described the man as tall, heavyset, and younger than Carol, with a noticeable scar along his jaw.
The officers wrote everything down.
Before leaving, Ortiz gave Daniel a case number and advised him to save the original video file.
She also told him not to contact Carol directly.
“A technician is coming to inspect your living room,” she said.
“Until then, don’t move the fabric donations.”
“Daniel, honey, are you coming on Saturday?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Ada, did the restoration people come back?”
She lowered her voice.
“They’ve marked the chairs in our common room.”
“Marked them for what?”
“Removal.”
“When?”
Ada paused.
“Tomorrow morning.”