Page 41 of The Girl Who Was Taken

“Just after Halloween. I went through all this with the cops. He prepaid for the summer, July through September. Never got anything from him for October. I chased him with phone calls for a couple of weeks before I discovered the apartment had been abandoned.”

“And you called the police because you thought something had happened to him?”

“No. I called because I’m required to file a report with the police before I can clear the unit. I was already out a month’s rent, so I wanted to move fast to find a new tenant. He didn’t have any family listed on his documents, so I stored all his stuff—required by law—for three months. Then I started hocking it. Almost forgot about him until I heard he jumped from that bridge. Wish he’d written me a check before he jumped.” Art Munson let out a small laugh that he quickly stifled.

“And you say the apartment looked unlived in for some time?”

“That’s for sure.”

Livia created a timeline in her head. Casey could have disappeared anytime from July to November, confirming the OCME’s suggestion that his body wastwelve to sixteen months old when it came to the morgue.

“What did you do with his belongings?” Livia asked.

“Sold some of them to a few tenants. Tossed a bunch. Think a few things are still here in storage.”

“Yeah? Think I could have a look?”

“Suppose so. What’s the interest?”

“I did the autopsy on him. We’re tying up some loose ends.”

“Sounds like something the cops should be doing.”

“My sentiments exactly. But here I am at the end of a workday, doing this stuff myself.”

“C’mon in,” Art said. “Storage is in the basement.”

Livia followed Art Munson into the apartment building and through a door in the back, down a dark stairwell and into a large, cluttered basement. Fluorescent lights blinked to life and cast the space in a migrainous glow. It was a hoarder’s paradise. Livia counted eight wooden desks at first glance before noticing another three under stacks of couch cushions and dusty plastic plants. A few old televisions were stacked in the corner along with two ancient refrigerators from when they were termedice boxes, and dozens of framed pictures and hanging mirrors.

“Looks like a mess,” Art said. “But it’s more organized than you’d guess. Got everything separated by year. Delevan was last year, so that stuff’s over here. He was my only AWOL tenant last year.”

Art Munson pointed at a desk that held a stack of hardcover books, a microwave, and a computer.

“Most of his furniture sold. He had some halfway decent stuff, so it was easy to move. This is all that’s left.”

Livia walked to the desk and surveyed the stack of books. She saw a biography on Jeffrey Dahmer and an encyclopedia of serial killers. She paged through them to find they were heavily outlined and dog-eared. Livia pulled open the top drawer to a mess of pens and paper clips and unremarkable office supplies jostled and scattered during the desk’s journey to Art Munson’s storage space. She pulled open the other drawers and rooted around unimpressed. When she pulled on the bottom drawer, it was locked. She went back to the books and paged more carefully through them.

“You gonna be a while, Doc?”

“Maybe a few minutes.”

“I’ll be outside. Let me know if you need anything.”

When Mr. Munson was gone, Livia pulled open the top drawer again and sifted through the junk. She looked for a key to the locked drawer but didn’t find one. She looked around the basement at the other stacks of junk. The fluorescent lighting was starting to warm and the storage area was brighter now than it had been originally. On the third desk she found a toolbox. Inside was a flat-head screwdriver. Back at Casey’s desk, she inserted it into the space between the locked drawer and desk frame, and pried with everything she had. Just as a grunt escaped her lips, the drawer splintered at the lock and sprung open.

Livia waited a moment to make sure Mr. Munson didn’t come down to check the ruckus, then she paged through the upright files hanging in the drawer. Bank records and bills. The Old Town Apartments rental agreement. Then a thicker folder. She pulled this out and placed it on the desk. Newspaper articles spilled from the folder as she laid it down. Meticulously cutfrom the paper, they had sharp, ninety-degree edges and long horizontal rectangles that contained the headlines. Scanning them, Livia read articles chronicling the abduction of a Virginia girl named Nancy Dee. A sick and eerie feeling came over her as Livia paged through the articles, which first covered the initial reports of the missing girl and the search for answers. The police reports and speculation on how Nancy might have been abducted, where she had been the day she went missing—a timeline of her life that pieced together her steps that day, the last time she was seen alive. The articles covered the police investigation, the town’s search, and the vigils held by family and friends. The articles brought Livia back to Nicole’s abduction. The Dee family had gone through the same process. The difference, however, came as Livia continued to page through the stories. Six months after Nancy Dee had disappeared, her body was discovered in a shallow grave in the Virginia woods more than one hundred miles from her hometown.

Livia stuffed the articles into the folder and rooted back through the drawer. She found a map of Virginia in one of the folders, pulled it out, and dropped it on the desk. Her fingers walked through the other hanging folders in the drawer, each labeled with a name. She sawPaula D’AmatoandDiana Wellsscrawled on the labels. She pulled the folders from the drawer.

“Doc?” Art Munson yelled from the top of the stairs. “You almost done?”

Livia stacked the three folders and the Virginia map into a pile and stuck them in her purse. She closed the drawer and brushed the splintered wood particles under the desk.

“Yeah,” she said, rearranging her purse so it looked loose and casual before heading up the stairs.

Livia followed Art Munson outside. It was past six p.m. and dusk had settled over Emerson Bay, the fall sky lit by a fading lavender glow.

“Police ever look at any of Casey Delevan’s belongings?” Livia asked.

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