The audio waveform dropped back to total silence on the precinct monitor.

Detective Miller gave me the official evidence receipt, and I drove home through the light traffic on Bay Shore Drive.

At eight o’clock the next morning, someone knocked three times on my front door.

Mr.

Henderson, my landlord of four years, stood on the welcome mat with an unsealed manila envelope in his hand.

“I’m sorry about the timing on this, Valerie,” he said, handing me the paper inside.

It was a formal thirty-day notice to vacate.