The unit was on the second floor, fully furnished, with fresh white paint and a window looking out over a courtyard of oaks.

I carried Rebecca’s two cardboard boxes of clothes into the bedroom and tried the brass deadbolt on the front door.

“The building manager lives in unit one,” I said.

“Nobody comes up these stairs without walking past his front window.”

I took a new silver cell phone out of my coat pocket and set it on the clean kitchen counter.

“This phone is registered to my land trust,” I said.