CHAPTER 4 - THE MAN BEHIND THE CLOSED DOOR

Stephanie eased the car to a stop in front of a quiet, dusty lot. The sign above the shuttered restaurant read JJ Spicy Chicken—faded, cracked, and barely clinging to the front awning.

They stepped out of the car. The sidewalk was empty, the restaurant clearly abandoned.

Scott narrowed his eyes. “This place looks like it’s been dead a while.”

He flagged down a man hurrying past on the sidewalk. “Hey, sir—mind tellin’ me how long this place’s been shut down?”

The man barely slowed. “That joint’s been closed nearly two months now,” he said quickly, not even turning around.

Scott glanced at Stephanie, his brow furrowed.

She folded her arms. “Two months? That delivery bag at the crime scene... Could the owner be involved?”

Scott pulled out his phone, already dialing. “Only one way to find out. Let’s get an address.”

A few minutes later, Frank called back with the info. They didn’t waste time—Stephanie fired up the engine, and they headed straight to the owner's listed residence.

They parked outside a modest home in a quiet neighborhood. The air was still, too still.

Scott scanned the house carefully. “Let’s see what this guy has to say.”

They rang the doorbell. It took five long minutes before a man in his sixties cracked the door open. He looked tired, like life had worn him down.

“Yes?” the man asked warily.

Scott stepped forward. “Mr. Simon? We're detectives with the NYPD.” He held up his badge.

The man blinked. “Oh... the police? What’s this about?”

Scott’s tone softened. “We’re working a case. We just have a few questions. Your help would mean a lot.”

The man hesitated—then gave a weary nod. “Alright. Come on in.”

Inside, the place had the warmth of a home, but something felt... off. The living room was too clean. No clutter. No mess. Just too perfect.

“Have a seat,” Mr. Simon offered.

Scott stayed standing. “Mr. Simon, your restaurant’s been shut down for two months, is that right?”

The old man nodded. “Yes… almost two months now.”

“Did anyone else have access to the place?”

“Yes. My son used to help me run it.”

“Where’s he now?” Scott asked, watching the man’s face closely.

Mr. Simon sighed, eyes falling to the floor. “He… ran away. Two months ago. Just disappeared.”

Stephanie’s voice was gentle. “And you closed the restaurant to look for him?”

The man nodded slowly, tears welling in his eyes. “I’ve tried… I really have. But I can’t find him anywhere.”

Scott offered a sympathetic look. “We’ll do our best to help find him.”

The man’s knees buckled slightly as he tried to kneel in gratitude. Scott quickly caught his shoulders.

“That’s not necessary,” Scott said firmly. “But can you show us a photo of your son?”

“I would… but he took all the pictures when he left,” the man muttered, wiping at his face.

Stephanie gave a polite nod. “I see.”

Scott straightened. “Mind if we take a look at his room?”

“Sure… this way,” Mr. Simon said.

He led them down a narrow hall to a small bedroom. Then quietly left them alone.

Scott immediately crouched by the bed, dragging two fingers across the floor.

“It’s been cleaned recently,” he muttered.

He brought his hand up to his nose and sniffed—lemon cleaner.

Stephanie glanced around. “There’s barely anything personal here. No clothes, no photos, no mess…”

They walked out a moment later. Scott handed Mr. Simon his number. “If you hear from him, call us right away.”

Back at the station, they walked in fast.

“You check what I told you?” Scott asked, getting right to business.

Frank nodded. “Yeah. We pulled all the CCTV near the restaurant. Owner was the only one seen entering about a month back. No one else showed up.”

Stephanie frowned. “You notice anything weird at Simon’s place?”

Scott leaned on the desk. “Plenty. He says his son ran off, but there’s not a single photo of him? You tell me—how’s he supposed to find someone he can’t show anyone?”

Ray blinked. “Wait... he intentionally hid the pictures?”

“Exactly,” Scott replied, his tone clipped.

Frank's eyes widened. “Hold on. If he did that—he’s not just lying, he’s helping the guy. That makes him an accomplice.”

Stephanie nodded slowly. “He kept his calm for a while. But when we asked about his son, his eyes started twitching. He was holding back.”

Scott pointed at her. “You noticed too. And think about it—we rang the bell and waited nearly five minutes before he opened up. Why the delay?”

“Probably cleaning,” Stephanie said quietly. “He was stalling.”

Frank squinted. “Okay, but how could he clean the room and hide the photos that fast?”

Scott’s eyes were sharp now. “He didn’t do it alone. His son’s still there. They’re both playing us.”

Stephanie clenched her jaw. “So we were face-to-face with them the whole time.”

“No,” Scott corrected. “We played along. Now we stake the place out. We’ll catch both of them.”

Stephanie smirked and grabbed her coat. “Let’s go hunting.”

The entire team left in a hurry