November 14th, 2 years prior. 11:47 p. m. Male voice elevated. Struck door twice. Child audible crying approximately 2 minutes.
No patrol response. Tenant did not call. Below in smaller script, I called. Dispatch said no crime in progress. 47 entries spanning 36 months.
A calendar of siege written in a retired nurse's impeccable cursive. Rosa, why didn't you report this to management? She gave him a look that belonged in a museum of patients. I reported to Matt twice. He said it was a domestic matter and told me to stop calling the office after 9:00 p. m.
Marcus photographed every page with his phone camera. When he reached the last entry, dated 6 days ago, the ink was still dark enough to smell. Male subject returned. 2:13 a. m. New hardware on door held.
Maintenance worker from 1A intervened. Police arrived 9 minutes after call. Subject left on foot. He looked up. Rosa stood with her arms crossed and her chin lifted at the angle of a woman who had waited 3 years for someone to take her notebook seriously.
This is evidence. Rosa. Dated, specific, corroborated by police dispatch logs. I know what evidence looks like. I charted for surgeons who testified in malpractice cases.
You think I kept a diary for fun? He almost smiled. Almost. Over the next 11 days, Marcus worked in two directions simultaneously. During the day, he completed legitimate maintenance across the six Harrington properties, replacing washers and resetting breakers and cataloging, all with the quiet discipline of a building inspector on overtime.