That car had been parked in the same space every time he had come to the lot. He drove slowly past it again, determined to do something about it but with no idea what.
He parked inside on the first floor, lucking out with a spot right by the entrance and walked back, moving slower, exposed to the pavement, but reaching closer.
The driveway leading to the public lot had parallel parking spaces cut away to the right. He looked into the front window and spotted a disability tag.
His eyes darted up to the curbside sign. Disabled Parking. Of course.
He looked into the rest of the car, but found no more evidence of who this driver was, or how long the car had really been here for.
He called the police. He wasn’t sure entirely, but he thought that it must’ve been the same car.
“Yeah, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but this car has been parked here for over a week. I’m sure its not illegal but… It’s the lot on George Street, by the way. I just worried… I don’t have time to stick around though… Work.”
“Of course, sir. We’ll look into that for you.”
As he returned that evening, there was a police rope-off, and a massive crowd of civilians, spectators, and authorities. As he passed into the lot from the left, he spotted the problem.
It was that car.
“Excuse me, what’s going on here?” he asked, called across to a fellow in a yellow vest.
“A murder was discovered right near here, in one of the buildings. This is his car.”