Killer Ambition - [15]

A uni who was a classic mesomorph with bulging biceps-the type I used to think was dreamy back in high school-gestured for us to follow him down the hall to Brian’s apartment. He flashed us an amused look as we fell in behind him.

“He give you guys trouble too?” I asked.

“He tried to shake us down,” the uni said. “Claimed the tenant took the only key and he’d have to charge us for the time and trouble to get another one made.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. So I told him not to worry, we had a skeleton key that would work on all doors. Then we showed him our battering ram. All of a sudden he remembered he kept a key for emergencies.”

We got to the end of the hall and he gestured to the open door on the left.

“You cleared it?” Bailey asked. “No one here?”

“Empty. From the looks of it, I’d say whoever lived here isn’t coming back.”

Bailey and I walked in. The apartment had that damp mildew smell that old, poorly maintained buildings get. The threadbare but richly stained sofa and badly nicked wooden coffee table in the living room told me this had probably been a furnished apartment. I realized that we shouldn’t be tromping around in what might be another crime scene.

“Shouldn’t we get everyone out of here and call Dorian?” I asked.

Bailey sighed. “Too late. I couldn’t take the chance that Brian might be holding Hayley here, or that she might be…”

I nodded. If there’s a victim who’s potentially wounded or in danger, you don’t call the criminalist and wait to process the scene. Bailey had rightly called in the cavalry. But that meant that by now at least a dozen officers had already barged in and checked every nook and cranny, so our being here wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference. But that didn’t mean I wanted to be in the zip code when Dorian arrived.

Bailey and I kept our hands to ourselves to at least avoid adding our prints to the hundreds left by all the unis as we made our way through the tiny one-bedroom. And I saw that the uni was right: the place was vacant. The closets and medicine cabinet were standing open and empty, and there was nothing on the pine nightstand or dresser. I noticed that the bed was made neatly, but the cover was mussed-as though someone had sat on it.

“Did any of you guys sit on the bed?” I asked the uni.

“Not that I saw. But I’ll check and confirm.”

“Has anyone door-knocked the tenants?” Bailey asked him.

“Jennings, Kowalski, and Lopez took the duty. I think there’s only, like, twelve units, so they’re probably about done now. I’ll tell ’em you’re here.”

Bailey nodded and I watched him walk away. She caught me enjoying the view. “You still shopping?” she asked.

“No, Sister Mary Catherine. But there’s no law against looking, is there?”

Bailey smiled. Her cell rang and she moved to a corner to take the call. I went to check out the kitchen. Using a dish towel, I opened the refrigerator. Not much there. Just a pint of milk, a half-eaten loaf of potato bread, and a near-empty jar of peanut butter. That told me Brian hadn’t left in haste. He’d eaten down his food reserve, knowing he was going to leave. But he also might’ve been too poor to keep a lot around. Bailey was still on the phone when the uni came back. I thought it might be time to find out what they called him when he was at home. No harm in asking a guy’s name, right?

“Hey, Ms. Knight-”

“Call me Rachel. And you are…?”

“Justin.” He held out his hand. “Justin Wagner. Nice to meet you.”

As we shook I noticed he had brown eyes and really long dark lashes. Memories of the cornerback I’d crushed on in high school came flooding back and I had to force myself to focus on the task at hand.

“Did we get any response from the tenants?” I asked.

“Yeah, Kowalski got something. He’s out in the hall. You want me to bring him in?”

I glanced at Bailey, who was still on the phone. “No, that’s cool. I’ll talk to him.”

Justin turned to lead me out and said over his shoulder, “Oh, and none of us ever sat on that bed.”

Kowalski delivered on the cliché with a Marlon Brando, thick-shouldered build, though he looked a little too buttoned-down to do the whole “Stella!” routine. I introduced myself and asked what he had, and he hooked his thumbs under his Sam Browne and stood “at ease” with legs apart as he spoke. “The old lady on the next floor in 2A, Iris Stavros, said she saw Brian on Monday, around noon. He was with a short blonde girl.”

We’d show her a photo to make sure, but it had to be Hayley. And noon. According to the time stamp on Russell’s text, that would’ve been after the proof-of-life photo was sent but before the e-mailed ransom demand.

“How did she happen to see them?”

“They were coming in as she was going out. She said she was on her way to the store to get some milk.” He glanced upward as if to make sure Iris wasn’t listening, then lowered his voice. “You ask me, she was gonna buy something a little stronger.”

Iris Stavros might turn out to be an important witness. If she also turned out to be a heavy drinker, it’d be a real problem when she hit the stand. I’d have to do a lot of checking before I put her on a witness list. “Did she notice any signs of struggle or force, anything unusual?”