for this became clear as he stepped outside. The building had been erected on the side of a small rise. The architect had used this to his advantage, and built a carport into the lower part of the slope, below the first floor. Unfortunately, this meant he couldn’t simply walk up to Anthony’s window and peer in.
He examined the back of the building. The last foot of the carport stuck out like a lip just below the first floor. If he could get on that, he could work his way over to Anthony’s windows. The question was, how to get up there?
The simplest answer turned out to be his El Camino. He drove it around, then backed it most of the way into one of the empty parking spots, leaving the hood sticking out from under the carport. Carefully, he mounted his car, then pulled himself onto the lip.
Making an educated guess as to which windows belonged to Anthony’s place, he inched his way over. There were no curtains over the nearest of the target windows, but when he looked in, he saw with relief a very lived-in looking living room.
As he moved down to the next window, he noticed that the screen covering it was hanging loose in one corner of its frame. Somebody had cut a triangle flap large enough for a person to fit through.
Logan looked inside. It was a bedroom. And unlike the living room, it was occupied. There was a man lying on the bed, his right arm flopped on the pillow beside his head. But what caught Logan’s attention was the Berretta pistol lying inches from the guy’s hand, and the impossible-to-miss hole in the side of his head.
He would have preferred it if the place had just been empty.
He thought it was a pretty good chance the dead man was Anthony. According to Lara, he’d been the last to see Elyse. Did that mean she was in the apartment, too? As much as he’d rather not, he knew he was going to have to check.
He pulled the sleeve of his jacket over his hand, then put it through the cut in the screen, and up against the window. With just the slightest of pressure he was able to slide it open. He then looked both ways down the alley to make sure no one was watching, then slipped inside.
Immediately, he started to gag.
The smell of rot and death hung in the room like a thick fog. He threw a hand over his nose, and quickly ran into the hallway.
The stench was there, too, but not quite as strong. He did a quick sweep of the rest of the apartment to see if there were any more bodies, but, with a definite sense of relief, he found none.
Returning to the bedroom, he took a couple of T-shirts out of the dresser. He used one to cover his nose and mouth, then wrapped the other around his hand so he could pat down the body.
The dead guy had a wallet in his front pocket. Logan worked it out, then carefully opened it. A driver’s license sat behind a clear window in the front. The name on it read: Anthony Hudson. Logan put the wallet back.
The position of the gun, Anthony’s hand, it all pointed to suicide, but with the way things had been going, suicide was not a conclusion Logan was ready to jump to. Besides, the unlocked window and cut screen bothered him. Could be he had a cat that used it, but, if so, where was it now?
What surprised Logan most was that no one had heard the shot. In most of the apartment buildings he’d ever lived in, someone was always complaining about hearing their neighbors through the walls. A gunshot from the Beretta should have been heard not just by the people next door, but also by people in the buildings that lined the alley. And since this was the middle of a big city, no matter what time the trigger had been pulled, someone would have been home. But by the look of the wound and the smell, Anthony had been lying there dead for at least a day, if not more.
Logan scanned the room, looking for a note somewhere, but there was none.
Was this not what it appeared? There was no way for Logan to know for sure, but it certainly felt that way.
Instead of going out the window, he used the front door, then circled around to the alley like he had before, and got back into the El Camino.
He knew he should call the police. But if he did it from his cell phone, they’d record his number, and know who he was. He couldn’t have that. He’d lose too much time down at the station trying to explain why he’d found the body, and given the suspicions Detective Baker already had, it was possible they would even lock him up for a few days. He could always find a pay phone, but those were few and far between anymore, and you never knew where a security camera might be aimed.
There was a third option, though.
He started the El Camino, and pulled out of the carport.
16
Logan’s phone rang as he was driving back to the motel. The number on the display had a D.C. area code.
“Logan?” It was Ruth.
“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”
“I tried. Trust me.” She let out a little laugh. “My contact couldn’t run the plate number until after hours, and I wasn’t about to call you back from any of my phones.”
“Uh…thanks?”
“What? You want me to give them a good reason to fire me? I’ve got a family, remember?”
He didn’t say anything. He’d had a family once, small as it had been.
