[Quinn 02] - The Deceived

there was also the old towpath that ran parallel to the water. Beside the path was a narrow park, with trees and grass and benches.

Quinn turned right onto the walkway and followed the canal back toward Jenny’s street. If the map was right, Jenny’s building would be the one butted up against the canal on the east side of the street.

Quinn glanced ahead. The building was taller than the two-story, single-family townhouses that made up most of the neighborhood. It looked five stories high, though not much wider than the other buildings. That made sense. Jenny’s address had indicated she was in unit number 4, which would mean she was in a multi-residence building.

A building that size, it seemed a reasonable guess it was only one apartment per floor. Unit 4, fourth floor.

When his gaze reached what he assumed was Jenny’s apartment, he stopped and stared. Each of the apartments had two windows looking out over the canal. But the apartment on the fourth floor was different. Where the windows had once been, there were now large sheets of plywood. Even in the dim light of the streetlamps, he could tell the bricks around the sheets were dark, almost black.

He looked at the apartments on the fifth and the third floors. No curtains in these windows, not even knickknacks on the windowsill. Only darkness and the sense of abandonment. And though there were curtains drawn across the windows of the first and second floors, Quinn got the distinct feeling no one was home.

A fire, Quinn thought. There was no mistaking the signs. And the fourth-floor apartment had taken the brunt.

What the hell? he thought.

He willed himself to continue moving forward along the path. In the distance, he could hear the traffic on M Street, but here next to Jenny’s building there was an eerie quiet. Even the water in the canal seemed hushed as it moved through the old locks and tumbled from one level to the next.

When he reached the sidewalk running in front of the small apartment complex, he stopped again. The light above the main doorway was out, but the darkness didn’t hide the strip of caution tape strung across the top of the steps. As Quinn suspected, the building had been evacuated.

He checked the street, then walked up the steps and ducked under the tape. From the pocket of his leather jacket, he removed a pair of latex surgical gloves and pulled them on.

He tried the doorknob. Locked, but the door itself felt loose, like the deadbolt hadn’t been engaged. He tried the knob again, leaning against the door to see if it might be weak. The lock in the knob held for a moment, then gave way with a muffled pop. Quinn wasted no time crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him.

He found himself in a small community entry. The first thing he noticed was the smell. Smoke. But not as strong as he’d expected. It made him wonder how long it had been since the fire had occurred.

To the right was a set of metal mailboxes. There were five in total. To the left was the door to the first-floor apartment, and straight ahead was a staircase.

Quinn walked over to the mailboxes. There was enough illumination filtering in through a large window above the main door for him to read the labels on each without pulling out his flashlight. The boxes were all numbered 1 through 5, but there were no names.

Quinn forced the lock on the one labeled “4.” The box was stuffed full, like whomever it belonged to hadn’t been home for at least a week before the fire occurred. No mail would have been delivered after the blaze. Quinn pulled out several items. They were all addressed to the same person.

Jennifer Fuentes.

He put everything back, then pushed the box closed.

He turned to the stairs and headed upward. Except for the number on the apartments, the second and third floors were identical to each other: a simple landing, a door, and the stairs.

Quinn climbed to the fourth floor, this time stopping just short of the landing so he could take in the space before him. Perhaps it had once looked like the lower floors, but not anymore. The walls were black with smoke damage, and the door to apartment 4 lay in a heap off to the side. It looked as though fire crews had hacked their way into the apartment so that they would have a shot at saving the building.

Testing the floor first, Quinn stepped onto the landing and approached the threshold of the apartment but did not enter. The darkness inside was almost complete, the plywood over the windows blocking any outside light. Quinn pulled out his flashlight and turned it on.

The firemen may have saved the rest of the building, but they hadn’t been able to do anything for Jenny’s place. The destruction was total. The fire had been so all-encompassing it had left nothing untouched.

All of Jenny’s possessions, all of them, were gone.

Quinn left the building as quietly as he had entered. He started walking toward M Street, where he would be able to catch a cab back to the hotel. As he headed up the sidewalk, he heard an engine start up somewhere along the block behind him.

He kept facing forward, like he hadn’t noticed it. Perhaps it was nothing. A lot of people lived within a block or two of where he was walking. Any one of them could have been heading out on a late-night errand.

He continued on his way, waiting for the car to pass by, but it didn’t. The engine noise was still there, a low rumble thirty yards back. He focused on the sound, gauging its location with every step. It remained steady, constant, as if it was moving with him, at his pace.

His hand moved to the grip of his gun, ready to pull it out the moment he felt it was necessary.

He was almost to M Street, its lights and activity a complete contrast to his current surroundings. If this was some kind of snatch-and-grab, those in the car would be coming after him at any second. He might be able to take them out, then again, he might not.

Not worth the chance, he thought as he removed his hand from his gun.

Without warning, he sprinted to the corner and turned right on