for yourself-her current address is the same as two years ago, but when I typed in her performance-artist alias, a different address came up.'
Catherine and Warrick leaned in on either side of Nick and read over his shoulder.
Nick asked, 'Why is our bulimic artist keeping two cribs under two names?'
'We need to check them both,' Catherine said.
Warrick's expression was doubtful as he pointed out, 'It's almost end of shift.'
'This is a fresh murder case.' Catherine's features were firmly set. 'We need to stay on it.'
Nick said, 'Brass sent a memo around saying the Missy Sherman case is on the approved-for-OT list…and the two murders may be connected. MO indicates it.'
Warrick shrugged. 'Good enough for me.'
'All right!' Catherine said, eyes bright. 'We'll split up…. I'll see if I can round up Brass and check the Pope address. O'Riley's back on graveyard rotation-you guys grab him and head over to Edith Piaf's.'
'Don't forget to give that ID to Robbins,' Nick reminded her.
'On my way out,' Catherine assured him.
Twenty minutes later, Warrick and Nick stood outside apartment 217H in The Palms, a vaguely seedy two- story apartment complex on heavily traveled Paradise Road. Six-thirty in the morning was a little early to be bothering the super, but Sergeant O'Riley was off doing just that.
The morning had a tentative quality, dawn not quite finished with the sky, and the temperature still hung around the freezing mark. Warrick had thrown his good leather jacket over his running togs; hands in his jacket pockets, he bounced foot to foot, staying warm while they waited on the second-floor concrete walkway.
Finally, O'Riley appeared, coming up the steps. A stubby Hispanic man, the super presumably, trailed behind him in flip-flops, cut-off denim shorts and a threadbare Santana tee shirt, and didn't seem to notice it was colder out than the inside of a Kenmore freezer.
As the detective and super drew closer, Warrick got a better look at the super-unruly black hair over a wide forehead, red-rimmed brown eyes, and a frequently broken nose that meant either an ex-boxer or street fighter.
'This couldn't wait till after my damn breakfast?' the man was saying.
'No,' O'Riley said gruffly. 'Just open the door, then we'll be out of your way in no time, and you can get back to your bacon and eggs.'
'They're probably already cold,' the super protested.
'Then it's a moot frickin' point,' O'Riley said. To Warrick and Nick, he said, 'Meet the super, Hector Ortiz.'
Nods were exchanged as the super riffled through a ring of keys. 'Miz Rose, she in trouble?'
Ignoring Ortiz' question, Warrick gestured toward the door with his chin. 'What kind of tenant?'
'Best kind-quiet as a church mouse. Always pays the rent on time, pays in cash-what's not to like?'
'Pays in cash…Is that typical around here?'
Shrugging, the super asked, 'Who knows what's typical these days. Who am I to argue with money? And hers is always on time.'
'What's she pay?'
Ortiz gave Warrick a sideways look. 'I'm not sure I have to answer that.'
Warrick sighed. 'You have any openings, here at the beautiful Palms?'
'Maybe. Why?'
'In case I wanna move. If I do, what kind of rent am I lookin' at?'
'One bedroom?'
'I guess. Something like Ms. Rose has.'
'Five bills-five-fifty, you want a garage.'
'Pretty reasonable, considering,' Warrick admitted.
'I know, everybody else around here's twenty percent over that, easy. But the landlord's a nice guy, and 'cause of that, we tend to hang on to tenants.'
'Ms. Rose have a garage?' asked Nick.
'No.'
Finally the super opened the place up, and they peered in at an empty living room-not a stick of furniture, as if the renter had moved out in the night, or burglars had made a hell of a haul.
The super, astounded, blurted, 'What the hell?'
As they stepped into the living room, O'Riley asked Ortiz, 'When was the last time you were in here?'
'I guess, lemme think-not since Ms. Rose signed the lease. She never had any complaints, and nothin' went wrong, no plumbing trouble or nothing. She shows up at my door with the envelope of money…. What reason did I have to come in?'
Not even the impressions of furniture could be seen on the well-worn wall-to-wall carpet; no one had lived here for some time. Some cheap but heavy curtains blotted out the window. Warrick opened the front closet door- not even a wire hanger.
A doorless doorway at the right led to the kitchen, where several appliances waited-a stove, a refrigerator. Warrick followed Nick, who opened the fridge, checked the cupboards.
Nick looked back at Warrick, eyes tight. 'Got a box of cinch-top bags and a roll of duct tape,' he said.
Warrick grunted noncommittally, then wandered back into the living room, where the super stood in the middle, arms folded, rocking on his heels, bored to death. O'Riley was poised before two closed doors that faced each other in a tiny alcove at the rear of the living room.
Frowning in thought, Warrick said, 'Why rent an empty apartment?'
Opening the alcove's right-hand door, O'Riley said, 'Bathroom!…Not much, pretty stripped. Empty squirt bottle on the sink, is about all.'
'What?' Warrick asked, coming over.
The big man shrugged. 'You know-like to water plants.'
'Shit,' Warrick said.
O'Riley turned. 'What?'
'I think I know why we're standin' in an empty apartment…. Do not touch anything else!'
O'Riley, eyes wide, held his hands up in surrender. 'Okay, okay…'
'We're in a crime scene,' Warrick said. 'Nick!'
'What?' Nick asked, coming from the kitchen, a wary expression around his eyes.
Warrick said, 'The only thing in this apartment is a squirt bottle, some duct tape and tie-bags…. You wanna guess what's behind door number two?'
Nick paled. Somber, businesslike, he said, 'Detective O'Riley, you escort Mr. Ortiz out, now-don't touch anything.' Nick got latex gloves out of his jacket pocket, and started snugging them on. 'I'll get the door for you….'
The burly cop took Ortiz by the arm and said, 'We need to leave.'
'Well, don't get rough about it! Are you arresting me or what? I didn't do nothin'!'
Nick was already at the door; he carefully opened it with a gloved hand. 'Sir, we've stumbled into a probable crime scene. Just our presence potentially contaminates evidence. Please step outside and we'll explain.'
Once the four of them were back on the concrete walkway, O'Riley asked, 'What did you see that I didn't see?'
While Nick went off to gather their equipment from the Tahoe, Warrick filled the detective in. 'Didn't you read Doc Robbins' report? He said Missy Sherman was frozen, and had to be wetted down in order to avoid freezer burn.'
O'Riley's eyes widened and he nodded, getting it. 'I remember-the doc said it could have been accomplished with somethin' as simple as a…squirt bottle.'
Ortiz stepped closer to Warrick. 'What does all this mean?'
'We're going to be investigating in there.'
Ortiz frowned, shaking his head as if warding off flying insects. 'Don't you people need a warrant or something?'
'Not for a probable crime scene, sir.'
