same old dirty surroundings, he shifted his bony shoulders. 'Well, I'd say that doesn't sound like Gaby, but I guess it does. She's not much for small talk.'
'You don't say.' A dirt stain marred the front of his gray slacks. 'She was bleeding.' He looked at Mort. 'From the throat.'
His curled hand pressed to his mouth. 'Much?'
'What?'
'Was she bleeding much?'
Luther wanted to punch a hole in something. 'You're not surprised that she was bleeding? You just want to know how much? Does that mean you're the one who hurt her?'
'No!'
Crossing his arms, Luther waited. Silence had a way of making small-minded people spew their innermost thoughts. He doubted it'd work with Gaby. No, she'd just stride away. But Mort…
'I would never hurt her. I swear, I wouldn't. She's a friend.'
'Then who did?' He looked beyond Mort to the shadowy entrance. He could see the peeling paint on the battered walls, the chipped wooden floor. 'Is there someone else in your building?'
'No way.' Mort shook his head in surety. 'Gaby never has anyone over.'
'Never?' That was a pretty long time. But it didn't surprise him.
'Not since I've known her. Not even once.'
'Hmmm.' Pondering that, Luther said aloud, 'I suppose she could have done it to herself. Hopefully an accident. It didn't look too serious—'
Luther drew back, perplexed at Mort's reaction. Had he been in an agony of suspense, not knowing how badly hurt Gaby was when she fled the building? But why assume such a thing anyway? 'Why all the relief, Mort? You've seen her hurt worse, have you?'
Showing some belated spine, Mort straightened. 'No. And why are you bothering Gaby? What did she ever do to you?'
Luther did an abrupt and unplanned about-face. 'I'm not bothering her. Actually, I came to see you.'
'Me?' Astonishment and worry muted his pleasure. 'But… why?'
'You've lived in this area for a long time, right?'
Excitement made his voice stronger. 'About a decade now. My mom used to own the building and I lived with her.' He realized how that sounded and cleared his throat. 'I took care of her, made sure she had what she needed…'
'Yeah, I get it. That's real noble of you.' Putting an arm around Mort's shoulders, Luther led him inside and toward his apartment. With a slow groan of rusty hinges, the entry door crept shut behind them. 'Where's your mom now?'
''She passed away about five years ago.'
'Two years before Gaby moved in?'
Nodding, Mort stepped to the side and allowed Luther to enter his apartment. Everything looked the same as it had two days ago: cluttered, meager, and impoverished. 'I'm sorry about your mother.'
'Thanks.' Mort ran his hands up and down denim-covered thighs. 'Why d' you care how long I've been here?'
'There's been some trouble in the area and I figured you had to know people, right? I thought maybe you could lend me a hand.'
'You want my help?'
'Sure, why not? The police can always use a little outside assistance. Given your proximity to things, you're a good candidate to help now.' Luther stared right at him while telling the lie. 'I can trust you, right?'
'Yeah, I mean, sure. I'm glad to help however I can.' Shifting in nervous ebullience, he stirred the air, sending the odor of unwashed skin to Luther's nose. 'You want something to drink, maybe?'
After a discreet cough, Luther nodded. 'If you make it strong, coffee would be good.'
Mort's thin face lifted. 'Cool. Let's go in the kitchen.'
Rushing ahead, he emptied dirty clothes off a chair and piled them in the corner, then began clearing the tabletop of comic books and unpaid bills. Luther sat down and, trying to be subtle, asked, 'You said Gaby keeps to herself, but you don't get much company here either, do you?'
'Nah, but it's okay. When I have the store open, I stay plenty busy.'
Luther pictured the ramshackle store that abutted the two-family structure. Enough filth marred the windows to impede a view beyond the bent, stained, and faded signs crookedly hung. Handwritten messages pronounced the sale of comic books and other fan magazines. 'You own the connecting building, too?'
'Yeah. I inherited both this place and the comic book store from my mom. But I didn't feel like opening the store today.'
'Under the weather?' When Mort glanced at him in edgy suspicion, Luther said, 'I noticed you had some allergy problems or something with your eyes. It hits a lot of people this time of year.'
'Yeah.' He turned away to fix the coffee. 'So you wanted to ask me some stuff about the area?'
Absently, Luther picked up one of the comics on the top of the pile. He thumbed the edges, making the pages flip. 'You heard there was a murder?'
'There always is.' After he finished the coffee preparations, Mort turned to face Luther. 'It's sad, but around here, we're used to it.'
Very true. 'Lots of hookers getting killed, the occasional robbery gone wrong.'
Mort nodded.
'This one was different, Mort. A man was mutilated.'
Mort said nothing, but his Adam's apple bobbed in his scrawny throat.
'He was so hacked up, body bits were everywhere.'
'Hacked up, huh?' He rubbed the back of his neck. 'I heard some stuff… people around here talk. I guess it was pretty bad?'
'He was nearly decapitated. Almost every bone broken. Ribs sawed through. His guts spilled out.' Luther watched Mort. 'Pretty macabre stuff.'
Both hands covered Mort's mouth. 'That's…'
'Disturbing. I know. And then you had that mutilated critter hung in your foyer.' Luther tossed the comic aside and picked up another. 'I wonder how someone got in there to do that, without you hearing or seeing anything.'
'I was in bed a lot that day, and Gaby wasn't here.'
'Where was she?'
'I already told you I don't know.' He paced away. 'I don't know how I didn't hear it.'
Probably because he'd been crying too hard, the poor schmuck.
Fear overtook Mort's expression. 'You think the two things are related?'
'In this neighborhood, who can say?' Luther lifted his shoulders. 'I do know that Gaby shouldn't be out alone at night—like she was a few nights ago.' He waited a second or two, 'She was alone, wasn't she, Mort?'
'I don't know.' He almost wailed that. 'Gaby doesn't tell me anything. I wasn't lying about that. She's real private.'
'She's been here three years. You must know something about her.'
The second the coffee machine quieted, Mort took out the carafe and filled two mugs. As a type of warning, he said, 'I know she keeps to herself and doesn't like questions.'
'How does she support herself?' When Mort again glared at him in suspicion, Luther tapped the comic book against the tabletop. 'I'm just asking because I'm worried about her. It doesn't seem she works during the day, but if she has a night job somewhere, she could be at risk. Until we catch the lunatic who committed the murder, no woman should be out alone at night.'
Mort grunted. 'Yeah, well, you try telling Gaby that.' He held out a mug of coffee, and Luther started to toss the comic away.
That's when he noticed the cover.
