“Howare you, Detective?” she said in monotone.
“Ihear you got a live one. So to speak. Patton says he was actually happyto hand this one over to you.”
“It’sdifferent, all right.” She turned away from the computer to face thegray-haired, softly overweight man. Three hundred and forty-nine daysto retirement, he was, and kept telling them.
Hecraned around a little further to look at her computer screen. “Atough-nut case and what are you doing, shopping for shoes?”
She’dcultivated a smile just for situations like this. It had gotten herthrough the Academy, it had gotten her through every marksmanshiptest with a smart-ass instructor, it had gotten her through eight yearsas a cop. But one of these days, she was going to snap and takesomeone’s head off.
“It’sthe twenty-first century, Bailey,” she said. “Half the crooks thesedays knock over a liquor store and then brag about it on Myspace anhour later. You gotta keep on top of it.”
Helooked at her blankly. She wasn’t about to explain Myspace to him. Notthat he’d even dare admit to her that he didn’t know or understandsomething. He was the big dick on campus, and she was just the girldetective.
Atleast she had a pretty good chance of outliving the bastards.
Donninga smile, he said, “Hey, maybe it’s a vampire!” He walked away,chuckling.
Ifthat was the worst ribbing she got today, she’d count herself lucky.
Canvassingthe neighborhood could be both her most and least favorite part of aninvestigation. She usually learned way more than she wanted to and cameaway not thinking very highly of people. She’d have to stand there notsaying anything while listening to people tell her over and over againthat no, they never suspected anything, the suspect was always veryquiet, and no, they never saw anything, they didn’t know anything. Allthe while, they wouldn’t meet her gaze. They didn’t want to getinvolved. She bet if she’d interviewed the Arcunas in person, theywouldn’t have looked her in the eyes.
Butthis was often the very best way to track down leads, and a goodwitness could crack a whole case.
Pattonhad already talked to the neighbor who called in the smell, a Hispanicwoman who lived in the house behind Manuel’s. She hadn’t had any moreuseful information, so Hardin wanted to try the more immediateneighbors.
Shewent out early in the evening, after work and around dinnertime, whenpeople were more likely to be home. The neighborhood was older, a gridof narrow streets, eighty-year-old houses in various states of repairjammed in together. Towering ash and maple trees pushed up the slabs ofthe sidewalks with their roots. Narrow drives led to carports, orsimply to the sides of the houses. Most cars parked along the curbs. Amix of lower-class residents lived here: kids living five or six to ahouse to save rent while they worked minimum-wage jobs; ethnicfamilies, recent immigrants getting their starts; bluecollar familiesstruggling at the poverty line.
DoraManuel’s house still had yellow tape around the property. When shecouldn’t find parking on the street, Hardin broke the tape away andpulled into the narrow driveway, stopping in front of the fence to theback lot. She put the tape back up behind her car.
Acrossthe street, a guy was on his front porch taking pictures of the house,the police tape, her. Fine, she’d start with him.
Shecrossed the street and walked to his porch with an easy, nonthreateningstride. His eyes went wide and a little panicked anyway.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t hurting anything, I’ll stop,” he said, hiding the camerabehind his back.
Hardingave him a wry, annoyed smile and held up her badge. “My name’sDetective Hardin, Denver PD, and I just want to ask you a fewquestions. That okay?”
Heonly relaxed a little. He was maybe in his early twenties. The housewas obviously a rental, needing a good scrubbing and a coat of paint.Through the front windows she could see band posters on the living roomwalls. “Yeah . . . okay.”
“What’syour name?”
“Pete. Uh . . . Pete Teller.”
“Didyou know Dora Manuel?”
“ThatMexican lady across the street? The one who got killed?”
“Filipina, butyes.”
“No,didn’t know the lady at all. Saw her sometimes.”
“When was the lasttime you saw her?”
“Maybea few days ago. Yeah, like four days ago, going inside the house atdinnertime.”
Patton’sbackground file said that Manuel didn’t own a car. She rode the bus toher job at a dry cleaners. Pete would have seen her walking home.
“Didyou see anyone else? Maybe anyone who looked like they didn’t belong?”
“No,no one. Not ever. Lady kept to herself, you know?”
Yeah,she did. She asked a few more standard witness questions, and he gavethe standard answers. She gave him her card and asked him to call if heremembered anything, or if he heard anything. Asked him to tell hisroommates to do the same.
Thefamily two doors south of Manuel was also Filipino. Hardin was guessingthe tired woman who opened the door was the mother of a good-sizedfamily. Kids were screaming in a back room. The woman was shorter thanHardin by a foot, and brown-skinned, and her black hair was tied in aponytail. She wore a blue T-shirt and faded jeans.
Hardinflashed her badge. “I’m Detective Hardin, Denver PD. Could I ask you afew questions?”
“Isthis about Dora Manuel?”
Thisencouraged Hardin. At least someone around here had actually knownthe woman. “Yes. I’m assuming you heard what happened?”
“Itwas in the news,” she said.
“How well did you know her?”
“Oh, I didn’t,not really.”
Somuch for the encouragement. “Did you ever speak with her? Canyou tell me the last time you saw her?”
“Idon’t think I ever talked to her. I’m friends with Betty Arcuna, whoowns the house. I knew her when she lived in the neighborhood. I keptan eye on the house for her, you know, as much as I could.”
“Thendid you ever see any suspicious activity around the house? Anystrangers, anyone who looked like they didn’t belong?”
Shepursed her lips and shook her head. “No, not really, not that Iremember.”
Asound, like something heavy falling from a shelf, crashed from the backof the house. The woman just sighed.
“Howmany kids do you have?”
