“If coeds looked like that when I was in college, I would have stayed in school a while longer,” he said.
As she approached the two cops, the officer she had met nodded.
The new one came closer and stared at her badge, which hung from her neck. He stared at her chest a little too long for Sin’s liking.
“When you get finished leering, Officer Slimy, I would like to know who the ranking officer on the scene is, and where I may find him or her.”
The first officer laughed at Sin’s comments. “Don’t mind Leroy,” he said. “He’s new to South Florida. Stems from the sticks of Kentucky and he’s still getting used to the women down here.”
Sin shot Leroy a look of disgust and then smiled at the other. “I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Officer James Rooney,” he said, “and this is my partner, Leroy Sansmire.”
Sin just nodded in the general direction of Leroy and then looked back at James. Taking the subtle hint, he pulled out a card. “Sergeant Glenn. You’ll find him just inside the building.”
“Thank you,” she replied. Pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes, she walked over to the apartment building. She weaved her way through other officers and was about to open the door when it was opened for her. A six-foot, five-inch granite slab with a face and form darkened the doorway.
“I’m Sergeant Maurice Glenn. You must be Agent O’Malley.”
“I am,” she said, holding out her hand. Glenn wrapped his catcher’s mitt-sized paw around hers.
Leading her down the hall to apartment four, he handed Sin a key. “This is Vivienne Spinner’s apartment. I took the liberty of securing a key from the landlord. We have also obtained a list of all the residents.”
Sin lifted her sunglasses from her face and clutched the key. “Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate your initiative.”
About to put the key in the lock, she noted the residue left behind from the dusting of prints. “Any usable prints.”
“One set. Being processed.”
One set, Sin thought, that’s unusual.
Sin pulled a pair of latex gloves from her backpack, opened the door and viewed the apartment from the doorway. It appeared to be a typical college student unit—small and compact. Noticing that her orders were followed and no one had yet cleared the apartment, she asked where the crime scene investigators were.
“They’re outside dusting Ms. Spinner’s car. Should I have them come in?”
“Give me twenty minutes to do a walk-through and then send them up.”
“Will do,” Sergeant Glenn said. About to walk out, he turned and faced Sin. “Anything you can tell me about the case?”
Sin stopped, looked at Glenn, and realized she hadn’t said much of anything to this point. She dropped the tough girl attitude and grinned. “I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. The body found in Miami was identified and traced to this location. I’m just hoping to find something here that might lead to why she was killed or better yet, her killer.”
Glenn nodded. “Sort of like searching for clues in the desert, and we both know how hard that can be.”
His words caught her off guard. Sin hesitated, then agreed. “Yeah, looks like I drew the short straw.”
Glenn laughed. “I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything.”
Pulling a pair of paper booties from the side compartment of her backpack, Sin donned the gear and entered the vic’s home.
The preliminary search didn’t take long. The apartment turned out to be an efficiency—kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. She found the normal things you would find in a college student’s home: textbooks, laptop, and packages of Ramen noodles. The extras that let her know she was in the apartment of an art student: easel, paints, and partially finished paintings and sketches. On top of the small desk in the corner of the bedroom was a large, hardcover book titled, The Life and Art of Miranda Stokler. Sin fanned through and opened to a page of colored photos. It didn’t take a trained eye to notice that Vivienne’s work was very similar in style to Miranda Stokler’s.
As she compared the two, there was a knock on the door. She turned to see three investigating officers standing there awaiting her words.
The first breathed deep, relaxing his posture, “Whew, that’s a relief.”
“What’s a relief?” Sin asked.
He pointed to her feet. “The booties and gloves. You’d be surprised how many times we’ve had a scene compromised.”
No, I wouldn’t.
Sin walked over, stepped outside the apartment, introduced herself, and shook the hands of the investigators. “I would appreciate it if you can have Ms. Spinner’s computer, books, and artwork sent down to the FBI’s Miami Beach field office as soon as you secure the scene.”
“Not a problem,” the investigator said.
“What did you find in the car?” Sin asked.
“We were told not to enter,” he replied, “but there was no sign of a struggle on the outside. Just typical things you would find on the car of a college student. Dirt and dents.”
Sin nodded and extended her hand. “Sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”
“Jim Dugan,” the investigator said, shaking Sin’s hand and placing a business card in her palm at the same time.
“Interesting backpack,” Jim pointed. “Were you in the military?”
“I started out in the Marines but the FBI pulled me away.”
“Oorah,” Jim replied. “No wonder Sergeant Glenn likes you.”
“I never told the Sergeant I was a Marine.”
“You didn’t have to,” Dugan said, “he can smell one from miles. I guess that’s what comes with being a career soldier.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Sin’s watch alarm began to beep. She looked at the time. “I have an appointment to get to. Would you mind clearing the auto and bagging all her belongings for me?”
“Consider it done.”
Sin thanked him and then went to speak to Sergeant Glenn who was now standing across the street having a cigarette.
“Mind if I join you?”
