Chapter Six
CHARLIE
Sunday, 3:46 a.m.
Spence offering to let me read his case notes was appreciated. Though, he never said I had to read everything at his house. I smiled to myself all the way home with the stack of folders and his phone sitting in my passenger seat.
Entering my apartment, I piled the files on my rickety dining room table before returning downstairs to empty my mailbox. Pauly, a homeless man from the neighborhood, was curled up under the stairs with a blanket draped over his head. Knowing he was harmless, I let him be and returned to my apartment. After a quick shower, I changed into yoga pants and a pink Nike t-shirt before settling at the table to read everything thoroughly.
Near sunup, I was about to go to bed when someone knocked on my apartment door. Looking through the peep hole, I saw Uncle Hank standing on the other side, grinning back at me. He was in full uniform. His trainee of the day stood beside him with a confused expression.
I unlocked and opened the door before turning toward the kitchen. “Give me a minute to start a pot of coffee.”
“Let me guess, you haven’t been to bed yet,” Uncle Hank said as he walked in, followed by the rookie.
I dumped the last of the coffee grounds into the basket and poured the water into the reserve. “I went to the club last night and was asked to check into one of the new customers. Turns out, he’s a private investigator—Russell Spencer. You heard of him?”
As the coffee pot started brewing, I joined Uncle Hank at the table. The rookie stood off to the side, nervously glancing back at the still open door.
“Yeah, I’ve run into Spence a few times. Seems like a straight shooter. Why? What’s your beef with him?” Uncle Hank asked as he pulled some photos of Evie from one of the folders and started studying them.
“Now that I know he’s working a case and not stalking Evie—I don’t have a problem with him. Evie’s a bartender at the club. Someone hired Spence to find her, but he’s getting a bad vibe about his anonymous client. He’s leery of telling him where she is.”
“Anonymous, huh? That don’t sound good.”
“Agreed. I have a guy trying to trace the client’s burner phone, but it’s powered off at the moment.”
“Spence always struck me as someone with good instincts. If he’s got a bad vibe about this guy, you better warn this girl. And fast. Rumor has it, Spence is overextended. Eventually he’ll cave for the payday.”
“Gambling, drugs, or child support?” I asked as I walked back into the kitchen to fill coffee cups.
“None of the above. His sister had bone cancer and died last spring. He paid all her bills, including the funeral. He had to sell his house and move to a crappy rental from what I heard.”
“It’s an old house. Needs a lot of work. But I have to admit—” I looked around my apartment “—it’s better than this place.”
Uncle Hank scowled at me. “You went to his house?”
“I popped in for a visit.” I shrugged, setting a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Were you invited? Or did you help yourself?”
I offered a cup to the rookie, but he shook his head and looked back at the apartment door. I sat with the cup, answering the question. “It was sort of a self-service kind of visit, but he caught me when he woke to answer his phone.”
The fact that I was caught seemed to entertain Uncle Hank. His scowl was replaced with a smirk as he drank his coffee.
“So why the visit this morning? Bored?”
“There’s a dead body downstairs. In the lobby. Looks like an overdose.”
My head threw itself back involuntarily. “Pauly? Wearing a green coat?”
“Yeah. The guy’s wearing a green coat. Was he there when you came home?”
“Yes, but I thought he was sleeping.” I looked toward the apartment door, now understanding the rookie’s behavior. “Pauly’s a heroin addict, but non-violent so I don’t throw him out. He sleeps in the lobby one or two nights a week.”
“How well did you know him?” the rookie asked, getting out his pocket notebook. “Do you know his full name?”
Uncle Hank rolled his eyes.
I laughed and walked over to my filing cabinet, pulling a file. “Paul Leenstra, known on the streets as Pauly. Born in 1992. Repeat drug offender, but all misdemeanors. His parents live over in Coral Groves, but they haven’t spoken to him in years. He has two older brothers, both successful.” I handed the file to Uncle Hank, but he passed it to the rookie without looking at it.
“When was the last time you saw him alive?” Uncle Hank asked.
“With all due respect, sir,” the rookie interrupted, “we should be positioned to monitor the body until the coroner’s office arrives.”
Uncle Hank ignored him and waved a hand at me to continue.
“I saw him two days ago,” I said, thinking back. “Oh, shit! He gave me a gun. I can’t believe I forgot.” I walked over to my desk and pulled a paper bag from the bottom drawer.
The rookie pulled his service weapon. “Drop the bag and put your hands in the air!”
“Holster your weapon, Officer Regis,” Uncle Hank ordered.
“She’s armed, sir. I can’t holster my weapon.”
“She’s a cop, idiot! Holster your damn weapon or I’ll have your badge.”
The rookie quickly holstered his weapon, but looked ready to pee his pants.
“Knock-knock,” a female voice called from the doorway.
“Hey, Tasha,” I said as I walked back across the room and handed the brown bag to Uncle Hank. “I have fresh coffee. You have time for a cup?”
“Sure. I’ve got a trainee with me this morning, so I’ll let him do
