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“Please tell us she’s in the phonebook.” With the number of dead ends we’ve hit in this investigation, we could use a break.
My phone vibrates, followed a second later by Sharpe’s and Marc’s phones. “Happy hunting!”
“Great work, Meredith!” Sharpe snatches up his cell and stands. “Let’s get moving.”
“Be careful, you guys,” Meredith calls as we head for the door.
Downstairs, we portal to the warehouse to pick up an SUV, then follow the GPS into a run-down part of town.
It’s a far cry from the mansion where the judge had been killed, or what I imagine Reverend Shawe’s house looked like.
From Vicki’s file, she’d made a good income, despite all of her arrests and sex addictions, and lived in a nice neighborhood.
Not so much for Tammy. The poor girl really had come runner-up in everything in life.
Hopefully, though, we can prevent her murder where we couldn’t save Vicki.
A fat drop of rain hits the windshield as we pull up to a five-story apartment complex. Boards cover a few of the windows on the street level, and paint peels off the siding to expose the rot beneath.
Sharpe parks and peers up at the building. “Based on her address, she’s on the fifth floor.”
I eye the exterior staircase with trepidation. “Of course she is.”
In the back, Marc unbuckles and opens the rear passenger door. “On the plus side, the cabin where we stuffed Bailey will be a nice upgrade for her.”
As I join him on the sidewalk, my hand drops to the baton at my belt, the weight of my weapon bringing a measure of reassurance. While it won’t work against a black dog, muggings in this area are common, and the last thing we need right now is to be caught off guard by street-level thugs.
Sharpe must feel the same, because when he joins us, one side of his suit jacket is tucked back to make it faster to reach the taser at his waist.
His gaze meets mine. “I’ve answered more than one gunshot report from this neighborhood, so watch your surroundings.”
The rain falls harder, offering a respite from the brutal, summer heat as Marc strides toward the stairs with me in the middle and Sharpe bringing up the rear. If a black dog appears while we’re here, Marc is the best equipped to handle it with his fire.
And if we run into a thug, well… Marc can handle that, too.
At the top floor, we check the numbers on the door on either side.
Sharpe consults the information Meredith provided. “Tammy’s apartment should be on the left.”
Marc heads down the walkway, the platform bouncing beneath his heavy footsteps.
As we pass a door, it pops open, and we all tense.
An elderly woman with her hair done up in curlers pokes her head out to scowl at us. “Are you finally here to deal with that god-awful stench? I’ve been calling the office for three days now!”
My stomach tightens with unease. “Which unit was it?”
She squints at me, her blue eyes hazy with cataracts. “Don’t you have the work order?”
“We need to double-check, ma’am,” Marc drawls, laying the charm on thick. “We wouldn’t want to further inconvenience the residents.”
She points a gnarled finger farther down the walkway. “The one on the end. I told my neighbor to call it in, too, but his nose is broken, and he kept telling me I was crazy.”
“Thank you for the information.” Sharpe gestures for her to go back inside. “We’ll take it from here.”
With a glare for all of us, she slams her door shut, followed by the click of multiple locks engaging.
We all turn toward the apartment she indicated, and Marc rubs the back of his neck. “This isn’t promising.”
