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“That’ll make me popular in the evidence room tonight.” She pulled out clear plastic evidence envelopes and a set of latex gloves.
Metal on metal.
An alert shot silently through Will’s head.
Someone was trying the front door.
They both walked quietly in that direction. The floors were solid and didn’t creak. But with the lights on, there was a chance whoever was outside might see their shadows under the door. The sound continued. Will heard Henderson unsnap her holster.
Someone was inserting a key in the door.
“How do you want to play it?” Henderson whispered.
“Let him come in.”
Henderson took up a position in the kitchen to the right of the front door. She now had her semi-automatic out, held down at her side. Will unholstered his own weapon and retreated into the hallway. He switched his cane to his left hand, held the gun in his right, but the adrenaline coursing through his system made him feel steady on his feet. He turned off the light in the hall, so he would have the advantage of darkness. There was nothing to be done about the lights already on in the living room.
Maybe Kristen had a roommate. The concierge hadn’t said anything about that. Still, they would have to be careful when the door opened. They would anyway. The key in the door was most likely the one missing from Kristen’s boat, and the hand holding it belonged to her killer.
The key was all the way in, but once again the lock resisted. Click-click, click-click. He didn’t know the trick the concierge had used to open the door. Click-click, click-click.
Then, silence. Henderson looked back at him.
“Go.” He mouthed it silently. She walked five feet to the door and looked through the fisheye.
She shook her head. By that time he was standing there, too.
“Open it.” He had his gun up now, aimed toward the door.
The sound was unmistakable: the key was sliding back out. It took a good ten seconds of pulling to get the warped door to unlatch. By the time she opened it, the threshold was empty. They moved quickly into an empty hall.
“This is bullshit,” she said. “I’ll take the fire stairs. You take the elevator to the lobby.”
Will strode as fast as he dared, his right quads screaming their silent protest. In less than two minutes he was back in the quiet lobby. He holstered the gun and approached the concierge.
“Somebody come through here in the past ten minutes?”
The man shook his head. “Only you and the woman.”
A sound indicated a door opening and Diane Henderson trotted up. Will told her what he knew.
“What about visitors tonight, earlier,” she said. “Maybe he hid in the fire stairs or on a different floor.”
“Only residents tonight, ma’am.”
Will knew they were both wondering if the killer was a resident.
He said, “Do you have a garage?”
“Yes, sir. It’s indicated on the elevator. P-1 and P-2. It’s secured by a door to the street. Residents have a card key that opens it.”
“So our guy could have Kristen’s card key,” Henderson said.
Will tried again. “Is the garage entrance on camera?”
“It is,” the concierge said. “But that camera’s been down for two months. The homeowners’ board hasn’t kicked loose the money to get it fixed.”
Chapter Eleven
