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“Working on it,” Christopher said. He sat there typing on the computer. “I have addresses for them. Peter Eustace is out. He moved to the other side of the state. Lucien Alban . . . he has an address in Arnville.”
Paige could hear the excitement in his voice. Paige could understand why.
“We need to get over there.”
***
Lucien Alban’s home proved to be an apartment in a block just a little way from the boardwalk. It was aging and a little creepy, looking as though it hadn’t been repaired or renovated in years. The streetlight below only partly lit the doorway so that it was a shadowy maw, threatening to swallow both Christopher and Paige as they walked up.
There was an intercom with name plates on it. Paige saw Christopher stop short of pressing the buzzer for Lucien Alban’s apartment. “If we let him know we’re here too early, he might run,” Christopher said. Instead, he picked another buzzer on the same floor.
An older woman’s voice answered. “Yes, who is it?”
“Ma’am, we’re with the FBI,” Christopher said. “We need to talk to one of your neighbors. Would you mind buzzing us in?”
Paige held her breath. There were a lot of people who would assume that this was some kind of scam and refuse them entry. Not this woman, though.
“Yes, of course. One moment.”
The door buzzed, letting them in. They quickly took the stairs, heading up to the third floor, where the name plates said that Lucien’s apartment was. Paige and Christopher took up positions on either side of the door. Paige had her weapon drawn and ready now, while Christopher’s was in his right hand, his left reaching out to hammer on the door.
“Lucien Alban! Open up!”
There was no answer from inside. Paige hoped that Lucien wasn’t making a run for it.
“Lucien Alban, this is the FBI!” Christopher called out.
Paige heard the sound of a door opening behind her and turned towards the sound, her weapon half rising, ready for trouble. There was a woman there who Paige guessed was the neighbor who had let them in. She was probably in her sixties, wearing a hand-knitted sweater and jeans.
Paige showed her badge, wanting to confirm that she and Christopher really were with the FBI.
“You’re looking for Lucien?” the older woman asked.
Paige nodded. “We need to talk to him urgently, ma’am.”
“Well, you won’t find him here, dear.”
“But thisiswhere he lives?” Christopher asked.
“It is, but he’ll still be out at work at this hour. He doesn’t get back until late, then starts working on those ‘artworks’ of his.”
“You don’t like his art?” Paige asked.
She saw the older woman shudder slightly. “I find it all creepy. He told me once that he used to use blood in them. Something about greater authenticity.”
That sounded like exactly the kind of thing that the killer might do. The problem now though was that Lucien wasn’t here.
“Do you know where he works?” Paige asked.
“Some restaurant on the boardwalk, I think,” the neighbor said. “Wait, I think he gave me a flyer for it once.”
She disappeared back inside her apartment for a minute. She came back out holding a flier for “Maxie’s Bar and Grill.”
Paige took it from her. They knew where they had to go now. They just had to get there before it closed, and Lucien disappeared into the dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
As Paige and Christopher walked into Maxie’s Bar and Grill, there were still a few diners finishing their meals before the place closed. A manager, whose name badge said that he was Ulf, stood by the door. He was a man in his thirties with short dark hair, wearing dark slacks and a light shirt with rolled up sleeves. He moved to intercept them as they entered the restaurant, flashing an apologetic smile.
