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On the long gray sofa slumped Werner Vogel, much of his head gone, splatter on the wall.
On the television, muted, a soccer game played. A Heineken sat on the table, half finished.
Hud turned away, winced.
“Could be self-inflicted,” Ned said, stepping closer. “There’s a nine millimeter on the floor.” Ned pointed to the gun, fallen between the sofa and a coffee table.
“Looks like his computer was taken.” Ned crouched and lifted the cord to the computer with the edge of his blade. “Hope it has good battery life.”
Blood still dripped down the wall. “How long ago was he, did he…”
“Not long. The blood is very fresh and…” He pulled the sleeve down on his jacket, then pressed his hand against the body. “Still warm.” He stepped back. “Could be the pizza man interrupted the murder.”
Hud stilled, and Ned looked at him. “Stay here.”
This time, yes.
Ned put a hand to his lips—not that anyone hiding in the building wouldn’t have already heard them, but okay.
Ned crept to the bedroom and nudged the door open. Hud waited in the main room, not sure what to do about Vogel.
Sorry?
Ned returned. “No one in the bedroom or the bathroom. I think they left the building.”
From somewhere in the house, a vibration sounded, buzzing.
Ned stilled, but Hud crouched, following the sound. “Under the sofa.”
He crawled over and reached for the phone.
“Hud, get your hand off the table!”
He recoiled, even as his grip closed on the phone. The movement moved the table, jostled the Heineken, which toppled and started to drip down the sides.
“That’ll take care of your fingerprints,” Ned said. Sirens in the distance whined. “Let’s get out of here.”
Hud pocketed the phone, started to follow Ned to the door, then stopped. “The pizza.” He doubled back, grabbed the box from the counter.
Ned waited at the door, cocking his head.
“What?”
“Trying to figure out what’s worse—leaving that here and the cops track down the driver, or an interview by the neighbors admitting they let him in, but the pizza’s disappeared.”
“My fingerprints are all over this,” Hud said.
“So are the pizza guy’s.”
Hud gave him a look.
“Just saying—cluttered evidence means confusion.”
The sirens whined louder. Ned shook his head and pushed through the door.
Hud followed him, scampering down the stairs. Above, on Vogel’s floor, a door closed.
Ned glanced at him. “Let’s hope that wasn’t a witness.”
