Читать книгу Malicious - Jacob Stone - Страница 20

Chapter 13

They found the vestibule door locked. Morris stuck his nose against the glass and saw that there was no one sitting behind the security desk.

He asked Walsh, “How long ago did you leave the building?”

“No more than a minute after you called.”

Morris checked his watch. “About fifteen minutes then. Was the doorman still in the lobby?”

She nodded, her face tense. With little conviction, she said, “He could be helping someone with a package. Or taking a break.”

There wasn’t much chance a doorman would be helping a tenant with a package. Morris had been watching the building’s front entrance from the moment he sat on the park bench, and nobody had entered or left the building since then.

He asked, “What’s Heather Brandley’s apartment number?”

“Forty-eight.”

Morris buzzed forty-eight on the intercom. Malevich answered with a brusque, “Who’s this?”

“Greg, this is Morris. Annie’s with me. Come down to the lobby right away, and if you see the doorman, hold him. And be careful.”

“Why, what’s up?”

“I’m not sure yet. Just get down here.”

Walsh was biting her bottom lip. This was something she did only when she was anxious, and Morris couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her do it. Maybe when he was still on the force and they were working the Vincent Robusto case together.

“He couldn’t have been the killer,” she said almost as if she were in a daze.

“Describe him.”

“Early thirties. Average height, weight. Short red hair. Well-groomed beard and mustache. Square-shaped face. Glasses. Blue eyes.” Her expression weakened. “He was wearing white gloves, like you see in those old movies. I noticed them when he handed me the keys to Brandley’s unit, and thought it was odd, but assumed it was a policy for the doormen working here. Jesus, it couldn’t have been him, could it?”

Morris shrugged helplessly. Finston thought the killer would be watching for Morris, and what better way than to pose as the doorman? And what better way than to shove their noses in it? For the moment, though, all they could do was wait.

When Malevich showed up, a puzzled look creased his face as he opened the door for them. He waved a thumb in the direction of the empty security desk.

“What happened to him?” he asked.

“The million-dollar question,” Morris said as he breezed past the homicide detective with Parker leading the way.

It didn’t take them long to find a body. This happened after Parker nearly dragged Morris to a bathroom off the lobby and stood growling in front of the locked door, which had an ‘Out of Order’ sign attached to it. Morris rapped his knuckles against the door and got no answer. After Malevich identified himself and also got no answer, he kicked in the door on his third try. A large man lay crumpled facedown on the tiled floor, a puddle of blood and gore pooling under his head, his color a grayish-white. He was wearing a brown blazer and tan slacks, the type of clothes you’d expect on a doorman. Morris stood outside the room and forced Parker to sit, and clamped his hand over the dog’s snout and ordered him to be quiet. Parker’s growling dampened to a soft rumble. While this was going on, Walsh kneeled by the body and checked for a pulse.

“The skin’s cold,” she said through clenched teeth. “He’s been dead at least a couple of hours.” She pulled latex gloves from her pocket and slipped them on. After a few seconds of feeling around the back of the man’s skull, she announced that she’d found the entry wound. She lifted the man’s head up and grimaced as she reported that a hollow-point bullet must’ve been used, and that most of his face was gone.

Greg Malevich had called for backup units after he kicked open the door, and he was now back on the phone calling in the homicide. While he was on the phone, he indicated to Morris and Walsh that he was going to secure the back of the building, and he hurried off.

Morris’s phone alerted him that he had just received a text message. He half expected to see a taunt from the killer, but instead it was Natalie, and it simply read “Gold Medallion”. He stared at it confused for several seconds before realizing that his wife was giving him the name of the tree he had asked her about minutes earlier.

An excited yapping noise came from behind. Morris turned to see a woman in her late fifties holding a yapping Shih Tzu. The woman was trying to look past Morris to see what all the fuss was about in the bathroom.

“Ma’am, please stand back,” Morris ordered.

The woman looked almost as if he had yelled boo at her as she took several steps backward. She seemed oblivious to the noise her dog was making. Parker likewise ignored the small dog, his attention focused on what was going on in the bathroom.

“Did something happen?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so. You live here, right?”

“Yes. For seven years.”

Morris held an index finger up. “Could you wait here for one moment?”

He turned back toward Walsh. She had taken the dead man’s wallet from his pocket, and was looking through it. Morris asked her if there was a driver’s license. Her face had a white-hot intensity to it as she nodded. Morris knew she was seething with fury over having the killer in her grasp and letting him go. When she approached the woman holding the Shih Tzu, the woman looked startled and even the dog stopped its yapping.

“Do you know him?” Walsh demanded as she showed the driver’s license of the man lying dead in the bathroom, her voice lashing out like a whip.

The woman now looked fearful, her eyes darting first to Morris and then back to Walsh. “Y-Yes,” she stammered out. “T-That’s Javier. One of our doormen.”

“How many do you have?”

“Three.”

“Any of them in their thirties with red hair, a short-cropped beard, and mustache?”

“No.” Her eyes widened, and now there was only dread in her face. “Are you a police officer?”

“Yes. Detective Walsh. LAPD robbery-homicide division. When was the last time you were in the lobby?”

“I just came down minutes ago so I could take Rascal outside.”

“Before then.”

“That would be a little before eleven o’clock. Why, what has happened? Is Javier in trouble?”

Walsh ignored the question. “Was Javier Lopez working as the doorman when you came down then?”

“Yes.”

“Have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around the building lately?”

“I don’t think so.”

The woman was beginning to look unsteady on her feet, and Morris signaled to Walsh to cut her loose.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” Morris asked.

The woman looked grateful for the interruption. “I think I just need some fresh air,” she said.

“Why don’t you take Rascal outside,” he said.

The woman looked like she could’ve kissed Morris, and she turned and fled toward the lobby. Walsh watched with disgust. She was still seething over the way the killer had fooled her.

“You and your soft spot for dog owners,” she said as if she were spitting out vulgarities.

“Is that what she was holding?” Morris asked with a straight face.

The high-pitched wail of sirens could be heard descending on the building.

“The cavalry has arrived,” Morris said.

“A lot of good it will do,” Walsh complained. “That sonofabitch psycho is long gone.”

“Maybe not. He could be hiding somewhere in the building. We’re going to have to call the management company and get keys.”

She muttered something under her breath that Morris couldn’t quite make out, but she didn’t argue with him. Of course, he agreed with her. The odds were the killer had left while Walsh was outside hiding so she could shadow Morris, but they were still going to have to search the building.

“Why don’t you keep watch over the crime scene. I better get to the door so I can let the reinforcements in,” Morris offered.

“Let me show you something first.”

Walsh took a plastic evidence bag out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Morris.

“I found this stuck in the victim’s wallet.”

Inside the evidence bag was another business card, similar to what was left on Heather Brandley’s body.

Written on it was: To Morris Brick: I can only imagine how frustrating this must be—R. G. Berg, Serial Killer Extraordinaire.