Chris Carter - I Am Death

‘But in this place, ese,’ Moreno continued. ‘A lot of new people come and go with the guests.’ He stopped with the scratching and checked his nails, before rubbing them against the front of his shirt. ‘You know how it goes, right? What the guests do in their apartments is their own business, comprendes? I just take care of the place.’

And you’re doing a fine job, Garcia thought, but kept his mouth shut.

‘Have you ever seen him bring any women back here?’ Hunter asked.

Moreno coughed a laugh. ‘Are you for real, ese? Yeah, I’ve seen him bring women here and, before you ask, as far as I am concerned they were all of legal age.’

‘Have you seen either of these two women around here?’ Hunter asked, now showing the building super a photo of Nicole Wilson and one of Sharon Barnard.

While studying the photographs, Moreno kept his mouth closed and ran his tongue against his upper front teeth. His top lip bulged with the movement.

‘Umm... nope, they don’t look familiar to me.’

‘Are you sure?’ Garcia insisted.

Moreno kept his gaze on the pictures for a while longer. ‘Yep. Positive, ese’

‘Who else works here? Like, who takes your place on your day off, or on your once-a-week shower day.’

Garcia’s joke was completely missed by Moreno.

‘My cousin, ese, but he’s not around till the end of the week. You can come back then and speak to him, if you like?’

‘Maybe we will,’ Garcia said.

‘You do have the keys to apartment two-eleven, right?’ Hunter asked.

Moreno looked at him, then at Garcia, then back at Hunter. ‘Yes, of course I do, but don’t you need some sort of warrant to go up in there? This place might be a dump, but it’s not a free-for-all, ese.’

‘Oh, sure,’ Garcia replied. ‘We can go get a warrant if you like, and maybe we’ll come back here with more than just a warrant for apartment two-eleven, ese. We’ll have a warrant for this whole building, including your office back there.’ He pointed at the closed door just behind Moreno. ‘And while we’re at it, we’ll bring a few health inspectors and immigration officers with us too. Sound good?’

‘Aw, pincbe culero .’ Moreno rubbed his greasy forehead while looking down at the floor.

‘Usted sabe que hablamos español también, ¿no?’ Garcia said, reminding Moreno that he and Hunter both understood Spanish.

Moreno didn’t look back at him. Instead, he simply opened one of the drawers behind the counter and picked up a set of keys.

‘OK, ese , but the only way you’re going up there is if I go with you.’

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way, ese ,’ Garcia said, taking a step back and pointing toward the staircase. ‘After you, compadre .’

By the time they cleared the four flights of stairs that took them up to the second floor, the building superintendent looked like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. His forehead was dripping with sweat and his breathing was so labored he sounded like an asthmatic Darth Vader.

‘Are you OK?’ Hunter asked as Moreno finally reached the second-floor landing. It had taken him almost two minutes to get through fifty steps.

‘Hijo de perra.’ Those words came out as a gasp. ‘Yeah... I’m fine, ese ... ’ he finally replied, in between deep breaths, while holding on to the wall. ‘I just need a moment.’

‘Yeah, you look fine,’ Garcia observed. ‘You sound fine too.’

Once again, Moreno simply ignored the sarcastic comment.

Down the short corridor in front of them, a door opened just enough for someone to peek outside, quickly shutting again a second later.

‘OK,’ Moreno said, standing up straight and wiping his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘Let’s just get on with this. The two of you walking these corridors is bad for business, comprendes? You guys even smell like cops.’

Garcia frowned at Hunter before quickly bringing his left forearm to his nose, smelling it, then doing the same to his right one.

‘You mean, we’re making the place smell nice?’ he said.

Moreno looked back at him, a reply almost materializing on his lips, but then he thought better of it.

Apartment two-eleven was the first door on the left as they entered the hallway. Moreno was about to slide his master key into the lock when Hunter grabbed his arm, gesturing for him not to. He pulled the building super to one side, moving him away from a direct line with the front door.

‘We knock first,’ Hunter whispered.

‘Why, ese? I told you, he’s not here.’

‘That may well be, but we still knock first.’

Hunter pulled Moreno away so that the two of them were standing against the wall to the left of the door. Garcia did the same, but on the right side.

Hunter knocked three times.

No answer.

Another three knocks.

Still no answer.

‘See? I told you, ese.’

‘OK.’ Hunter nodded. ‘You can use your key now.’

As Moreno unlocked the door and pushed it open, it creaked just as loudly as the one down at the entrance lobby.

From the outside, they could only see as far as the light that seeped in from the hallway allowed them to, which wasn’t far. Most of the room lay in shadow as all the curtains were drawn shut.

‘Lights?’ Hunter asked, once again pulling Moreno back a few steps.

‘On the wall.’ Moreno indicated from outside. ‘To the right of the door.’

Garcia reached in and flipped the switch.

At the center of the ceiling, a bulb flickered twice before coming on, bathing the small room in crisp, bright light.

‘Mathew Hade?’ Hunter called from the door.

No reply.

‘Mathew Hade?’ Hunter called again. ‘This is the LAPD. We would like to ask you a few questions.’

There was no one there.

As both detectives finally stepped inside, they paused, their eyes searching the room. It smelled slightly of bleach and disinfectant, with a hint of orange, as if somebody had spring-cleaned it not that long ago.

Intrigued, Garcia turned and checked the number on the door again — 211. They were indeed in the right apartment.

The room was completely bare, save for a simple wooden desk by the window on the north wall, a single chair and a two-drawer cabinet to the left of it. There was no sofa, no rug, no table and chairs, no TV, nothing hanging from the walls, none of the items one would expect to see in a living room.

‘Like I said, ese,’ Moreno said again. ‘He’s not here. I haven’t seen him for several days.’

‘It looks like he’s never been here,’ Garcia said, still looking around.

The living room offered two other doors, one that led to a small kitchen and the other to the bedroom and the bathroom.

While Garcia walked over to the window to pull open the curtains, Hunter moved into the bedroom. It was just as bare as the living room, with a single bed pushed up against the east wall, a bedside table with no drawers and a twodoor wooden wardrobe.

There was no bedding on the bed, as if no one had ever slept there. Resting against the wardrobe were an empty plastic bucket and a string mop.

Hunter grabbed a pair of latex gloves from his pocket before pulling open the wardrobe doors.

Empty.

One drawer at the bottom of it.

Also empty.

Hunter got down on his knees and took a look under the bed and the wardrobe.

There was nothing there. There was nothing anywhere.

He lifted the mattress and checked under it.

Clear.

He ran his hand across the top of the wardrobe.