Brian Freeman - Immoral

For a moment, staring at the building, Serena was a teenager again, back in the apartment in Phoenix. She felt a chill break through the stifling heat. Images popped like flashbulbs. Her mother's dead eyes, watching her. The tattoo of a lizard on the man's chest, wiggling its pink tongue at her. Afterward, brown water dripping from the shower head.

Serena took a labored breath and pushed the past away.

"I don't know," she said. "I pictured this girl for a higher-class kind of joint. You'd think she could have afforded better than this, working at the Thrill Palace." Unless she was an alcoholic , Serena thought Or an addict.

"Maybe she was hiding out," Cordy said.

Serena shrugged. "Let's find the manager."

The nearest apartment on the ground floor had an open door that led into a small foyer filled with mailboxes. They passed a short, balding man of about fifty, wearing shorts and no shirt, flipping through his mail as he strolled out of the office. He didn't look up. Serena noticed him thumbing through a copy of Penthouse in the stack. They entered the apartment office, which was compact, with the mailboxes on one wall and vending machines for soda and snacks on the other.

At the rear of the office was a counter with a buzzer on it, and behind the counter was a closed door decorated with a nudie calendar. Several sections of the morning newspaper lay on the counter, one section open to the want ads, another to the comics. A paper plate with a few doughnut crumbs sat on top of the paper, gathering flies. Cordy pushed the call button, and they heard the muffled buzzer sounding behind the wall. No one came to greet them. Cordy pushed the button again, holding it down, until they heard footsteps inside.

The door flew open. A kid of about twenty, with earrings in both ears, long mousy hair, and sideburns, stared at them. He was tall and thin, with a narrow pimply face and protruding chin. Like the tenant they had passed, he was wearing shorts and no shirt.

"Yeah?"

He didn't sound happy to be interrupted. Serena could hear noises inside the apartment and figured the kid wasn't alone.

"We want an apartment, muchacho ," Cordy said. "How about you show us the hot tub and the tennis courts?"

"What the fuck?" the kid said.

Serena smiled. "Are you the manager?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"We're cops. Does a woman named Christi Katt live here?"

"Yeah, so what?" he repeated.

"So you're going to lose the attitude and give us her key. Okay?"

Cordy grinned. "You can show us the pool later."

The kid shook his head. "Fucking cops, you guys are really something. Yeah, okay, apartment 204. She's been here about a year. Hot number, you get me? She's a lot nicer than the other trash we get around here."

He looked nervously over his shoulder, obviously wondering if his guest had heard him.

"When's the last time you saw her?" Serena asked.

"Don't know," the kid said. "A few days ago, I guess."

"But not in the last couple days."

"No, it's been a while, okay?"

Cordy wandered over to the wall of mailboxes and found the box labeled 204. "There's a lot of mail in here."

"Ain't that what I said? Maybe she's shacking up somewhere else."

"You see her around with anyone lately? Boyfriend, girlfriend, anybody like that?" Serena watched his eyes, trying to see a flicker of a lie.

"She kept to herself," the kid said.

"Nobody asking about her?" Serena asked.

"Just you."

"What kind of car does she drive?"

"It's an old beater. Red Chevy Cavalier."

Serena glanced at Cordy, who took a few steps out of the office. He came back a moment later and nodded. "It's in the lot."

"Have you noticed if the car has come and gone lately?" Serena asked.

"Who knows? I don't pay attention."

"Okay, let's have the key."

The kid hesitated. "Don't you need a warrant or something like that? Christi's going to be mad if I just let you in there."

Christi won't be mad at anyone anymore, Serena thought. She smiled at the young manager. "Just give me the key."

He shrugged and disappeared back inside his apartment. Serena heard a whiny female voice, and then the kid hissed, "Shut up." He reappeared a few seconds later with a key tied with a rubber band to a paint-stirring stick.

"You'll make sure I get this back, right?" The kid scowled at them, men retreated inside his apartment and slammed the door.

"Let's take a look at the car," Serena said.

They returned outside and wandered past the ground-floor apartments toward the end of the parking lot. The red Cavalier was parked on the street side of the lot. They walked over to it and peered inside, cupping their hands next to their eyes to block the glare. The car was locked and empty. Serena looked in the front and back seats for papers or trash, but if Christi Katt was the owner, she kept a clean car.

Serena noticed an Indian girl, about eight years old, walking toward the office with her hands folded behind her back. She wore a plain white dress with blue fringe on the collar. The dress fell to her calves. She wore sandals that clip-clopped on the pavement. Her straight black hair fell below her shoulders.

Serena beckoned her over.

"Hi," Serena said. "You know who owns this car?"

The girl's head bobbed. "Oh, yes. Very pretty lady. She lives upstairs."

Cordy smiled at the girl. "Have you seen the pretty lady around here lately?'

"I saw her on Sunday. She leaves for work. Since then, no."

It was Wednesday evening.

"Was she with anyone when you saw her?"

The girl thought about it, then shook her head.

"You didn't see her come back?"

"No," the girl said. "But I go outside at night to see stars, and her car is parked right there."

"What time was that?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Late."

"Has the car been here ever since?" Serena asked.

The girl nodded. "Yes, parked right there."

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Serena and Cordy headed for the stairs, dodging crumpled fast food bags and candy wrappers littering the ground. They jogged to the second floor. Cordy rapped his knuckles sharply on the door to room 204, not expecting an answer. He didn't get one. They looked up and down the corridor to see if they had attracted any other attention, but the place was deserted.

"Gloves," Serena said.

Cordy nodded. He extracted a slim box from his suit pocket, and they both slipped on fresh pairs of white latex gloves, which clung to their hands like a second skin.

"Some people die from these things," Cordy said.

"Gloves?"

"Latex allergy. Like peanuts. People go into convulsions."

"Maybe it's the salt," Serena said.

"On the gloves?"

"No, the peanuts. Open the damn door, Cordy."

Cordy inserted the master key in the lower lock. Delicately, using two fingertips, he turned the door handle. The latch clicked, and he was able to push the door open. A crack of light streamed in, but the rest of the apartment was dark. Cordy took two steps inside, found the light switch, and carefully flipped it up with the point of the key.

In the light, he took a quick survey of the apartment and said, "Bull's-eye, mama."

Serena followed him in. Her eyes fell immediately on a dried reddish-brown stain, about two feet in diameter, in the middle of the carpet. The air in the apartment was stale, but the mineral smell of blood lingered.

"I'll call for a forensics team," Cordy said, sliding his cell phone out of his pocket.

Serena nodded. "And get some uniforms to start knocking on doors. We need to know when this girl was last seen, whether anyone was with her, who she hung out with, that son of thing. Once we're done here, we can check out the Thrill Palace. Oh, and have someone run Christi Katt through the system. See what comes up."