stretch of shoreline where several marine maintenance and repair firms had once operated massive shipyards. Following a period of consolidation, several of the shipyards had been deserted; the loft conversions were the first step in what city fathers hoped would be a rejuvenation of the grimy, run-down area. For the moment, however, the complex’s residents saw little of the WORK-LIVE-SHOP-PLAY promised by signs all around the two reconditioned factory buildings. The rest of the area still looked very much like the deserted shipyard it had been for years.
Kendra double-checked the address in her case file. This was where Elaine Wessler’s ex-husband, Kit Randolph, lived. According to the interview notes, Randolph had seemed anxious to meet the authorities upon his return to the country. Maybe he had something to say.
Kendra entered the building lobby where the two elevator doors had well-worn developer signs reading ELEVATORS COMING SOON. Not too soon, she guessed.
Fine. She’d take the stairs. She climbed to the fourth floor and moved toward unit 416 where Kit Randolph lived. She pressed the doorbell button but heard no sound from inside the apartment.
She rapped on the door.
Still nothing.
She could have called first, but she usually got better results if she showed up unannounced.
Only, of course, if the interview subject was home.
She pulled out her phone and punched the number she had just seen on Randolph’s interview report.
As she counted the rings, Three Dog Night’s “Joy to the World” echoed from…somewhere. Kendra cocked her head. It could have been coming from the apartment. Could it be Kit Randolph’s ringtone?
She cut the connection and punched his number once more.
Again, “Joy to the World.”
But it wasn’t coming from the apartment.
She spun around, trying to get a fix on the sound. From one of the other apartments? No. It almost sounded like it was coming from…
She looked at an open window at the end of the corridor. There.
She moved toward it, keeping the phone connection open. The song grew louder and more distinct. But four floors up?
She stood before the window for a moment, then stuck her head out.
No sign of Randolph. Just a fire escape and a depressingly ugly view of an abandoned shipyard.
But still that song was playing.
She looked down. It wasn’t coming from there. That only left…
She craned her neck upward. It was coming from the building’s rooftop. Was Randolph trying to hide from her or other unwanted contacts there?
The music stopped and she looked at the phone in her hand. Her call had gone to voicemail.
Kendra looked at the fire escape. It had been freshly painted, but that was probably only to hide multiple layers of rust. It was obviously seventy or eighty years old, but it should still support her weight.
Right?
She climbed out the open window and took a tentative step. The fire escape creaked and groaned, but it held. Kendra climbed a dozen short steps and hopped off onto the roof. It had been recently resurfaced and sealed. Curved metal vents jutted from the building in the shape of dozens of question marks. Fitting.
She glanced around. No sign of Randolph. She punched his number again.
“Joy to the World” blared. This time it was close. Almost on top of her.
It was coming from behind one of the large vents. She walked around one, then another. No dice.
Then she reached the third. This was it, she realized. The music was there.
She ducked around the other side, prepared to give chase if he bolted. She threw herself forward, and—
Shit!
It was a very bloody corpse!
She’d stumbled, almost falling on top of him.
The man was seated, leaning against the vent. His throat was cut from ear to ear and he was covered in blood. The wounds were fresh. His face was battered, his eyes swollen shut, but his features matched the picture on the interview sheet. Kit Randolph. She knelt beside him to make sure he was dead.
Dammit. No question.
“Joy to the World” was still playing over the awful sight, blasting from the phone in his breast pocket. She cut the connection and stared at him for a moment longer as the sun set behind her. Without the blaring song, it suddenly seemed very quiet, with only a gentle wind and sounds of the harbor in the background.
And the reverberation of footsteps coming toward her from behind.
Not good.
Move!
Kendra scrambled away, toward another one of the tall vents. She ducked behind it.
Had she been spotted?
No. She heard two pairs of footsteps, probably both men. And their pace hadn’t quickened since she dove for cover.