Thrill Kill (Matt Sinclair #2) - Brian Thiem Page 0,21

Not even a bar of soap or shampoo. The drawers below the sink were equally sparse, containing a toothbrush and toothpaste, a few brushes and combs, and some dental floss.

“She didn’t live here,” Braddock observed.

“And I doubt she entertained any clients here either,” said Sinclair. “Wouldn’t a call girl need to shower and clean up between clients?”

“I’d think so, and a woman would have all kind of toiletries if she even stayed here overnight.”

In the main room, the techs were on their hands and knees, crawling along the carpet and stopping occasionally to examine different locations. “We saw some spots,” said the male evidence tech, “but it wasn’t blood.”

Sinclair went through the kitchen cupboards and drawers. A basic set of glasses, dishes, eating utensils, and cookware. A Mr. Coffee coffeemaker, a can of coffee, and a bunch of bananas beginning to turn black were on the counter. In the refrigerator were four containers of yogurt, a carton of cream, a package of deli turkey, and a bottle of salad dressing.

Sinclair stripped off his gloves. “What do you think?”

“She’s not living here,” said Braddock. “She uses it as an office for her bookkeeping, but that’s it. She probably eats lunch snacks here, but the kitchen doesn’t look like anyone’s cooked in it.”

“Stealing her computer and files could mean the motive relates to her bookkeeping stuff rather than her prostitution.”

“Unless she’s an accountant for the mob, bookkeepers aren’t killed for what they do,” Braddock replied. “Maybe the killer thought she had trick information on her computer and in the file cabinets and grabbed everything.”

“Then we’re back to assuming she was killed over her prostitution activity.” Sinclair scratched his head. “But we’ve decided she’s no longer using this apartment as a hooker pad.”

“Maybe she never was,” said Braddock.

“You think?”

“She moved from the Hayward apartment a year ago. What if she just moved her bedroom stuff and living-room stuff here because she had to do something with it? If she had been using the sex toys, wouldn’t she unpack the boxes and put the stuff in drawers where she could get at it easier? Wouldn’t some of her lingerie be dirty and in a laundry basket?”

“Most escorts only do outcalls,” said Sinclair. “When I worked vice, we hardly ever ran across girls who took customers to their own place, and let’s not rule out something to do with the streets. She never fully broke away according to Jimmy and Tanya. What are the rest of the tenants like in this building?”

“Quite a few middle-aged and elderly Asians, the rest a mix of young professionals of every race, but mostly single women.”

“Not the kind of place you’d bring tricks, especially when you’ve already been kicked out of one apartment complex for it.”

“No,” Braddock said. “So she set the place up to look like she’s living here, with a bedroom and all, but she’s only using it as an office.”

“She wants to give the outside appearance that she works out of her home, but she’s living somewhere else and either hooking there or just doing outcalls.”

“Or maybe she’s gotten out of the business.”

“Anything’s possible, but I’m not convinced.” Sinclair turned to the techs. “Did you find anything to indicate she was killed here?”

“Nothing,” the man said. “Although someone searched the place, they didn’t really tear it apart. No signs of a struggle, so maybe she wasn’t abducted from this location.”

“We think this was an office for her,” Sinclair said. “And she was already dead when someone came back here to take information that could be incriminating.”

Chapter 8

“What are you thinking?” Sinclair asked Braddock as he started the engine. The rain had stopped and the sun was fighting to break through the clouds.

“The truth?” She laughed. “I’m trying to figure out what to buy Ryan for Christmas.”

“How can your brain jump from figuring out a murder to shopping for your husband?”

“Multitasking. We women have superior brains. Did you want to discuss the murder some more?”

“Hell, we’ve talked it to death.” Sinclair eased the car into the street and drove toward Lake Shore Drive.

“Good. There are only nineteen shopping days left. What would a man want for Christmas?”

“Jeez, Ryan’s married to a homicide cop who leaves him home to take care of two kids while she hangs out with me looking at blood and gore all day and night. With his forty or more hours a week at work, he obviously doesn’t have time to have any fun, so that eliminates all kinds of cool things like a