The Wedding Guest (Alex Delaware #34) - Jonathan Kellerman Page 0,55

us walked outside and over to Building C. Milo pointed to a closed-circuit camera above the door. “Saw that at A. Need the tapes, Bob.”

“No tapes,” said Pena. “Direct feed to the company computer.”

“You don’t have a copy?”

“Nope. There’s a problem, I email them, they look for it and mail it back.”

“What kind of problem?”

“Stolen bike, that kind of thing. Doesn’t happen a lot.”

“Okay,” said Milo. “Email the company and get me the past twenty-four hours on all three buildings.”

“I need to get authorization from one person before I ask another person.”

“How long will that take?”

“I can try today, sir.”

“You do that, Bob. Tell all the persons to hurry so we can keep things simple and assure privacy.”

“I’ll do it but it’s up to the company.”

“Be convincing, Bob. Now unlock that door. Please.”

* * *

—

Building C’s lobby was pale green, undersized, and unfurnished, lit by LED ceiling cans and carpeted in sand-colored Berber showing its age. At the rear, two elevators.

Pena said, “I don’t need to come up with you, right?”

Milo had been working his cell, adding Michael Lotz’s Volvo to his warrant application. He looked up and gave one of his unsettling smiles: timber wolf baring its teeth just before feasting. “Actually, we’d rather you didn’t come up, Bob. In terms of the CCTV, best thing would be the company emails it to me directly.”

“I don’t know, sir. Never had to do this before.”

“Thanks for your help, Bob.”

Pena looked alarmed. “I didn’t really do anything.”

Milo’s smile held. Pena scurried off, exited back to the street, and turned right.

Milo said, “Being helpful seems to bother him.”

I said, “Company man. If things get complicated, he doesn’t want to be seen as allied with you.”

“Meaning he’d lie to keep his job.”

“Good bet. You see anything to lie about?”

“After I toss Lotz’s place, I’ll let you know.”

I said, “Didn’t see a phone or a laptop in there. No Wi-Fi could explain the computer, but everyone has a phone.”

“Guy living like that, there’s a good case for burners.”

“Maybe, but if you need dope, you keep an active phone.”

“Point made. It’s a hole, all right. What a way to live.”

I said, “Float away on a heroin cloud and not much matters.”

He frowned, glanced at his cell. “Judge Klee promised A-sap but nothing yet. Then again, his loyalties are to himself.”

* * *

—

Sluggish elevators, both reluctant to leave the third floor. Finally, they arrived simultaneously. Empty.

Milo said, “Eenie meenie,” and stepped into the left-hand lift. We took a slow, grinding ride to the fourth floor, stepped out to a hallway crowded with chain-locked bicycles and scooters.

More Berber, scuffed and stained and fraying around the seams. The walls were milky gray, the doors deep gray, each furnished with a black button to the right.

Muffled voices and too-loud music, most of it hip-hop, leaked from behind some of the doors. At the far end of the corridor, a scatter of empty beer cans.

Behind the door of unit 418, silence. No bike or scooter but something had deposited a strip of tarry grit that ran to the door. Transportation kept inside.

Milo put his ear up against the door.

“Someone in there,” he whispered.

His knock went unanswered.

Pushing the black button evoked an insectoid buzz—fatigued cicadas.

No response.

A door five units down opened and a heavyset girl with yellow cornrows dangling past her waist emerged, stared at us for a moment, then headed for the elevators.

Milo repeated the knock-and-buzz.

Nothing.

He put his ear to the door again, backed away, and talked softly. “She stopped moving around.”

“Not in a social mood.”

“Big surprise.” He got close to the door. Cleared his throat and said, “Amanda?” at medium volume.

Silence.

We returned to the elevators. Both were lolling on the ground floor. When they didn’t respond, he said, “Let’s take the stairs—no cracks about aerobics.”

I said, “What aerobics? We’re climbing down.”

“Everything’s relative.”

* * *

—

Lots of trash in the stairwells, along with a scatter of dead roaches, spiders, and the desiccated remains of other six-legged things.

I followed as Milo thumped down. He moved stiffly, grunting every third or fourth step, a resentful rhino. Just as we reached the second floor, his cell chirped and he stopped. “Sturgis…oh, hi, Judge Klee…sure, no prob. Sure. Appreciate it…yes, that, too…yes I realize I should’ve included it…got it, thanks, Judge.”

We resumed our descent. His stride was looser. Happy ungulate.

I said, “Good news on the warrant.”

“Telephonic approval’s in place contingent on my filling out the papers perfectly when I get back to the office and don’t add anything. Let’s take a closer look