in a floral print. And the artwork on the walls—most of it original—was abstract oil paintings, interesting (Kate thought) but dated somehow. No, very few, if any, of the furnishings in the house belonged to Corbin. He’d inherited his father’s place and kept it exactly the same, even down to the framed photographs.
Kate, starting to relax a little, sat down and thought about what it meant. What would she have done if she inherited this place? Probably the same. It looked nice—why change it? And maybe Corbin had been particularly fond of his father, and keeping everything the same was a way to honor him. It was a possibility. But it was also a possibility that there was nothing of Corbin’s around because he wanted to hide, because he didn’t want people to see who he really was. And if that were the case, was there a place where he did express himself? Where was the real Corbin?
Kate went to the window with the best view of Bury Street. It was still quiet. She’d expected to maybe see Audrey’s lovelorn friend again, watching the building for any sign of another inhabitant he could grill. Hadn’t she read somewhere that criminals liked to return to the scene of their crimes? No, she thought. Jack Ludovico had been strange, but one thing he hadn’t seemed was guilty of a crime. For once, her mind was not unspooling toward the worst possibility. He was what he seemed. An old boyfriend grappling with disbelief and grief. Easy to read, not like Corbin, who had an apparently complicated relationship with Audrey, plus a key to her apartment.
Thinking about the key made her remember that she needed to call the detective.
She went to the bedroom where she’d left Detective James’s card, then thought of her sketchbook under the bed. She was suddenly sitting on the carpet, the sketchbook open to a new page, drawing Jack Ludovico’s face, her hand moving automatically and without thought over the page. She drew him with his head cast down slightly, eyes looking up. When she finished, she pulled the charcoal pencil back and knew that she’d got him on the first try. It was a perfect rendering. She dated the picture and put his name under it.
She sat for a moment more, trying to remember why she had come into the bedroom. The detective’s card. She was going to call her. She walked to the phone in the living room. The detective picked up after two rings.
“Hi. It’s Kate Priddy. You left me your card.”
A slight pause, then: “Hi, Kate. What can I do for you?”
“It’s about Audrey Marshall. I found a key in my apartment, in Corbin Dell’s apartment, really, and it has the initials ‘AM’ on it.”
“You think he might have had a key to Audrey’s apartment?”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Did you test it?” the detective asked.
Kate was surprised, not expecting to be asked that, but something about the detective’s casual nature caused her to own up to the truth: “Actually, I did. It’s the key. It’s Audrey’s key. I mean, he probably just had it so that he could water her plants when she was gone, or something.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. We’re in contact with your cousin and he’s been helpful. I’ll ask him about the key.”
“Oh, he knows now?”
“He does. He’s been helpful but said that he didn’t know Audrey particularly well. He sounded most concerned about you.”
“He said he didn’t know Audrey well?”
“That’s what he said. Excuse me a moment . . .”
Kate listened to muffled voices for a moment—the detective speaking with someone else.
“Sorry, Kate, I’m back,” Detective James said. “Was there anything else?”
“No, just the key. And I talked with a friend of Audrey’s. Jack Ludovico.”
“Oh yeah?” She sounded interested. “How did you meet him?”
“He was in front of the building, said he was coming from the police station—that he’d talked with someone there, and he was hoping to get more information.”
“What’s the name again?”
“Didn’t he come to the station?”
“He might have, Kate. I just got here myself and I haven’t checked in with all my colleagues yet.”
“It’s Jack Ludovico. He actually had a different story about Corbin and Audrey. He said they were involved.”
“I’d like to follow up with you about this, Kate, if I can. Can I call you back? Is this a good number to reach you?”
“Sure. Yes, I’m calling from the apartment.”
“And thank you for letting us know about the key, and don’t hesitate to call again with