Jack shrugged. McDonalds it is, then.
We reached the third floor and stopped.
Charlies apartment door yawned open on its hinges. Apparently whomever the Stanziki sisters had last refused entrance hadnt accepted no for an answer. Theyd simply kicked the flimsy door open and walked right in.
Jack and I stepped around the hanging door into utter chaos. If Id judged Charlies place to be a hellhole earlier in the day, it now looked as though even Satan had deserted the place, but not before hed had a major temper tantrum.
Every piece of furniture was smashed, slivers of wood and metal littering the threadbare carpet. The tiny twelve-inch black-and-white TVwhere Charlie had gotten a real black-and-white TV was beyond mewas now screenless, shards of the glass spread across the carpet. The lamps lay broken on the two cheap end tables among ripped magazines and scraps of newspaper.
Through the archway into the tiny bedroom off the living room, I could see clothes, mostly worn jeans and stained T-shirts, hanging out of the thin plasterboard dresser.
The mattress, stained and sagging in the middle, was ripped up the center, the rusted springs and thin padding bubbling up between the tear like the guts of an eviscerated pancake. I swallowed hard.
Jack lifted his hand, pushed me back against the wall and started to shoulder his way past me. I shoved back, reaching inside my coat and drawing my gun.
If you dont mind, Ill go first, I said, brushing past him.
Stay here, I mouthed silently.
He frowned, none too pleased. When I stepped inside, he pulled up close on my heels. I was annoyed that he didnt listen, but I didnt take the time to argue. I didnt want to warn anyone if they were still in the apartment.
I poked my head into the small kitchen to the right of the living room. Actually, it wasnt a kitchen, but a pathetic notch in the wall that served as a cooking nook.
The few dishes that had been sitting in the sink earlier lay smashed on the counter, every cabinet open and the contents dumped. All the drawers were open, their contents dumped onto the narrow strip of cracked linoleum.
The door on the tiny apartment refrigerator stood open; food and beverages, mostly opened bottles of beer and a pitcher of orange juice, dripped down off the racks. The putrid smell of spoiling food, probably tuna fish meant for Sweetie Pie, filled the tiny area.
Damn!
I jumped. The expletive had come from the bedroom. Jack had taken off on his own. I turned and ran in Jacks direction, a burn of anger at his stupidity eating at the lining of my stomach. He didnt have a weapon and he could have put himself in a great deal of trouble.
As I rounded the corner to Charlies bedroom, I realized fairly quickly that someone other than Jack was the one in deep trouble. The kind of trouble you dont ever get out of.
Chapter Three
In the center of the cramped bedroom, near the closet, sat a wooden, straight-backed chair. But it was what was tied to the chair that almost made me lose the PowerBar Id scarfed down earlier that afternoon.
The guy didnt fit the overall decor of Pops apartment. He was too uptown for that. His expensive three-piece suit looked as though it might cost in the range of a two years salary for me. Unfortunately, hed bled out all over the front of the suit.
The multiple stab wounds to his neck and chest looked as if someone had taken their sweet time inflicting them. A puddle of congealed blood pooled at his feet.
I almost gagged, but I held on. I told myself Id seen worse, and I had. Maybe not murders, but car wrecks in the steep Adirondack Mountains could produce some pretty horrific scenes.
Jack swore and I could see him shoot me a quick assessing glance. He was probably worried that I was going to take a header directly into the middle of the crime scene.
I clenched my teeth and swallowed hard. I nodded my head to let him know that I was okay. No way would I give him the satisfaction of falling apart. I was the cop on the scene, not him.
Do you know him? he asked.
I shook my head, going for the casual look. You?
Nope.
I stepped forward and pulled a rubber glove out of my back pocket. Pop always taught me that a cop was always prepared, on duty or off.
I donned the glove with a quick snap of rubber and then carefully lifted the mans jacket to extract the victims wallet and flipped it open.
His name is Craig Gibson. I couldnt keep a touch of surprise from filtering through my voice.
Jack gave me a sharp glance. So you do know him?
I nodded. Kind of. Shawna said that Pops lawyer wanted to meet with me tomorrow. She said his name was Craig Gibson.
Guess your meeting wont be going off as planned.
I closed the wallet and slid it back into Gibsons pocket.
Reaching into his pocket, Jack pulled out a cell phone and quickly punched in a number. Yeah, my name is Jack OBrien. Im at 354 Pine St., third-floor apartment. Number 3A. Notify homicide theyve just caught a new case. And tell em to bring the coroner.
He rattled off a few other details as I backed out of the room. I retreated to the kitchen and leaned over the battered metal sink. Turning on the tap, I splashed cold water on my face.
Id seen enough gruesome car accidents to typically handle the blood and gore without any real show of emotion, but for some reason seeing that guy tied up and tortured that way affected me more than Id figured on.
When I came up for air, I found Jack standing next to me, regarding me with that familiar, quietly assessing look of his.
You okay? he asked.
A sharp retort hovered on the tip of my tongue to cover up how off-kilter I really felt, but I kept quiet because I knew hed be able to see right through me. So I simply nodded.
The locals arent really going to let you get involved in this case, he said. You wanna wait downstairs with the sisters until they want a statement?
I thought about the current condition of my stomach and the combined smells of Ben-Gay, sausage and sauerkraut leaking out from beneath the Stanziki sisters apartment door. Im fine. Just got a little shaky there for a minute due to an empty stomach.
He shrugged those broad shoulders. Fine by me. Just dont touch anything. Homicide gets a bit touchy when people fiddle around with their crime scene.
Im not an idiot, Jack. We do have crime scenes up there in the wilds of northern New York.
Before he could respond, I turned on my heel and marched out into the drafty hallway. I figured Id spend some time poking around out there, see if Pops guests had left anything interesting.
The window at the end of the hall was open partway and a cold breeze touched the side of my face, sending a chill through me. The Stanziki sisters wouldnt be too pleased to see that. Precious heat was slipping out beneath the window sash like water over a dam. But it might have been how the perp got into the apartment if there was a fire escape attached to the side of the old house.
I walked over to the window and bent down to take a look. An indignant screech greeted me. Careful not to touch the sill and mess up any fingerprints, I leaned out the window.
A huge beast sat hunched on the railing of the ancient fire escape. Yellow eyes glared accusingly into my own.
Awww, Sweetie Pie, I cooed. We forgot all about you in the ruckus, didnt we? What are you doing out there in the cold?
He blinked and then let out another indignant yowl. Obviously, he was royally perturbed. But then, anyone who knew Sweetie Pie knew that was a permanent condition.
I leaned out farther and gathered his mangy, hairy body into my arms and pulled him inside. He latched on to my slick, nylon jacket with his claws, their sharpness shredding the nylon and letting loose a few feathers.
His oversize head, with its mangled, gnawed ears, bumped the bottom of my chin, and he nestled closer, shoving his head up against the hollow of my throat. His fur felt cold in my hands, his body heavy. I couldnt help but wonder how long hed been sitting out there waiting for someone to come home and rescue him.
I moved back to my position outside the front door of the apartment, stroking Sweetie Pies bulky body as a way of reassuring him that everything was okay. He was pretty tense, his fur standing on end, but after a few minutes I could feel him begin to relax.
I leaned up against the wall again, sliding down to sit on my heels. Some of Syracuses finest had arrived and they swaggered into the apartment, a thick wave of testosterone following them in. A few nodded in my direction, but most were focused on what was going on inside Pops place.
As I sat cooling my heels in the hall, I itched to get in there and get involved. But I knew police etiquette. I needed an invitation, and none of the guys in there seemed to recognize me. Not that I could expect them to; Id been gone a long time.
As my tension rose, my hands tightened around Sweetie Pies plump body, and he gave me a quick nip on the tip of my thumb as a warning. I concentrated on taking slow calming breaths and slipped a hand beneath his collar to keep him from jumping down and taking off in a huff.
The soft leather of the collar caught my attention and I glanced down. An unexpected lump of hot emotion filled the back of my throat. It was a hand-tooled collar, with clever cat prints lovingly carved into the leather and painted black.
I knew without question that it had been one of Charlies creations, a favorite hobby of hisleatherwork. From a metal ring, a tiny pie charm hung off the collar and the name Sweetie Pie and Charlies address were engraved on the back.
I fingered the pie charm as if I could reach into Pops head and figure out what had happened in his apartment, but it was a useless gesture. Instead, I watched the drama inside the apartment unfold.
For years, I had dreamedno, prayedthat the brothers on the force would ostracize Jack after his testimony against Pop. I had wanted them to shun his traitorous butt for what hed done to Pop. And from the cool, studied nonchalant way they greeted him, it was pretty obvious my wish had come true.
Strangely enough, witnessing what Id prayed for didnt bring me any great pleasure. I actually found myself feeling sorry for the guy.
Growing up in a cop household had taught me well how important a cops fellow officers were, and when Pop had been convicted, Id watched in dismay as his buddies ostracized himcut him out of the brotherhood. Now Jack was getting a taste of how it felt, and something told me that hed been feeling it for quite a while.
The detective in charge snapped a few questions at Jack and then turned in my direction. His smile was warm. Elliot Standish. I hadnt seen him come in.
He walked over, his hand out in greeting. Hello, Killian. Its good to see you. Im sorry you had to return on such a sad note. He nodded his head in the direction of Pops bedroom. Not to mention coming to your dads house and finding that mess.
Not a great homecoming, I agree, I said, standing up and shaking his hand. Over his shoulder, I could see a touch of resentment flicker across Jacks face. He hadnt missed the fact that hed been pushed aside.
Standish took my arm and lead me back into the apartment. Give me a rundown of what you observed when you entered the apartment. Dont leave anything out.
He and I took a slow, methodical walk through the apartment for the next fifteen minutes, while Jack was left to cool his heels in the hall.
Any feeling for why Gibson would be here in Charlies apartment?
I shook my head. I was going to meet the guy for the first time tomorrow. Apparently, hes handling Pops affairshis health proxy and his will.
Standishs right eyebrow, more weathered and gray than I remembered, took a leap upward. Charlie had the money to hire Craig Gibson?
Apparently. You saying the guy charges more than Pop could afford?
Let me put it this wayhes out of my league, your league and Charlies league all put together. He and his partner take on only the highest profile cases here in Syracuse and the surrounding areas. Usually, dealers with money to burn.
I whistled softly through my teeth. So the question is where would Pop, a guy who is essentially down to his last nickel, get the money to pay for a guy like Gibson? And what would Gibson be doing making a house call?
Bingo. Standish glanced over at the gnome looking guy hunched over the body. Got any thoughts on how he died, doc?
My professional opinion is that he bled to death, the coroner said dryly.
No kidding, doc, Standish said. Can you get any more specific?
The coroner pointed to a series of bruises on the dead lawyers jawline and upper chest. They worked him over pretty good. And then they started in on him with the knife. Whoever was wielding the knife knew what he was doing. He made sure the guy didnt exsanguinate too quickly. The coroner straightened up, grunting slightly and placing a hand against his lower back.
Im getting too old for this, he said. Whoever did this wanted information. And he went about getting it in a slow and methodical manner. You want anything more specific than that, youre going to have to wait until Im done with the autopsy.
He nodded his head and two of his staff wheeled a gurney with an open body bag on top into the room.
Standish jerked his head toward the living room. Lets get out of their way.
We moved back out into the living room where a crew of CSI workers swarmed over the area, busy dusting everything for prints.
You ready to go?
I glanced up to see Jack standing next to me. He and Standish glanced at each other, but neither spoke. I had learned from Jack earlier at the hospital that he was actually on speaking terms with Standish, but their current coolness toward each other told me that their friendship was probably on the sly. No doubt Standish didnt want any of his fellow officers knowing he associated with someone who had actually broken the blue wall.
Yeah, Im ready. I turned to Standish. Youll call me as soon as you hear anything?
Standish nodded and wandered off to talk to a few other officers congregated in the kitchen area.
Jack swung a small cat crate in my direction. Youre going to have to put the beast in here. Well never get him across town otherwise.
Sweetie Pies ears immediately went back and he hissed. I wasnt sure if it was Jacks presence or the appearance of the cat crate. Whichever it was, Sweetie Pie wasnt happy. Jack was smart enough to know that he best not try to hustle Sweetie Pie into the crate. He left that job to me.
As we trooped back down the stairs, I asked, Why would Pop hire a lawyer known for working for the dregsdrug dealers?