He looked nervously over his shoulder, obviously wondering if his guest had heard him.
"When's the last time you saw her?" Serena asked.
"Don't know," the kid said. "A few days ago, I guess."
"But not in the last couple days."
"No, it's been a while, okay?"
Cordy wandered over to the wall of mailboxes and found the box labeled 204. "There's a lot of mail in here."
"Ain't that what I said? Maybe she's shacking up somewhere else."
"You see her around with anyone lately? Boyfriend, girlfriend, anybody like that?" Serena watched his eyes, trying to see a flicker of a lie.
"She kept to herself," the kid said.
"Nobody asking about her?" Serena asked.
"Just you."
"What kind of car does she drive?"
"It's an old beater. Red Chevy Cavalier."
Serena glanced at Cordy, who took a few steps out of the office. He came back a moment later and nodded. "It's in the lot."
"Have you noticed if the car has come and gone lately?" Serena asked.
"Who knows? I don't pay attention."
"Okay, let's have the key."
The kid hesitated. "Don't you need a warrant or something like that? Christi's going to be mad if I just let you in there."
Christi won't be mad at anyone anymore, Serena thought. She smiled at the young manager. "Just give me the key."
He shrugged and disappeared back inside his apartment. Serena heard a whiny female voice, and then the kid hissed, "Shut up." He reappeared a few seconds later with a key tied with a rubber band to a paint-stirring stick.
"You'll make sure I get this back, right?" The kid scowled at them, men retreated inside his apartment and slammed the door.
"Let's take a look at the car," Serena said.
They returned outside and wandered past the ground-floor apartments toward the end of the parking lot. The red Cavalier was parked on the street side of the lot. They walked over to it and peered inside, cupping their hands next to their eyes to block the glare. The car was locked and empty. Serena looked in the front and back seats for papers or trash, but if Christi Katt was the owner, she kept a clean car.
Serena noticed an Indian girl, about eight years old, walking toward the office with her hands folded behind her back. She wore a plain white dress with blue fringe on the collar. The dress fell to her calves. She wore sandals that clip-clopped on the pavement. Her straight black hair fell below her shoulders.
Serena beckoned her over.
"Hi," Serena said. "You know who owns this car?"
The girl's head bobbed. "Oh, yes. Very pretty lady. She lives upstairs."
Cordy smiled at the girl. "Have you seen the pretty lady around here lately?'
"I saw her on Sunday. She leaves for work. Since then, no."
It was Wednesday evening.
"Was she with anyone when you saw her?"
The girl thought about it, then shook her head.
"You didn't see her come back?"
"No," the girl said. "But I go outside at night to see stars, and her car is parked right there."
"What time was that?"
The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Late."
"Has the car been here ever since?" Serena asked.
The girl nodded. "Yes, parked right there."
"Thanks, sweetheart."
Serena and Cordy headed for the stairs, dodging crumpled fast food bags and candy wrappers littering the ground. They jogged to the second floor. Cordy rapped his knuckles sharply on the door to room 204, not expecting an answer. He didn't get one. They looked up and down the corridor to see if they had attracted any other attention, but the place was deserted.
"Gloves," Serena said.
Cordy nodded. He extracted a slim box from his suit pocket, and they both slipped on fresh pairs of white latex gloves, which clung to their hands like a second skin.
"Some people die from these things," Cordy said.
"Gloves?"
"Latex allergy. Like peanuts. People go into convulsions."
"Maybe it's the salt," Serena said.
"On the gloves?"
"No, the peanuts. Open the damn door, Cordy."
Cordy inserted the master key in the lower lock. Delicately, using two fingertips, he turned the door handle. The latch clicked, and he was able to push the door open. A crack of light streamed in, but the rest of the apartment was dark. Cordy took two steps inside, found the light switch, and carefully flipped it up with the point of the key.
In the light, he took a quick survey of the apartment and said, "Bull's-eye, mama."
Serena followed him in. Her eyes fell immediately on a dried reddish-brown stain, about two feet in diameter, in the middle of the carpet. The air in the apartment was stale, but the mineral smell of blood lingered.
"I'll call for a forensics team," Cordy said, sliding his cell phone out of his pocket.
Serena nodded. "And get some uniforms to start knocking on doors. We need to know when this girl was last seen, whether anyone was with her, who she hung out with, that son of thing. Once we're done here, we can check out the Thrill Palace. Oh, and have someone run Christi Katt through the system. See what comes up."
"Uh-huh," Cordy said.
While Cordy connected with the station, Serena wandered around the apartment. It was a small unit with a living area in which the murder had occurred, a matchbox kitchen, and a bedroom visible through a doorway on the rear wall. Christi's furnishings were sparse and cheap, including what looked like a garage-sale sofa and loveseat, discount-store shelving for a small television and boom box, and a few mismatched tables and chairs. The carpet was worn and gray.
Serena clicked on her recorder. "The apartment looks sterile-nothing personal. No photographs. No posters on the wall. No knickknacks or collectibles that might suggest who this girl was or what was in her head. There's no history here."
Serena entered the kitchen and began gingerly exploring.
"No magnets on the refrigerator. Virtually no food in the fridge and nothing more than a few cereal boxes, dried pasta, and canned soup in the cabinets. We're not talking about Julia Child here. It looks like she just moved in, but the manager said she's been here about a year."
She glanced in the sink and found a heavy glass vase there, washed and left on its side. Serena retreated to the living room and began examining the shelves propped against the wall not far from the bloodstain.
"Find something?" Cordy asked.
"Maybe. There's a vase in the sink. I'm betting it's the murder weapon. Look here, on the shelf. There's a lighter ring in the dust. It's the right size and shape to match the bottom of the vase. Christi and the killer are standing here, okay? She turns her back, the killer grabs the vase and wham, splits her skull open."
"Uh-huh," Cordy said. "No sign of forced entry or struggle, either. I am guessing that, one, she knew her killer, and, two, the murder was an unplanned spontaneous act of passion. Anger. Jealousy. I would not rule out jealousy with this girl."
"And you base this on what?"
Cordy put a finger on the side of his nose. "It just smells right."
Serena laughed. "Sure. Well, smell your way into the bedroom. Let's see if this girl left any clues behind"
The bedroom was a twelve-by-twelve box, with a closet and bathroom on the right wall. Christi had a full-sized bed, a nightstand, and a small dresser. As in the rest of the apartment, the walls were bare.
"No blanket on the bed," Serena said.
"Maybe she was hot."
"Or maybe the killer used it to transport the body."
Serena went into the bathroom, which included a toilet, a pedestal sink, and a shower with a pink plastic curtain. She checked for traces of blood in the sink and shower and found nothing visible. The forensics team would check it with luminol. In the medicine cabinet, she found a sparse array of toiletries. To her surprise, she found no evidence of any kind of birth control. Either Christi's men brought the condoms or her sex life was about as exciting as Serena's.