“They’ve combed this place already. The forensic guy said they were finished,” Kevin Fields’ slovenly apartment manager said as Sam and Tommy followed him down the hallway.
“It’ll only take a minute,” Sam said.
The manager wore a bright Hawaiian shirt, white shorts, and a straw hat with the Corona beer label embroidered across the top. A wad of chewing tobacco was packed in his left cheek, and he carried a white cup, occasionally hocking a black loogie into the foul mug. He turned to Sam just before opening the door and said, “He was an asshole. A miserable piece of human waste who got exactly what he deserved.”
Sam got a whiff of his breath and backed off. “I’m sure he did, Mr. Gross.”
“That’s Griss. My name’s Bobby Griss, not Gross,” he snarled, and opened the door.
The apartment was unchanged as Sam glanced around the modest living space.
“They found the fucker’s head lyin’ in his lap,” Bobby added.
Sam turned to Bobby, who concentrated on dumping another wad of black goo into the cup, and asked, “Did Kevin use the back door often?”
“How the fuck should I know? Door leads to a little yard. He was only here for a couple months, and that was a couple months too long.”
Sam turned to Tommy. “Sit on the couch and face the TV.”
The last thing Tommy wanted to do was sit in the exact spot where Kevin’s life came to its gruesome end.
“Ruth said he pissed and crapped his pants, Sam.”
Bobby nearly swallowed his chew. “Holy God! I would have paid a hundred bucks to see that!”
“It’s been cleaned up,” Sam said, and pointed Tommy towards the sofa.
Tommy reluctantly complied, laying his coat down on the cushion before sitting.
“Hey, you feel like takin’ a dump, kid!?” Bobby belted out with a loud laugh, his belly rolling like a wave machine.
With Tommy in place, Sam made his way into the short hallway, which led to a single bedroom. From the hallway, Sam gazed into the living room, where all he could make out was the sofa . . . and the back of Tommy’s head.
The back door was located off the kitchen, which made it highly unlikely the killer just barged in.
Sam walked through the living room, into the kitchen, and stopped at the back door. It was evident from where Tommy sat, there was no way for someone to enter without being seen unless the killer knew the victim.
Something about the acquaintance theory didn’t sit well with Sam. For now, his working theory was that the killer had lain in wait somewhere in the apartment, waiting for his moment to strike.
Sam turned to Bobby. “Was the television on when you first entered?”
Bobby carefully weighed the question. “I’m pretty sure it was on. No, I’m positive.”
“You finished, Sam?” Tommy asked.
“Not yet.”
Sam walked back into the hallway and opened the closet door. It was large enough for a man to stand inside and hide behind some coats. Sam bent down and examined the thin carpet that lined the floor. There were bits and pieces of dry mud next to several pairs of black boots, and one pair of old tennis shoes. From the files, Sam knew the forensic team had taken samples from the closet and had scanned every inch of the place.
“There’s dirt and shit all over this joint,” Bobby commented, leaning against the wall. “Fields drove a cement truck for extra bucks. He was a fucking pig.”
Sam reentered the living room and casually asked, “Where were you on the night of the murder, Mr. Griss?”
Bobby pulled a face. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said quickly, “I wasn’t the only one who thought the guy was a creep, but I certainly had nothing to do with this fucking mess.”
Sam knew from the files that Bobby’s alibi had been cleared. He just wanted to shut him up.
Bobby nervously continued, “I can guarantee you one thing, Mr. Knight. There’s gonna be a couple hundred suspects on this one. I mean—I mean, if you’re trying to pin this bullshit on me—”
“No one’s accusing you of anything. It just seems you had a pretty healthy dislike for your tenant.”
Tommy cracked a small smile as poor, dumb Bobby started to fuddle about. “Like I said, like I told you, I-I didn’t like him, but that don’t make me no killer.”
Sam approached Bobby, wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and led him toward the front door. “I don’t think you had anything to do with it, but let me leave you with a few words of advice. Next time an officer or a detective, such as myself, comes here to investigate the murder of one of your tenants, you should keep that big mouth of yours shut, because one day it’s going to get you into a shitload of trouble.”
“Understood,” Bobby said, spitting into his cup.
“Now, who found the body?”
“The cops. Ms. Thompson smelled something wicked, and I called the cops.”
“I’d like to speak with Ms. Thompson, if that’s all right with you.”
“Shit, man, I’ll drag my fucking wife and kids in here if that’s what you want.”
“Let’s start with Ms. Thompson,” Sam said, smiling.
“She’s in 118.”
“Lead the way, Mr. Griss.”
[][][]
"He was always saying the sickest things to me. He was disturbed. I mean really disturbed,” Kate Thompson said, her jaws in constant motion as she chewed away on a wad of thick, pink gum. Her bleach-blonde hair, black roots, tight tank top, and heavy makeup suggested hooker, but her sweet, almost naive voice was in odd contrast to her smutty appearance.
Sam sat across from her at her small kitchen table while Tommy and Bobby stood against the sink and refrigerator, respectively.
Kate continued, “One night when he first got here, I was walkin’ down the hall with a girlfriend, and he pulled down his pants and showed us his cock. He was always high; not booze high, but drugged up high. A real perverted freak. Like scary.”
Sam unfolded his tablet and called up the Kevin Fields file. “Now, Ms. Thompson . . .”
“Kate.”
“Kate. Even though the body was found on Wednesday morning—”
“I smelled a real bad stink and called Mr. Griss,” she said, glancing up to Bobby with a sour expression.
“Yep, that’s right,” Bobby confirmed. “Told me Thursday. Woke me up, in fact.”
Sam took a frustrated breath and continued. “I know all that. Let me finish, please. We estimate the time of death to be between ten p.m. and two a.m., Saturday night into Sunday morning. Were you home that evening?”
Kate tried to think back. “Yeah, I didn’t feel good and cancelled my dates. Just hung out, watched some TV.”
“Your bedroom wall is right up against Kevin’s living room, right?”
“Correct-o-mundo,” Bobby spouted.
Sam threw Bobby a look that sent his eyes straight to the floor.
Sam turned his attention back to Kate. “Did anything unusual happen that Saturday night?”
“In this building?!” Kate said with a laugh. “What isn’t fucking unusual!”
Sam didn’t want to lead her. “Did Kevin have any friends over that night?”
“I don’t think so?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because he was always a loudmouth when he had some girls or those creepy buddies over. The walls in this shithole are pretty thin.”
“Did you hear anything strange that night? Any unusual noises? I want you to think back real hard for me.”
Kate closed her eyes. Tommy watched as her mouth continued to chew away on that helpless piece of gum.
“Oh, oh, oh, wait a minute,” she said, popping her eyes open. “I was reading a book, and I remember he had his TV on. It was one of those twenty-four-hour religious shows. Christian Broadcast channel or some shit. You know, those preachers who tell you they’re best buddies with Jesus, and if you send them some money, they’ll reserve a seat for you in heaven. I know their voices because I’ve fucked most of ’em. You know those scam artists I’m talkin’ about?”
“Which ones you fuck?” Bobby asked, intrigued by the conversation.
Sam didn’t want to lose the moment and pointed an angry finger at Bobby. “Out!”
Bobby turned like an admonished child and sulked out of the kitchen.
“Okay, Kate, Kevin’s TV was on . . .” Sam said, keeping the focus. “How long did—”
Kate started bouncing around in her chair. “Oh, oh, now it’s coming back to me. I did hear something strange a little while later.”
Sam knew what was coming next.
“About what time?” Sam asked, prodding her along.
Kate had to think about that one. “I think around ten-ish. I think.”
“Why ten-ish?”
“Because he had finally turned off that fucking TV. I was just about to call Mr. Griss, and then it just went off.”
“Go on,” Sam said. “What happened next?”
“I was just starting to doze off. You know, when you’re like awake, but not awake. There’s a word for it . . .”
“Twilight,” Tommy said.
Kate turned her attention to Tommy. “Hey, that’s the first thing you’ve said. I thought you were deaf or something. I was in, like, twilight when I heard it.”
“Was it a scream?” Sam asked.
“Maybe it was his head landing on his dick?” Bobby called out from the living room.
“Nooo!” she replied in a sarcastic tone. “It was just a loud sound. Not like a human sound.”
Sam pressed for more detail. “Was it several sounds or just one long one?”
“Just one and not real long. Just sorta long, but not real long.”
Tommy glanced over to Sam. The old man had heard three distinctive sounds.
“Did it sound like a gunshot?” Sam asked, hoping to zero in on something.
Kate bit down on her lower lip, and her forehead crinkled up. “No, I’ve heard a lot of guns go off around here, and it didn’t sound like that. It seemed to have more of an echo to it. Like a WHOOSH noise.”
Kate gestured with her hands, and said again, “Like a longish WHOOSH sound. You know what I mean. WHOOSH! WHOOSH!! Like that. WHOOSH!”
Whoosh meant little to Sam. “How ’bout when somebody uses a drill to tighten the lug nuts on a tire?” he asked.
“I don’t know what lug nuts are. I’ve never driven a car.”
Tommy jumped in. “Was it like an electric screwdriver?”
“Sorta. I can’t explain it. Like WHOOSH, you know. One big whoosh . . . Shit, I’m sorry.”
Sam wasn’t going to get much more out of her, but the link she established was crucial. He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.
“Why don’t you think on it for a couple days. If something grabs you, give me a call right away.”
Sam gave Tommy his “Let’s split” look and made his way out of the kitchen.
As Tommy followed, Kate grabbed him by the arm. “Don’t I get a card from you, cutie?”
“Actually, I don’t have a card,” he said, blushing. “But I could give you my home phone number . . .”
Sam poked his head back into the kitchen. “Let’s go, Thomas.”
Tommy hesitated.
“Now, please.”
Tommy glanced from Sam to the salacious Kate, back to Sam, and then back to Kate, and said, “Just call Mr. Knight if you have any further information. Thank you, Ms. Thompson.”
As they exited the apartment building, a window on the second floor broke open and Kate stuck her head out. “Hey!” she yelled, still chewing away.
Sam and Tommy looked up simultaneously.
“If you find the guy who did it to him, tell him thanks, and give him a big, wet kiss on the lips for me! He’s a fuckin’ hero!”