CHAPTER

16

BLANCA’S PLACE OF business was a small, unmarked storefront, save for the unobtrusive placard in the window that simply said “Medium and Spiritual Guide”. A hanging sign on the inside of the door said the shop was closed, but the door was unlocked and made an eerie creaking sound as Magozzi pushed it open.

The interior was dim and redolent of incense, candle wax, and an undercurrent of antique mustiness that probably emanated from the jumbled collection of old furniture and the threadbare rugs and tapestries that adorned the floors and walls. The dominant feature of the room was a velvet-draped table with a large crystal ball set in a dragon-claw stand. Doorways were draped with exotic fabrics and beaded curtains, and every flat surface was crammed with stacks of dusty books, mystical-looking objects, and even more crystal balls. Apparently you could never have enough. The woman herself wasn’t a Hollywood cliché, but her shop had the look and feel of a B-movie set.

“Ms Szabo?” Gino called out. “It’s Detectives Rolseth and Magozzi. Can we have a word?”

No answer.

“Ms Szabo?”

Still no answer.

Gino walked further into the crowded space and pushed aside a curtain of multi-colored beads, revealing a living area filled with more mystical ephemera. There was a bed, a microwave, a hotplate, and a small sofa. “Looks like she lives here, too.”

“Makes sense—downtown rent costs a fortune. Ms Szabo?” Magozzi called again.

“Maybe she stepped out for coffee or a magic potion.”

“Without locking up?”

“She doesn’t strike me as the type who’s real concerned about worldly goods. Plus, I don’t see a whole lot here to steal, unless you’re into creepy figurines and crystal balls.” Gino walked to the back of the shop where there was another doorway, this one covered with heavy brocade curtains. He parted them and they walked into a utility room jammed with more old furniture, dilapidated cast-offs languishing in hoarder Purgatory.

Aside from the furniture, the rest of the space was empty, with exposed pipes, ceiling-mounted ductwork, and a furnace that had seen better days. There was a small tool box and a ladder in the corner, and it looked like somebody had spent some time trying to tape a leaky fitting, but water was still dripping in soft, steady plops onto the cement floor and was starting to spread.

Magozzi pointed to a roll of duct tape on one of the ladder’s rungs. “That stuff can kill well enough, but it can’t fix a bad pipe. Blanca’s deadbeat landlord is in a world of hurt if they don’t get somebody who knows what they’re doing in here fast.” He gestured to the walls mottled with black. “Mold. It’s all over.”

“Yep, this is pretty much a biohazard.” Gino walked further into the room, skirting around a table stacked with chairs, then recoiled and took a few quick steps backward.

“What? Oh, shit.” Magozzi stared down at Blanca’s lifeless form, face down on the floor. Her neck was at an odd angle, as if she’d fallen from a height, probably the ladder. He knelt down and checked for a pulse—you had to, even when you knew the victim was dead. It always took effort to resist the urge to do anything more, as futile as it would be. Even in accidental deaths, you had to preserve the scene as you found it until the circus arrived and recorded everything. “She’s starting to get cold. This didn’t happen that long ago.”

“Her landlord’s got a lot more to worry about now than mold. Her relatives are going to end up owning this dump when the lawyers are finished.” Gino shook his head. “Poor lady.”

“McLaren and Freedman are next on the roster. Get them in here. We’ll bring them up to speed on everything and they can take over. The clock is ticking on Kelly Ramage.”