I Can See You

  “Was it normal for a week to pass without seeing her?” Noah asked.

  “Sometimes I’d go a month without seeing her. I hadn’t planned to see her that night. I just ran into her at the door. I’d already decided to evict her before that last argument but my lawyer had told me to give her one more warning, and if she didn’t listen, then get photos of the mess. Her going out gave me the opportunity to do that.”

  “Did you get the pictures?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, after Martha left that evening. I don’t normally intrude on my tenants’ privacy, but I knew I needed to get her out or my whole place would be infested with roaches.”

  Noah felt a spurt of triumph. “Can we get a copy of those pictures? For our files.”

  Mrs. Kobrecki got them from her desk. “Oh, and I suppose you should take her mail, too. The postman gave me that on Friday as I was leaving for my weekend trip. Martha’s mailbox was full. He couldn’t stuff any more in there, so I cleaned it out.”

  “You didn’t think it unusual that she didn’t go to her mailbox?” Noah asked.

  “She’d go weeks without checking her mail, like she was in her own little world.”

  “Did she pay her rent on time?” Noah asked.

  “She’d never missed a payment until a year ago. She said she’d gotten wrapped up in a project and lost track of time. After that she did automatic payment from the bank.”

  Jack began sorting the mail, Noah the pictures. Wow. The kitchen sink was filled with dishes, the garbage can overflowing with paper plates. Her desk was covered with trash, coffee cups, and stacks of paper. In the living room were stacks of newspapers, so many the wall was totally obscured. Someone had done a very thorough cleanup.

  Jack cleared his throat. “Mrs. Kobrecki, we’d like to have a last look around the apartment before we close this case. Can you unlock it for us?”

  “Of course. I’ll get my keys. They’re in the back.”

  CSU had sealed the scene. Jack didn’t need Kobrecki’s keys. “What did you find?”

  “Something that looks like a paycheck,” Jack murmured, “plus a bank statement. Why don’t you chat with Mrs. Kobrecki and I’ll go to the car and check this out.”

  The two stood when Mrs. Kobrecki came back into the room. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “I have to start wrapping up,” Jack said. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Kobrecki.”

  Noah followed Mrs. Kobrecki upstairs. “I apologize. My partner and I forgot that CSU sealed the scene with our lock. We’ll put your lock back when the case is closed.”

  “I didn’t realize a suicide was a case,” Mrs. Kobrecki said, suddenly suspicious.

  “It’s procedure, ma’am. Who lives in the apartment next to Miss Brisbane?”

  “Nobody. The Smiths lived there, but they got transferred about three months ago.”

  The hair rose on the back of Noah’s neck. “You mean this apartment was empty?”

  “Yes. I won’t rent either of them for months after this.”

  “Could you open it for me? The empty unit?”

  Mrs. Kobrecki stiffened. “I don’t have the key to that unit on this key ring.”

  Oh, really. “I thought you had a master.”

  “I do, but it only works on the doorknob and the last tenants installed a deadbolt. Could you hurry, please? I’d like to get this over with.”

  “Of course.” Noah opened the door, waited for her reaction. She didn’t disappoint.

  Her gasp echoed off the walls. “Oh my God. Was she robbed?”

  “We took her computer into our lab. But the rest of the place looks different?”

  “Like day and night. I heard that people will call family and friends and give things away before they kill themselves. Do they clean, too?”

  “Apparently Miss Brisbane did. Was her apartment always messy?”

  “Not like at the end. She was always a little cluttered and always had dishes in the sink but the disgusting messes started… about a year ago.”

  Noah wondered what had happened a year ago that had so changed her life. “Ma’am, who does maintenance and repair for you?”

  “My grandson,” she said, still stunned and off-guard, as he had hoped she would be.

  “I’d like to have his statement for the report, if that’s all right.”

  Her eyes grew sharply suspicious once again. “Why? You have the pictures, why do you need to talk to Taylor?”

  Smart old bird. “Just following procedure.” Her defenses were up. That was telling.

  “Taylor is out of town. He won’t be home for weeks.”

  “Can I get a phone number?”

  Her lips pursed. “It’s stored in my cell phone, which as I mentioned, is dead. I don’t remember it by heart. I’ll have to call you with it.”

  Ooh, very smart old bird. “Please do that, Mrs. Kobrecki. Thank you for your time.”

  “Can I have my pictures back?”

  “I’ll need them for my report. I’ll make copies and ensure you get these back.”

  Her cheeks darkened. “Thank you. If there’s nothing else?”

  “No ma’am. You’ve been very helpful.”

  She looked as if she wanted to curse. Instead she left silently fuming. Noah locked the door and attached the crime scene tape. They needed to find Taylor Kobrecki.

  Chapter Five

  Monday, February 22, 2:45 p.m.

  Eve stood on Martha Brisbane’s apartment building manager’s welcome mat, her fist an inch from the woman’s door. She’d stopped herself from knocking twice already.

  Eve’s attempt to talk with Christy Lewis had fallen flat. Christy hadn’t come into the office and hadn’t called in sick. That meant Christy had either overslept after spending all night online, or was still online. Frustrated and needing to do something, Eve had driven to Martha’s, hoping to learn where the woman’s funeral would be held.

  But what if the building manager asks how I know Martha? You’ll say you know her from work. That’s not a lie. Drawing a breath, Eve lifted her hand to knock just as a little old lady came stomping down the stairs to the manager’s basement apartment.

  “I don’t want any,” she said. She slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

  “I think I’ll wait for the obituary,” Eve murmured. She started up the stairs, then heard footsteps coming down. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted, and she’d learned long ago to trust her senses. Slowing, she waited until whoever was coming was gone.

  It was a man, all in black. All the way up to the fedora on his head.

  Oh. It was more quiet exhalation than a word, but he’d heard. He paused at the door, then turned, and her stomach rolled, just as it did every time she saw him.

  Mr. Tonic Water himself. He came to the head of the stairs, eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Eve?” He sounded as surprised as she was.

  “Detective.” It was the only word that would move from her brain to her lips. Why was he here? Why did her heart have to hammer like a piston every time she saw him?

  “Why are you here?” he asked, which was a damn good question.

  She walked past him to the door. “I was wondering when Martha’s funeral would be.”

  “That I don’t know,” he said. “How did you know Miss Brisbane?”

  She stared up at him unflinchingly, her mouth dry as dust. “From work.”

  His dark brows lifted slightly. “From Sal’s? I never saw her there.”

  You only come in once a week. “Not from Sal’s. I’ll check the paper for her obituary.”

  “Eve, wait. I need to know more. You knew her from work, but not from Sal’s?”

  “I just wanted to pay my respects. Excuse me.” She could feel his eyes on her as she escaped, staring from beneath the brim of his fedora.

  Fedora. Why was the Hat Squad here? Abruptly she turned. “I read Martha committed suicide.”

  “That’s what the paper said, yes,” he said, his stare too penetrating for her c
omfort.

  “But you’re homicide.”

  “We investigate suicides.”

  “But that’s not why you’re here. If Martha killed herself you would have closed it last night.” When he’d come by to fetch Jack, he was so angry she’d felt it across the bar. She came closer, until she could see under the brim of his hat. “Did Martha kill herself?”

  His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. “Why?”

  Because if she didn’t, I’m not guilty or responsible. Someone else was. Oh my God. Martha was murdered. By whom? And why? She was in Shadowland eighteen fucking hours a day. How could any real person have known her to murder her?

  She drew a breath of frigid air. “It matters to me, okay? Martha mattered.”

  His eyes shifted and suddenly they were no longer unreadable. She saw a flash of pain, of grief, of anger. And suddenly she knew Martha mattered to him as well.

  In that moment Eve wanted, needed to tell him everything. Which terrified her.

  “She didn’t kill herself,” he said. “Where did you know her from? I need to know. Please.”

  I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her. Relief sent a shudder down her spine. “Work. I knew her from work. I have to go.” And when she turned, he didn’t try to stop her.

  “Was that Eve from Sal’s?” Jack asked when Noah got back to the car.

  “Yeah. She said she knew Martha ‘from work.’ ”

  “Really? I never saw Martha at Sal’s.”

  “No, Eve said it was from Martha’s work.”

  Jack blinked, clearly taken aback. “Really? Well, well, well. Still waters, they say.”

  “What the hell are you babbling about?” Noah asked irritably.

  Jack held out a paycheck. “Payable to Martha Brisbane from Siren Song, Inc.”

  “Siren Song. Never heard of them,” Noah muttered.

  “Me either, so I had Faye run them through the system.”

  “And?” Faye was their office administrator. “What did she say?”

  “Siren Song is a phone sex business.”

  Noah’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Yep. I called the number on their business registration, but only got a voicemail. Here’s the address. Let’s go pay them a visit.”

  “Wait.” Noah’s mind was still spinning. “Eve is a phone sex provider?”

  Jack looked amused. “Um, so was Martha. Our victim? Remember her?”

  Noah opened his mouth. Closed it again. “Goddammit,” he said.

  He started the car and Jack shrugged. “I checked Martha’s bank statement while you were in there. She spent almost every penny on that nursing home for her mother, which is expensive. She needed the money, Web. Maybe Eve does, too. It’s not illegal.”

  I’m just disappointed. He’d thought more of Eve. For a moment, seeing her there, outside of a bar… For a moment he’d thought it was fate kicking him in the ass, like Trina said. But now… A phone sex provider? “Bartenders make good money.”

  “She’s a grad student,” Jack said. “College is expensive.”

  Noah’s scowl deepened. “How did you know she’s a grad student?”

  “You think I’ve been going up to the bar to get your water because I’m nice? I’ve been trying to get Eve to go out with me for six months, ever since… Well, you know.”

  Yeah, Noah thought bitterly. He knew. Before six months ago Jack wouldn’t have given Eve the time of day. Her scar had put him off. The man was a prince.

  Jack made a rude noise. “Don’t you look at me like that, Web. You sure weren’t making a move, before or after she got her face fixed.”

  Sometimes, I swear to God… Noah gripped the wheel to keep his hand from balling into an annoyed fist, but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “What did she say?”

  “She evades me every single time. She’s a smooth one.”

  Noah thought about the way she’d bolted away minutes ago. Not so smooth. He’d known she was hiding something. A damn big something. His mind was still reeling.

  “But I bet she’s good at it,” Jack added as Noah pulled out of the parking lot.

  “What?”

  “Eve. Phone sex. She’s got that smoky voice. I bet she makes good money.”

  Noah knew Jack was riding him, but still the anger rose higher. “Shut. Up. Jack.”

  Jack chuckled. “God, you’re easy. Ask her out. She’ll say no and you can move on.”

  “No.” Noah bit the word off, then regretted it. He was letting Jack bait him. Again.

  “Whatever.” Jack was quiet a moment. “One of Martha’s clients may have killed her.”

  Noah made himself concentrate. “Possibly. Did Faye have Martha’s LUDs yet?”

  “Yeah, and there was a toll-free number she called at least ten times a day.”

  “Her connection into Siren Song’s switchboard.”

  “I’m thinking that,” Jack said. “When we get Samantha’s LUDs, we’ll see if Sammy called the same number. Maybe Siren’s the connection between the two.”

  “Hell. If this perv is hitting on phone sex operators, and Eve is working for them…”

  “Let’s make sure all the other Sirens are still alive and heavy breathing.”

  “Not funny, Jack.”

  Jack’s sigh was almost sincere. “Wasn’t really meant to be. Sometimes they just come out on their own. Hey, my dad’s a stand-up comic. It’s genetic.”

  “Your dad’s a retired podiatrist.”

  “He does stand-up part time at the comedy club. Said after looking at feet for forty years, it only seemed right. He’s pretty good. Henny Youngman, watch out.”

  Noah laughed wearily. Just when he was ready to strangle Jack, his partner acted human and… almost likable. “Jack.”

  Jack’s lips curved. “But you laughed. Look at the bright side. Maybe one of us can convince Eve to leave Siren and go into private practice. If you know what I mean.”

  Unbelievably, Noah felt his cheeks heat. “Are you a perpetual teenager?”

  Jack considered it without rancor. “Yep. You wanna grab lunch, hit Siren Song, then head back to the nursing home to chat with Martha’s Mommy Dearest?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Monday, February 22, 3:02 p.m

  Liza Barkley flipped open her phone the moment she walked out of the school. She’d been checking surreptitiously all day, but Lindsay hadn’t called back.

  Worried sick, she called Information and was connected to Shotz Cleaning Service.

  “Hi, my name is Liza Barkley and I’m trying to reach my sister Lindsay. She didn’t come home last night, after working the night shift. Have you heard from her?”

  There was a long silence on the other end and Liza’s stomach turned inside out. Poised in front of her school bus, she froze. “Is my sister all right?”

  “Um… we had to let Lindsay go last June. Business was bad.”

  Stunned, Lindsay stared at the ground. June? “She goes to work every night. She told me that business was bad, that she had to take the night shift to keep her job.”

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a night shift. Good luck.”

  For a moment Liza stood, too numb to move. Lindsay lied. What had she been doing all these months? It didn’t matter now. Lindsay was missing.

  “Liza?” The bus driver leaned forward. “You need to get on. It’s time to leave.”

  Do something. “I’m not going home. Which city bus goes to the police station?”

  Monday, February 22, 3:35 p.m.

  Eve sank into the stuffed chair in her living room. Someone had murdered Martha, who’d spent eighteen hours a day online. Was it random or connected to Shadowland?

  “That’s crazy,” she said out loud. “Nobody knew who Desiree was in the real world.”

  You did. That stopped her cold. And Christy Lewis didn’t show up for work today.

  Oh my God. What if something had happened to Christy, too?

  Eve logged in to Shadowland, chose her
Greer avatar and went to Ninth Circle. But Greer searched, finding no Gwenivere. Eve navigated Gwenivere’s virtual house, and… the breath rushed out of her lungs. A black wreath hung on the door. The death of an avatar. Heart pounding, Eve had Greer open the door.

  And everything real around her faded away. Eve stared at the screen until she heard a whimper and realized it had come from her own throat.

  Gwenivere was hanging, a noose around her neck, her face made up like a garish clown. Her red shoes had fallen off. One lay on its side and the other sat straight up.

  “Oh my God,” Eve whispered. Her pulse now pounding out of control, she set the laptop aside and paced. Martha was found hanging. Now Christy’s Gwenivere was hanging. It could be a coincidence. But you know damn well it’s not. Call 911.

  And tell them what? That a virtual-world character got whacked? They’ll laugh at me.

  So don’t tell them about Shadowland. Just tell them to check on her.

  And they’ll ask why. So I’ll say, she missed work today. They’ll still laugh at me.

  “I can’t call 911,” she said. “But I have to tell somebody.” Somebody she could trust.

  If this were Chicago, she’d call Detective Mia Mitchell who, along with Dana and Caroline, had raised her. But this wasn’t Chicago and Mia wasn’t here.

  She calmed until all she could hear was the dripping of the water into the pots in her living room and then she knew what to do. Olivia Sutherland. Olivia was Mia’s sister and Hat Squad, too. Olivia was a kind person—she’d helped Eve get the job at Sal’s. If Christy was in trouble, Olivia could tell Noah Webster and keep Eve out of the whole loop. If Christy was fine, Olivia would keep it to herself.

  “Now you’re finally thinking,” Eve muttered. She dialed the precinct, asked for Olivia. And got voicemail. “Olivia, it’s Eve Wilson. Could you call me please? It’s urgent.”

  She hung up and stared at the hanging avatar on her laptop screen. “Now what?”

  You have to check on Christy. Hands shaking, Eve searched the online phonebook. Martha had been listed, but there were twelve Christine Lewises in the Twin Cities.