They started toward the elevators, Henderson and the concierge sprinting ahead of him, or so it seemed. Will walked as fast as he could and they slowed down. “So they stayed the night? These men?”
“Some did.”
“Five in one year?” Will asked.
“Sounds about right.” He stared at Will. “Detective, I don’t get paid to keep track of tenants’ personal lives. In fact, I get paid to do the opposite, as long as they follow the rules.”
They stepped in the elevator and started to the fifteenth floor.
Henderson spoke. “What about women?”
“She had women visitors, if that’s what you mean.”
“Any stay the night.”
He paused. “I noticed one. Not my business to know more. Kids today are different.”
The elevator doors slid open with the sound of a whoosh and an electronic bell, and they stepped out into a carpeted hallway.
“We may be back in the next few days to show you photos,” Will said.
“I’ll try to help, but to be honest all you people look alike to me.”
Nobody laughed.
“So her visitors were all white?”
“That would be so.”
He led them to a door and used the master key. It didn’t open easily. He had to jiggle it and pull the door up slightly before it opened.
“It automatically locks, so please close up when you’re done.” The concierge disappeared quickly.
“‘All you people look alike to me.’” Henderson let out a low laugh.
The condo was spacious, with hardwood floors and new contemporary furniture.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a neat-freak who was a vic,” she said, and it was true. They turned on lights, and the place looked immaculate. Everything was in its place. The kitchen seemed unused. The refrigerator held three bottles of Chardonnay and half-a-dozen individual containers of plain yogurt. The cabinets had a few dishes, pots, and pans, but this was not a woman who cooked.
“So is your leg injured, Borders?”
“It’s way more complicated than that,” Will said. And she left it alone, motioning. “I’ll start in the bedroom.”
He slipped on latex gloves and wandered around the living room, which had two walls of windows facing south and east. Traffic on Columbia Parkway shot by silently far below, and the view of the big bend in the Ohio River must have been spectacular in daylight. As it was, he could see the lights of Newport across the wide darkness of water. A large framed photo of the Riverfest fireworks dominated one wall. Another held a sizeable flat plasma television facing a cream sofa and chairs. There were no books. One shelf held a photo of her parents, another of her in uniform on graduation day from the academy. No boyfriends. He opened drawers and cabinets to a chest below the TV: carefully catalogued DVDs of