“Sorry,” he said, regaining his footing. “It does that.”
Henderson bent down. “Good move. Check this out.”
Will had accidentally unhinged a hidden drawer beneath the wardrobe. Henderson pulled it out. The contents were arrayed with the same obsessive neatness as elsewhere in the condo, but they were two pairs of handcuffs, a blindfold, a ball gag, leather shackles, some other restraints he’d never seen before, and a couple of very large black dildos.
“No offense to a fallen sister officer,” Henderson said, “but our girl seems to have liked it rough.”
An uneasy feeling flooded Will’s body, something he had been dreading ever since he had been assigned to the case. The Ivory Soap girl was not who she seemed.
He sighed. “We’ll bag it all, I guess.”
“That’ll make me popular in the evidence room tonight.” She pulled out clear plastic evidence envelopes and a set of latex gloves.
Metal on metal.
An alert shot silently through Will’s head.
Someone was trying the front door.
They both walked quietly in that direction. The floors were solid and didn’t creak. But with the lights on, there was a chance whoever was outside might see their shadows under the door. The sound continued. Will heard Henderson unsnap her holster.
Someone was inserting a key in the door.
“How do you want to play it?” Henderson whispered.
“Let him come in.”
Henderson took up a position in the kitchen to the right of the front door. She now had her semi-automatic out, held down at her side. Will unholstered his own weapon and retreated into the hallway. He switched his cane to his left hand, held the gun in his right, but the adrenaline coursing through his system made him feel steady on his feet. He turned off the light in the hall, so he would have the advantage of darkness. There was nothing to be done about the lights already on in the living room.
Maybe Kristen had a roommate. The concierge hadn’t said anything about that. Still, they would have to be careful when the door opened. They would anyway. The key in the door was most likely the one missing from Kristen’s boat, and the hand holding it belonged to her killer.
The key was all the way in, but once again the lock resisted. Click-click, click-click. He didn’t know the trick the concierge had used to open the door. Click-click, click-click.
Then, silence. Henderson looked back at him.
“Go.” He mouthed it silently. She walked five feet to the door and looked through the fisheye.
She shook her head. By that time he was standing there, too.
“Open it.” He had his gun up now, aimed toward the door.