The sound was unmistakable: the key was sliding back out. It took a good ten seconds of pulling to get the warped door to unlatch. By the time she opened it, the threshold was empty. They moved quickly into an empty hall.
“This is bullshit,” she said. “I’ll take the fire stairs. You take the elevator to the lobby.”
Will strode as fast as he dared, his right quads screaming their silent protest. In less than two minutes he was back in the quiet lobby. He holstered the gun and approached the concierge.
“Somebody come through here in the past ten minutes?”
The man shook his head. “Only you and the woman.”
A sound indicated a door opening and Diane Henderson trotted up. Will told her what he knew.
“What about visitors tonight, earlier,” she said. “Maybe he hid in the fire stairs or on a different floor.”
“Only residents tonight, ma’am.”
Will knew they were both wondering if the killer was a resident.
He said, “Do you have a garage?”
“Yes, sir. It’s indicated on the elevator. P-1 and P-2. It’s secured by a door to the street. Residents have a card key that opens it.”
“So our guy could have Kristen’s card key,” Henderson said.
Will tried again. “Is the garage entrance on camera?”
“It is,” the concierge said. “But that camera’s been down for two months. The homeowners’ board hasn’t kicked loose the money to get it fixed.”
Will noticed the car parked in front of his townhouse when he turned onto Liberty Hill. Otherwise the street was deserted. He parked, heaved himself out, and came up behind the other vehicle. One male occupant. For a second, he thought about unsnapping the trigger guard on his holster before recognition let his heart rate go down.
He tapped on the car window and the driver jumped.
“John?”
The door opened and his stepson got out.
“Hey, Will.”
“Sorry if I startled you.”
“I wasn’t startled.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure…”
“Well, come on in.”
The young man followed him as he unlocked the door and turned on some lights. They made small talk about the townhouse, which Will had bought from a Procter & Gamble employee who had completely redone it: 1870 on the outside, bright and new on the inside. All the furniture was familiar to John because it had been at home before Will moved out and Cindy decided she wanted to redecorate, and then remarry. John wore jeans and a black T-shirt with an elaborate drawing involving skulls. He seemed nervous and tired. His eyes were red.
“Have you been crying?”
“No,” John said, a little too emphatically. “These allergies drive me nuts.” He asked if Will was practicing his piano and Will had to admit he wasn’t.