Dying Echo: A Grim Reaper Mystery (Grim Reaper Series)

by Clemens, Judy

  When she reached the store she kept going. It was the middle of the night, but she was still wearing the blue warm-up suit, after all. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well exercise. She headed down the hill toward the lower side of town. Alicia’s side. She remembered Alicia’s address from the information on the job application—assuming that at least wasn’t a lie—and glanced at the street names. Alicia lived on a president street. The same names that popped up in every town across the country—Washington, Lincoln, Jackson, Jefferson. There it was. Casey found the number on the nearest house and used that to make her way toward Alicia’s place. When she reached it she stood in the middle of the dark street and studied the place.

  It looked like a regular house. There was no indication that there was an apartment in the basement. Nothing to say a woman lived there alone, or, as Ricky had stated, that there was anything in the vicinity worth stealing. It was a nice enough house, in a decent location, but not a place Casey would imagine thieves would frequent—it was neither a feast of riches nor a harbor for drug dealers and gangs. Just a dark, quiet neighborhood with lower-middle-class status. The mountains loomed like black sentinels over the roofs, close enough to be seen, and almost felt. Far enough away they weren’t a direct moneymaker. The landlord wouldn’t be able to charge top dollar to a renter, because getting anywhere touristy would mean using public transportation, or taking a long walk, like Alicia used to do every night after work.

  A siren sounded in the night, but it was in the distance, and moving away. A car accident, maybe, or a break-in at a house that would be more profitable than these modest dwellings. Still, Casey moved out of the middle of the street, into the shadows. Her light-colored warm-up suit glowed like a beacon under the streetlights, and the last thing she needed was some nosy neighbor calling the cops.

  There was no sign in the house that the landlord was awake. No movement. No lights. And no dogs paced the lawn inside the small fence. Casey walked around the house and found what she assumed was Alicia’s door, at the base of a narrow cement staircase. The entryway was free of police tape, and through the small window in the door Casey could see that the interior was pitch black. The door was locked.

  Casey ran her fingers over the top of the doorjamb, but there weren’t any keys. She moved several rocks, the small planter on the steps, and one of those ceramic frogs meant for hiding things, and looked underneath. Nothing. She wasn’t surprised—if Alicia was lying about her life and afraid of her past creeping up on her, she wasn’t going to make it easy for anyone to get in. Even if she thought she couldn’t be found, her innate sense of self-preservation would keep her from using any security shortcuts.

  Casey turned to walk back up the steps.

  A man stood at the top of the stairwell with a baseball bat.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Who’s there?” He raised the bat to shoulder level.

  Casey put up her hands. In the darkness she couldn’t see much about the man—young or old, strong or weak. But a baseball bat could do damage no matter who was wielding it, especially when she was trapped in a brick stairwell, with no room to maneuver.

  “I’m unarmed,” she said. If you didn’t count her feet and hands. Or elbows.

  The man held his ground. “What do you want? I called the cops.”

  “I’m Ricky’s sister. Ricky Kaufmann. I came to look at Alicia’s apartment.”

  The bat lowered a few inches. “You mean Ricky, Alicia’s boyfriend?”

  “Yes. The guy you turned in.”

  He slumped and the bat tip went all the way to the ground. He leaned on it, like it was a cane, and rubbed his forehead with his other hand. “I didn’t turn him in. The cops wanted to know if I saw anything. I had to tell them. He was here.”

  “But you didn’t tell them about the other men.”

  “I didn’t see any other men. If there were any.”

  “You really think Ricky did this?”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I can’t believe he would. That’s why it took so long…I didn’t even think about his visit until hours later. He came over to see her often. She introduced him to me, and he treated her really nice. He was a…a good kid.”

  “He still is. Can I come up?”

  He stepped aside, still holding the bat, but not as a weapon. “I can’t imagine who would…” He shook his head, apparently unable to speak.

  “Do you have a copy of your rental agreement?”

  “Alicia’s? Sure. In the house.”

  “May I see it?”

  He considered. “You have ID?”

  She pulled out her wallet and showed him. He tilted it toward the light that came from the street. It still had her maiden name, since she hadn’t had to renew her license during the few years she’d been with Reuben, so it matched with what she’d told the landlord.

  He handed it back. “So, Casey Kaufmann, why do you want to see the papers?”

  “Like you, I don’t believe Ricky killed her. I’m trying to find out who did.”

  “You think she wrote it on the lease?” He obviously thought she was bonkers.

  “I just want to figure out who she was. The cops can’t find her anywhere, and I think her past caught up with her.”

  “You think someone from some other place killed her?”

  “It makes more sense than my little brother doing it.”

  He spun the baseball bat in his hand and looked up at the mountains. “All right. I’ll show you.”

  “What about the cops?”

  “What? Oh, I didn’t really call them. I’ve had enough police during the past week to last me a lifetime. They’ve been helpful, I suppose, and I haven’t had any problems with them, but still…” He led her to the side of the house and opened the door.

  “You’re not afraid of me?”

  “You look pretty harmless.”

  A sharp laugh startled Casey, and she jumped. Death, standing in the open doorway, pushed a button on a digital recording device and played back the landlord’s words. You look pretty harmless. “Talk about words that shouldn’t go together. ‘You’ and ‘harmless.’ I guess ‘pretty’ is all right, when you get cleaned up. Not now, necessarily. But once in a great while.”

  “So come on in, then,” the landlord said.

  Casey followed him into the dark foyer, and he snapped the light on, temporarily blinding her. She squinted, and he led her through to a cozy sitting room. “I’m Gerard Brooks, by the way. Figure since I know your name, you ought to know mine. Have a seat. I’ll get the papers.”

  The clock on the wall said it was after midnight. Not a polite time to be calling on people, but she knew she hadn’t woken him—she hadn’t been loud enough. He must have been awake already. Another person too unsettled to sleep. Too rattled by dreams, or things he’d actually seen.

  The room spoke of wear and maintenance. Everything was neat and clean, but also patched and faded, as if it had been there since the house was built. Curtains covered the windows, but they were made of heavy burlap-like material—no frilly, or even colorful, window dressings. The carpet was worn almost bare in some spots, and the sofa where she sat felt like she was sitting directly on the springs. This landlord most likely wasn’t renting out rooms to get rich. He was renting them out so he could survive. Or at least keep his home.

  “Not sure what you’re going to learn here,” Death said. “It’s not like she confided in him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I guess I don’t know. I would just be surprised. If she wasn’t telling Ricky things, and she was sleeping with him, I don’t see why she would be telling her landlord.”

  “Father figure? The whole thing about it being easier talking to strangers?”

  “You would know. But wasn’t everybody here in town basically a stranger? She’d only been here a few months.”

  “Here you go.” Brooks came back, reading glasses perched on his nose. Casey could see him better now they we
re inside and her eyes had adjusted. He looked like a typical middle-aged, white, American male. Balding, a little paunchy, but nice, too. Like Casey assumed her dad would look, had he lived to be that age. His clothes were in the same condition as the house—clean but worn. Dark blue sweats, a white, long-sleeved T-shirt, and leather moccasin slippers. Nothing new or fashionable. Just practical. And comfortable, as if he had been in bed when she’d arrived, even if he wasn’t sleeping.

  Brooks dropped the papers onto the sofa. “These are actually copies. The police took the originals. I’m not sure how they can help you, but if it helps Alicia, I’m happy to let you have a look.”

  It couldn’t help Alicia anymore, but Casey didn’t bother to say it. It could help Ricky, though, and if she needed to appeal to the landlord’s sense of protectiveness—or was that guilt?—she’d do it.

  The short stack of papers included copies of a completed rental agreement, a signed security deposit form, a receipt for the first payment—first and last month, plus the security deposit—and what should have been a copy of Alicia’s first paycheck. Instead of a paycheck, there was a signed letter from Karl, the manager, saying Alicia had a job at The Slope. Casey figured that when you were paying someone under the table there wouldn’t be as many official forms at hand.

  The rental agreement had mostly the same information as her job application from The Slope, except this had the reference from Karl, as well as the phone number of the cell phone she’d been using, which was apparently a throw-away. The security agreement was basically just Alicia saying she promised not to trash the place, or she would give up her deposit. And the letter from Karl was on obviously mocked-up letterhead, and had a date from June.

  “You took this at face value? From a place called The Slope?”

  The landlord sighed. “I know the restaurant. It’s a terrible place, and someone would only want to work there if she were desperate.”

  “So you like to rent out to desperate people?”

  “It’s not the smartest business model, I realize that. But she was…she reminded me of my daughter.”

  The daughter, Casey assumed, whom she saw highlighted in framed photos on the walls, along with scads of children. How she stayed looking so young was a mystery. Having just one baby had done a number on Casey—she couldn’t imagine having five. But then, perhaps when they lived past the first six months it was different.

  “How did Alicia find you?”

  “Advertisement in the paper. Usually I go by word of mouth, but this time there were no takers. Kids want to live right at the base of the mountains, you see. They don’t want to have to walk farther than down the block to hook up with their friends and go skiing or dancing. And that’s where all the modern clubs and things are. That’s where the young people want to be. So this time I had to resort to advertising.”

  “Why did your last tenant leave?”

  “Who knows? None of my business. But I’m assuming he had a better offer elsewhere. I wasn’t sorry to see him go. My daughter never did approve of him, either.”

  “Did he give you trouble?”

  “Nothing criminal. At least I don’t think so. Just lazy. The place was a mess when he left. Beer bottles, fast food trash, and the dirt. You’d think he worked in the mines. Plus he brought all kinds of women home at all times of night. I finally had to say something.” He shrugged. “Could be part of the reason he left.”

  Death was busy photoshopping Alicia into Brooks’ family photo on the iPad, but paused to say, “Think that’s a connection?”

  Casey couldn’t imagine how, but asked Brooks what he thought.

  “No. He was here and gone long before Alicia showed up. I never heard from or saw him again after he left. It’s a good thing I got his last month’s rent when he moved in. I never trusted his face.”

  “Hmm,” Death said. “Can you trust a face? Do faces have independent thinking?”

  Ignoring the comment, Casey said, “What about Alicia? She showed up with your advertisement and you just took her in?”

  “She must have had a trustworthy face,” Death said.

  “She’d been staying at the youth hostel,” Brooks said. “That one on the edge of town. Only she wasn’t exactly a youth anymore, and I could see it had taken its toll on her. The kids who go there generally don’t care about curfews or, well, sleep. And they definitely don’t care about others’ sleep. The supervision isn’t very strict, so the place is basically a party house. Alicia had been there for over a week while she job hunted and began her days at the restaurant, so she was looking rather…exhausted.”

  “She had the money to pay you?”

  He shifted in his seat. “Not all of it.”

  “Told you,” Death said. “The face thing.”

  Casey looked at the papers again. Now that she was looking for it, she could see that the receipt for the first month’s rent and the deposit was in June, but the last month’s rent was dated the middle of August. “You gave her a free month?”

  “No. Not that I wouldn’t have considered it, but she insisted on paying it all. Said she didn’t want to owe anyone. She had enough to pay first month and the deposit, but not the entire last month. She didn’t look like much of a risk—” he flicked a glance at Casey, probably to see if she would judge him for his assessment “—so I put half the payment off until she had it all.”

  “Plus the months of August and September?”

  “She paid for each month in addition to the last month requirement. Actually, she overpaid, because she didn’t use all her time before…” He swallowed and looked down at his hand, clenched into a fist on the table.

  “What will you do now? With the apartment, I mean?”

  “I suppose I should rent it out. That’s what my daughter would tell me. There’s no point in having a space like that just sitting there. That’s what she would say.”

  “She has a point.”

  “I know, but I hate going down there. And the thought of someone else moving in, and maybe something happening to them…”

  “Would you be willing to let me have a look?”

  “You want to rent it?”

  “No, I have my own place. I just want to see where Alicia was living.”

  “All that’s left is my furniture. She rented the place as it was. Didn’t bring much of her own. Only what fit into her bag.”

  “Now who in the world would live like that?” Death said.

  Casey stood. “Could I just take a quick look? A few minutes, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “It’s no bother,” Brooks said. “Although I’ll stay in the doorway, if you don’t mind. Ever since that day I can’t…”

  “I understand.”

  Casey followed him back outside and around to the basement door. The air that came out was already stale, and Casey’s nostrils twitched. She moved past Brooks and into the apartment. There was a light switch on the wall, and she flipped it on, revealing the foyer. It looked like Ricky’s place, with the black fingerprint dust. There weren’t personal items strewn around, however. Apparently because the girl hadn’t had any.

  There was a little table and a rug in the hall, but nothing else, other than the dust. She walked to the first doorway, which led to the kitchen. No one there, of course. The counters were covered with black, and most of the cupboard doors hung open, revealing the meager kitchenware. A few plates, two glasses, a bowl.

  The next doorway was for a little bathroom. Casey turned on the light to reveal a freestanding shower stall, a small sink, and the toilet. Not much room for moving around, but then, a bathroom wasn’t usually a big social area. Again, black dust covered most surfaces, including the counter, the edge of the mirror on the medicine cabinet, and the toilet seat.

  Finally, Casey came to the living area. It looked like any furnished apartment, except for the blood stains on the floor. Casey should know. Spindly desk, a woven rag rug, generic prints on the walls alongside empty shelves, a couch that had seen
better days, and a small table with two wooden chairs, the only place to eat, since the kitchen was so small. The double bed had been stripped, just like Ricky’s, and two flat pillows lay without cases, one on the mattress, one on the floor. The door to a tiny closet stood open, revealing a thin jacket and a clean, pressed uniform shirt for The Slope, each on a wire hanger, and a pair of sneakers sat neatly on the floor. A dresser had been wedged into the corner of the room, its drawers hanging open. Casey stepped around the dark stains and poked through the meager collection of underwear, socks, and bras before moving down one drawer to two neatly folded T-shirts and a pair of faded jeans.

  The only thing on top of the dresser was a pair of earrings in a box. Turquoise tear drops on silver posts. The box bore the name of a local store. Ricky had probably given her those.

  Casey heard a footfall and turned to see Brooks standing in the entrance to the room. He’d overcome his queasiness, apparently.

  “She kept the place perfect.” His jaw clenched. “The only mess she ever made was when she…when she died, and I can hardly blame her for that.” He kept his gaze averted from the spot Alicia had lain.

  Casey made a small circuit of the room, inspecting the walls, checking under the opposite half of the rug, opening the empty desk drawer. “Where are the rest of her things?”

  “Cops took them, I guess.”

  “Everything?”

  He looked around. “Like I said, there wasn’t much. I came down to fix a light once, and her shower, and it didn’t look any different then. Her purse was there on the table, I think. But she hadn’t brought boxes or anything. She showed up for our rent interview with one bag, and she moved in immediately. I never saw her bring anything else. No furniture, no other luggage…”