Every Kind of Wicked. Lisa Black

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СКАЧАТЬ or his girlfriend.

      But no weapons, no drugs, nothing that would make the guy a target. He moved on to the closet, finding only more clothes, clean ones hung up or stacked on the built-in shelves, with dirty items on the floor. A decently heavy parka made Jack wonder why the guy hadn’t been wearing it. Riley had finished in the bathroom and now moved into the kitchen. Jack took the desk, the only spot in the room still unexplored.

      Cosmetics—both male and female varieties—magazines, charging cords for at least two different electronic items, and a bowl with the dregs of that morning’s cereal littered the surface. Two pens, one pencil, and one small spiral-bound notebook in the shallow drawer—the desk didn’t seem to be used for a lot of writing, or study.

      “I’m thinking girlfriend lives here,” Jack said aloud.

      “If she wanted her privacy secured, she should have put her name on the lease. I doubt it would make any difference to the price. Or she doesn’t live here but stays over a lot.”

      In the desk drawer Jack found a worn envelope with money in it—Jack counted twenty-three dollars, some kind of petty cash fund.

      Behind him, Riley opened and closed cabinets. “They’re not rich, but they’re not living on ramen. Fresh vegetables in the fridge, no alcohol, no TV dinners, organic chicken breasts in the freezer. Health nuts. So many kids are these days.”

      “Either of your girls go vegan yet?” Jack asked. Riley had two daughters, somewhere in their middle school years. Jack could never remember their ages.

      “Not yet, but I’m waiting. I’m sure Natalie will come up with all sorts of woo-woo things. Hannah, forget it. Hannah lives for bacon cheeseburgers and chicken wings.” He paused. “I hope she never changes.”

      He sounded so wistful that Jack hoped so, too.

      “No drugs, either,” Riley went on. “Not even prescription. You got anything?”

      Jack said, “Nada. Not even what should be here—like textbooks, notebooks, homework. I’m wondering if they’re really students.”

      “I would think they’d have to be to live here.”

      “I would think so, too.”

      “Kids do a lot online now. Assignments, projects, required supplies, it’s all posted on the school’s site by the teachers. And they’re going to e-books to avoid the weight and expense of textbooks—not that they cost any less. Could be these two carry an entire course around in their phone.”

      “Could be.”

      Riley said, “It also could be that they faked being students to get the low rent. Though that’s a notebook,” he added, pointing to the one in Jack’s hand.

      “No subject I ever got a grade in.” He handed it over, watched as Riley paged through the columns of dates and numbers. No other information, not even a name on the front cover, only entries of numbers for an ever-increasing tally.

      “Money?” Riley guessed.

      “Or a video game score.”

      “If it’s money, he—or she—has now accumulated close to, let’s see, nine hundred bucks. Hardly seems worth killing over. I know life is cheap in the big city, but I hope it’s not that cheap.”

      Jack shrugged. “It would make me think he’s dealing, except there’s not a single baggie or pill or white dust or crumb of pot to be found.”

      “If girlfriend knew he was dead, she might have cleaned up.”

      “Then she did one hell of a job.”

      “I found these in a drawer with the spoons.” Riley held out two slips of paper. They seemed to be perforated ends torn off some larger form, with a preprinted number across the top and sections below to be filled in. No section had, save one: Amount—$750.00. The second slip was similarly blank, with a different preprinted number at the top and amount of $525.00. But along the edge, in narrow, stylized script, a logo read A to Z Check Cashing.

      Riley said, “So he’s got a job that requires a name tag, maybe makes a habit of cashing his paycheck at a check cashing place before walking home. A perfect target.”

      “Maybe,” Jack said, giving the small apartment a frustrated, sweeping glance. “Why not a bank account? Or at least a credit card statement? Who has such a small amount of . . . stuff?”

      Other than him, of course. His tiny rented bungalow could give the Spartan student’s apartment a run for its money in the no-strings department. But he knew why he kept his life bare—the lack of evidence hid a host of activity. What did this kid have to hide?

      “Maybe they just moved here. Students bring only what they need—at least they should.” He sighed, no doubt worried about moving a tractor-trailer full of possessions when the time came for his girls, or worried about paying for college courses, dorms, and books, or worried about that inevitable day when he realized they were no longer girls but young women.

      Jack didn’t envy him any of that.

      They heard the lock mechanism cycle a split second before it opened, and the girl in the photo spilled into the apartment. Unlike her boyfriend, she had dressed for the cold in a black padded all-weather coat, knit gloves, and puffy nylon boots. When she saw the men, her skin seemed pale from more than the chill. Dark eyes and jet-black hair gave her an Asian cast, and for one long breath Jack thought she would bolt. He watched her debate with herself and said, “Police. Do you live here?”

      More debating.

      Riley asked, “Do you know Evan Harding?”

      The girl let out the breath she’d been holding, and the eternal energy her youth bestowed seemed to leak out as well. She knew exactly what they were going to say, and it would not come as a surprise. Shock, yes. Surprise, no.

      She shut the door and came into the room to pull off the gloves and toss the coat over the back of the desk chair. Then she faced them, visibly bracing herself. “What happened?”

      “Do you know Evan Harding?” Riley repeated.

      “Yes.”

      “Do you live here with him?”

      “Yes.”

      “What’s your name?”

      Only a slight wait this time. “Shanaya Thomas.”

      “What’s your relationship to Evan Harding?”

      “I’m his girlfriend. What’s happened to him?” She spoke slowly. Most people would have ended each answer with this demand, but she seemed to know the news was going to be bad and didn’t mind procrastinating.

      “I’m afraid he’s been killed,” Riley said, his voice gentle. There was no good way tell someone that.

      The girl’s eyes instantly swam with unshed tears and she put a hand to her mouth. “I knew it. I knew something was wrong when he didn’t come home last night.”

      “When did СКАЧАТЬ