“Just get here, man. The Captain’ll have my balls roasted if he knew I was callin’ you. Don’t make this a waste of my time.”
“Alright, already. Where are you?” Roman waited, his chills blistering then when he heard the detective’s response.
~~~
“What the fuck, Ro?”
Roman forced himself to swallow when he looked up at the razor slim scraper Humphrey called home. “I don’t know, P,” he almost didn’t recognize his own voice, hollow as it was.
The brothers crossed the busy street. They were introducing themselves to uninformed officers the moment they approached the crime scene tape barring entrance to the building.
Roman and Pitch were instructed to wait while Weaver was located. The detective was outside to greet the Tesanos with handshakes less than 10 minutes later. Weaver’s attractive weatherworn face held brownish gray eyes that carried the level, assessing manner of a cop who’d seen more than his share of horrors.
“Rome, thanks for coming,” Cory Weaver greeted Pitch with the same warmth he had Roman.
“Is our brother alright?” Roman blurted, concern infused with the suspicion in his eyes.
Weaver sent a curious look to the uniform who had come to find him. He gave a quick shake of his head when he looked to Roman. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“This is his place,” Pitch said.
Weaver turned back to the uniform. “Why didn’t I know this?”
The uniform gave a noticeable swallow. “We haven’t gotten a list of all the residents yet, Sir.”
“What’s goin’ on, Cor?” Roman demanded, glancing around at the chaos.
“That name you asked me to run? Hank Kreel? We got a hit.” Cory drew the Tesanos aside to allow a trio of uniformed officers to pass.
“Turns out,” Cory continued, “he works here at your brother’s building. Been a guard here little over eight months.”
“What happened here, Cory?” Roman’s tone carried a cautious air.
Cory gave a firm nod, then turned for the building’s entrance. “Follow me,” he called over a shoulder. “Don’t touch anything,” he added.
Roman and Pitch followed the detective’s rapid pace, sidestepping uniformed and plain clothes officers as they crossed the vast lobby of the residential space. They followed Cory to a freight elevator around the corner from the security desk on the other side of the lobby.
“Alright Cory what the hell?” Roman insisted once they were inside the dim car.
“On duty security got a call from one of the housekeepers down on the service level this afternoon,” the detective explained. “She said she heard gunshots. They checked it out-found your guy.”
“How do you know it’s him?” Pitch asked.
“It’s the name in his employee file. Did you bring the photo like I asked?”
Roman looked to Pitch who reached into the inside pocket on the brown suit jacket he sported. He retrieved the picture of a white male with buzz cut brown hair and dark eyes.
The elevator stopped with a bump. The doors jolted open to display a dim, noisy corridor teeming with law enforcement personnel.
Pitch murmured a curse as he took in the scene.
“Bobby! Andy! Hold up, will ya?!” Cory waved to two men wearing dark coveralls and wheeling a gurney down the opposite end of the hall. He inclined his head toward Roman and Pitch, encouraging them to follow.
The detective tugged the zipper tab on the grim looking black plastic. He folded back one corner of the bag, revealing only the head of the occupant.
“This him?” Cory asked.
Pitch compared the picture he held with the face looming from the bag. The countenance was only mildly damaged if one didn’t count the bloodied, gaping hole beneath the chin. He nodded. “It’s Kreel.”
Roman’s face was a harsh mask. “Do we get some answers now?” He asked Cory.
Weaver sealed the bag, nodded to his colleagues. “Thanks fellas.”
“Guards came to check the housekeeper’s claim of hearing the shots and found that,” the detective said once the gurney had been pulled on down the hallway. “He was in here,” he nodded toward the open doorway of a small apartment.
Roman and Pitch followed. They turned sideways in order to inch down the long, skinny corridor that was occupied by at least half a dozen investigators all dusting for fingerprints.
The Tesanos moved on behind Weaver through a cramp living room and down another skinny hall that dead ended to a bedroom.
Pitch whistled when the space came into full view. “Scene of the crime, I take it?” he noted as they turned in place to observe the wall covered in blood spatter and brain matter.
“Jesus...” Roman whispered. “Why did he do this? Was there a note or-Cory?”
The detective was clearly infuriated by the question. “He doesn’t deserve your sympathy, Rome,” he jerked his dimpled chin to the desk before the bloodied wall. The desk surface was covered with photographs-mostly black and whites with a few color shots intermixed.
“Christ...” Pitch said, upon realizing what he was seeing.
“Looks like your guy was a brutal son of a bitch who like cutting up women,” Weaver said. “We’ve counted about a dozen different faces here, so far. Is this why you were after him?”
