Page 5 of So Lethal (Faith Bold #22)

“What’d I tell you?” Ferris said, grinning proudly at Michael’s look of approval.

“Damned good sandwich,” Michael agreed.

“Best in San Jose. What about you, Bold? You digging the sausage biscuit?”

The sausage and egg biscuit that Faith was now halfway through was indeed delicious. The biscuit was buttery and soft with a perfect golden brown crust, and the sausage was seasoned generously without being overly salty. The true piece de resistance was the egg, which was fluffy, light, and fresh.

Faith gave Ferris a brief summary of this description in the form of the words, “Yeah, it’s good.” The detective looked even prouder. Maybe his brother owned the shop or something.

To be honest, Faith barely even tasted the food.

She was playing Monica’s last moments over and over in her head.

The more she thought about it, the more the killing became harder and harder to believe.

The studio’s backyard was visible from Monica’s office through the open door, but the desk was out of sight of the yard.

Even if Monica just happened to be in a position to see it, would she have really gone to investigate the presence of a stranger?

Maybe. It wasn’t im possible. But it seemed odd to her.

So what else could have brought her outside?

Lights, perhaps? If the killer had police lights on his vehicle, then she might have gone outside to see what was going on.

But then again, the presence of police activity would probably have interested a liquor store far more.

At the very least, they’d want to know if there was a safety issue they should be aware of.

Faith took a bite of her sandwich and tried to focus on the flavor to give her mind a chance to reset. Having two deaf victims cast an interesting layer over the case. She’d never considered how much she took her hearing for granted before now.

That thought brought a reminder of the tinnitus she’d experienced outside of Dr. Keraya’s office. She felt a flash of fear and took another bite of her sandwich.

“Neighbor’s back,” Ferris said. “Just called the department to ask about the tape in front of the building and if it was safe for him to go into his apartment. Dispatch told him yes.”

“Perfect timing,” Michael said, polishing off the last of his croissant.

The group left the restaurant and drove back to the studio.

The city was waking up, and traffic, though still light, was beginning to show the first signs of the gridlock that would choke it in another hour.

Faith was used to traffic in Philadelphia, but something about the mindless movement of the masses unknowing and uncaring about the one of their own who was just plucked out of existence in an instant disturbed her.

It was a feeling she got every now and then when working a case.

People cared only about their own problems and their own lives.

That worked until they were the victims.

They parked in front of the studio and climbed the narrow staircase to the neighbor’s apartment door. Ferris lifted an eyebrow when he saw Turk trot up the stairs. “Wow. He’s good with stairs, huh?”

“He’s good everywhere,” Faith replied. “He’s saved my life and solved cases for me more than once.”

“Damn,” Ferris replied reverently. “We oughta to get one of those for homicide.”

“You don’t have K9s?”

“Not for homicide. Vice has a bunch and traffic has one or two, but the brass figures that CSI can handle the forensic side of homicide.”

They were at the door already, so Faith didn’t have time to answer.

Michael knocked on the door, firmly but not too aggressively.

A moment later, the door opened to reveal a rotund man who could believably have been any age between fifty and seventy.

He wore a pair of beach shorts and an open bathrobe and blinked filmy blue-gray eyes at the four of them.

“Hello. You’re here about what happened below. ”

“We are,” Faith confirmed. “Any idea what might have happened?”

He sighed and shook his head. “No idea. Everything was fine when I left for work.”

“What time was that?”

“Nine-fifteen. I take the train to Fremont. I work for BART as a scheduler, so I get to ride for free. I start at ten, but I like showing up fifteen minutes early so I can grab a danish and a cappuccino from the vending machine and a copy of the Mercury from the newsstand at the Fremont station.”

Maybe it was a San Jose thing to be especially talkative with strangers.

Not that Faith was complaining. “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold.

This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince, my K9 Turk, and Detective Ferris of the San Jose Police Department.

Do you mind if we come in and talk to you for a few minutes? ”

“Sure,” the man replied. He looked at Turk. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”

“If you’re nice, he’ll be nice.”

The man shrugged, apparently satisfied with that answer. “Come on in.” He left the door open and shuffled deeper into his apartment. “Names Cliff, by the way.”

“Is that your last name or your first name?” Ferris asked.

“First name. Last name is Kowalski.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Michael replied.

The apartment was modestly appointed. The floor was vinyl laminate, and the woodwork was pine.

The stain was fading in most places, leaving both the same shade of washed-out beige.

The leather sofa and easy chair had once been of decent quality but due to age was cracking and wrinkling.

It was reasonably clean, though, and it had a pleasant smell that reminded Faith of teak and tobacco.

“You folks want coffee? I still have a half-pot left.”

“I’m all right,” Faith replied. “We just had coffee.”

Cliff nodded. “If you’re in town for a while, you should check out Bert’s Bagels. Best ham-and-cheese in the city.”

“We just came from there,” Ferris said.

“No kidding? Good stuff.”

Cliff poured himself a cup of coffee, then said, “Well… Like I told you all, I left for work at nine-fifteen. Lights were still on downstairs, so I figured Monica was working late. She usually does. Most of the time, she’s out by eleven or twelve, so I didn’t think anything of it. What happened? Someone rob the studio?”

“No,” Faith replied. “Someone killed Monica.”

Cliff blinked at her, disbelieving. “Killed her?”

“Yes. Strangled her to death.”

Cliff sighed heavily. “Oh, boy. That’s horrible.” He sat down in an easy chair and looked at the wall. “Damn. Poor girl.”

“Where were you before you left for work?” Michael asked.

"I was here," Cliff replied. "I work from ten at night to six in the morning. Get home at six-thirty, make breakfast and shower, in bed by nine. Sleep until four-thirty, then wake up, make some dinner, watch some TV, iron my clothes, get dressed, and go to work."

“You don’t ever drop in to say hi to Monica?” Faith asked.

“From time to time. She and I weren’t exactly close.

I mean, she was a good neighbor, and I don’t think she had any problems with me either, but we had different lives.

You know how it is. They’re just people you live next to.

” He sighed again. “Still sucks to hear she went that way. It wasn’t…

I mean, she wasn’t… assaulted , was she? ”

“No,” Faith replied.

"Oh good." He shook his head. "It's just terrible what these people do to girls nowadays.

I tell my niece to make sure she carries mace wherever she goes.

You never know with some people. I heard about a guy in Milwaukee who used to pretend to be a high schooler online and lure girls out to fast-food restaurants.

He'd slip something into their food to make them sleepy, then take them out to the woods. "

“So you heard nothing at all before you went to work? Nothing suspicious?” Faith asked.

“And no one we talk to will have seen you leave this apartment before nine-fifteen?” Michael asked.

“No, I was in this apartment the whole time,” Cliff insisted. “As for your question, Agent Bold, I heard a kind of rumbling sound around eight-thirty.”

“A rumbling sound?”

"Yeah, like an old diesel engine. You know, like on an old semi. My brother drove Kenworths for Amsoil back in the eighties. They used to rumble like a son of a bitch. Nowadays, they're all whisper quiet because of sound and emissions regulations. I kind of miss the way they used to sound."

“Did you happen to look out the window and see a truck?” Faith asked.

“Oh no, this was like miles away.” He tilted his head. “Well, maybe not miles. But it was far away. The rumble was quiet.”

Faith and Michael shared a look. That noise could mean absolutely nothing, or it could be the key to their case. Not knowing exactly what made the noise made it difficult to determine where it might have come from. “And you didn’t try to investigate?”

Cliff lifted his hands in a what do you want me to do gesture. “Well, it wasn’t that out of the ordinary. Hell, I only brought it up because you guys seem pretty sure that I must know something. I really don’t.”

“Did anyone else ever come to the studio?” Faith asked.

“Not that I ever saw,” Cliff replied. “You know how artists are. They’re real private types. They like to be alone with their art.”

“And Monica didn’t mention anyone new in her life?” Michael asked.

“I don’t think she’d tell me,” Cliff said.

“Did she seem different to you at all?” Ferris asked. “Any unusual moods?”

Cliff lifted his hands again. “I think you guys aren’t hearing me. I barely knew her, okay? I’m happy to help as much as possible, but if you’re looking for me to solve the case for you, I can’t do that.”

The agents shared a slightly irritated look. Faith looked at Turk, but nothing in his behavior suggested suspicion. She sighed and pulled out a card. “If you think of anything else, please call me,” she said.

"Yeah, I'll do that," Cliff replied. "I'm really sorry about what happened. I hope you don't think I'm an asshole."

“I don’t think that,” Faith reassured him. Just blind. Like most people.

The group headed downstairs. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ferris asked, “Do you think he’s hiding something from us?”

Faith shook her head. “No, I think he’s telling us the truth.”

“How can you tell?”

She crossed her arms. “I think the person we’re looking for is going to be more introverted. I think he’ll be awkward and clumsy and uncomfortable around people.”

“He seemed pretty uncomfortable with us,” Ferris pointed out.

“He seemed irritated with us,” Faith corrected. “But not at first and not in a suspicious way. Keep an eye on him just in case, but I don’t think he’s our guy.”

Ferris sighed. “Well, phooey. I guess it was too much to ask for it to be easy.”

Faith gave him a tight smile. “It never is.”

He sighed again. “Well, I’m beat. I’m gonna head home and get some shuteye.”

“Sounds good. Before you go, can we get the address for James Porter? Michael and I are gonna go talk to his wife.”

“Sure.”

He wrote the address down on a notepad and tore the sheet off. “Good luck, agents.”

“You too, detective.”

They split up, and the FBI agents returned to their rental.

As Michael drove away, Faith looked in the rearview mirror at the receding apartment.

She wondered how long Cliff had lived next to Monica, only for her death to matter little more than a brief sigh of guilt.

But then, how well did she know her own neighbors?

In the city, your house was just where you lived, and your neighborhood was nothing more than a random collection of strangers pursuing random careers.

Monica Smith was dead, and that death was going to have almost no impact on anyone else. Faith hated that.

I’ll remember you, Monica , she promised. I’ll make sure you’re not forgotten.