Page 43 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Bloch

Manhattan at night, in the rain, is a battlefield of color.

The streets ahead of Bloch were painted red by stop lights and the tail lights of cars in front, and every so often an ocean-green traffic light interrupted the deadlock to allow her Jeep to crawl forward.

Streetlamps added intermittent cones of pastel yellow on the slicked sidewalks, which somehow only served to make the darkness in between them deeper and richer.

The windshield wipers were working fast, sweeping away tides of rain as if washing away a rainbow of digital light.

The front driver’s-side wheel of Bloch’s jeep broke a puddle of neon-pink rainwater, instantly turning it black, and as the ripples diminished the color swirled to life again and settled on its calm surface like a bright veneer.

Bloch pulled up at the apartment building to see Raymond, wearing his waterproof coat and carrying his kit bag, taking shelter in the doorway.

Grabbing a fold-up raincoat from her glovebox, Bloch slipped it over her leather jacket, which was already soaked just from the short walk from the office to her car.

Her dark blue jeans were black and clinging to her skin. Cold and wet.

She got out of the Jeep, locked it with the fob and joined Raymond in the doorway. A drainpipe on the storefront opposite must’ve broken loose from its brackets, because a torrent of rain was hitting the sidewalk as fast and hard as a fire hose.

‘You picked a lovely night for it,’ he said.

Bloch said nothing.

Raymond worked in a lab separate and independent from law enforcement.

While he occasionally freelanced for the FBI, it didn’t matter to him who paid for his work, because his results would not alter no matter what the fee, no matter what the circumstances of the case may be. He was a scientist, first.

‘Is the apartment owner meeting us here?’ asked Raymond.

‘Not exactly,’ mumbled Bloch.

‘What was that?’ asked Raymond. It was difficult to be heard over the noise from the rain.

Without saying another word, Bloch turned to the panel of buzzers for the apartment complex. About forty in all. Thankfully, the rain was keeping pedestrians off the streets. Nobody wanted to be out in this. Everyone who needed to be anywhere was in a cab, an Uber or their own transport.

She pressed the first ten call buttons on the panel.

As the intercom buzzed, Bloch mumbled, ‘Deliveroo . . . ’

After a few tries, someone buzzed open the door.

The lobby was tiled and messy, with building supplies stacked in one corner. The elevator was working, and as they got in and traveled up, Bloch took a photo of the lift manufacturer and the maintenance log, which was taped to a panel. The last entry was just a few days ago.

They arrived on the third floor. Bloch and Raymond got out, and checked the apartment number on the door.

Raymond dumped his forensic bag, which was silver and thick plastic.

It doubled as a cool bag to keep samples at the right temperature.

He stripped off his raincoat, took a thick, white latex suit from his bag and stepped into it, then put on his gloves, a breathing mask and then pulled the suit hood over his head and tightened it.

He took a flashlight and a UV light, then hooked his bag onto his shoulder.

‘Do you have a key? Or is the owner meeting us here?’ asked Raymond.

Bloch stood back, then launched forward with tremendous speed, the heel of her boot meeting the door at the lock. The wood buckled and broke, and the frame cracked, but the door didn’t open.

There was no apartment directly opposite this one; the closest was a good twenty feet down the hallway. The door to that apartment opened and a young woman came out, wearing pajamas and a bathrobe. She stood just a few feet from her door.

‘What the hell is going on? I’ll call the pol . . . ’ she said, but her voice trailed off when she saw Raymond in his suit.

‘Sorry, Department of Health,’ said Bloch, flashing her PI credentials. She was far enough away for it to look official, but not close enough to read. ‘We have a warrant. The owner of this apartment was breeding rats. We have reports some have escaped and we need to neutralize the problem.’

The woman’s eyes widened when Raymond, in his hazardous material suit, turned around and gave her the thumbs up.

‘Oh shit, sorry. Go ahead. Make sure you get ’em all,’ said the woman, hurrying back into her apartment and shutting the door.

‘You know anything I find in here can’t be used in court,’ said Raymond.

‘I know,’ said Bloch. ‘It’s not for court. It’s for me. We’re looking for the man who poisoned our client.’

‘Like I said on the phone, this apartment regularly being an Airbnb, there’s going to be hundreds of prints and DNA sets. This is going to take a while.’

Raymond moved inside and flicked on the light switch. The apartment was as Elly had described it. Small, sparse. No trash bags, though. The killer had cleaned up.

‘Check the bedroom, bathroom and fridge carefully. This man had a cast on his leg. I think he may have cut it off in this apartment. How long will you need?’

‘Two, maybe three hours,’ said Raymond.

‘I’ll be back in two hours. I’ll be in the car outside when you need me. I’m going to help Lake. He’s looking for a witness. With the rain, this guy is going to try and find a dry bed. We need to hit every shelter in the city tonight,’ said Bloch.

She rode the elevator to the lobby, used the buzzer to open the door and, pulling up her hood, she went back into the rain, headed for her Jeep.

The sound of fat raindrops pounding her plastic hood, and everything else was way too loud for Bloch’s comfort. She didn’t like a lot of noise. It made her feel . . . weird . The storm drains by the side of the road were covered in foam, the sheer force of the rainwater overwhelming.

Bloch put her hand in her coat, her fingers wrapped round the fob to open the car.

It was then that she heard the noise for the first time.

Footsteps, coming up on her, fast.

Bloch used her other hand to grab for her gun, beneath the raincoat.

It was too late.