Part 17 (2/2)
It was forty minutes before she called again.
”Quinn, something's wrong.”
”What do you mean?” he asked.
Her words came out in a rush. ”He didn't answer his door. I know the code to his place, so I let myself in.”
”Slow down.”
He could hear her take a few deep breaths.
”He's not here. But his bed's not made, and his gla.s.ses are still on his nightstand. He needs those these days.”
”Maybe he has a second pair.”
”His alarm clock is hanging by the cord over the edge of the stand, and the picture of his wife is on the floor, the gla.s.s broken.”
Wife? Quinn didn't even know Peter was married. ”What about her? She's not there, either?”
”Who?”
”His wife?”
”She's been dead for ten years.”
”Oh. I didn't know.”
A pause. ”There's more.”
”What?”
Another moment pa.s.sed before she spoke again. ”Some of the things on his dresser are knocked over.” She hesitated. ”It looks like there was a struggle. Quinn, what could have happened?”
Quinn made her go through the entire apartment, looking for anything unusual. Other than the disorder in the bedroom, though, nothing else stood out.
”Can you take the day off?” he asked.
”Of course.”
”Good. I want you to stay there. I'm going to send someone to you who will give the apartment a thorough going over. Don't touch anything else, just sit down and wait.”
”No problem.”
”Give me the address.”
Once he finished with Misty, he called Steven Howard.
”It's Quinn.”
”Hey, what's up?”
”Where are you now?”
”Home.” Home for Howard was Virginia, not far from DC.
”What's your day look like?”
”I'm open for the next seventy-two hours.”
”Good. I need you to get to DC right away.” He gave Howard Peter's address and filled him in on what he needed him to do. ”Call me the second you're done.”
”You got it.”
”Thanks.”
As he hung up, Orlando entered the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
”Was that Peter?” she asked.
He shook his head. ”This might be an even bigger situation than we thought.”
__________.
HOWARD CALLED JUST over an hour later. Using the camera on his phone, he gave Quinn, Orlando, and Daeng-who had joined them fifteen minutes earlier-a tour of Peter's apartment.
As Misty described earlier, the bedroom definitely showed signs of a struggle. In addition to the items she'd pointed out, Howard discovered spots of blood on the bed frame and in the hallway leading out to the living room.
”It's not a lot,” he said. ”So whatever it's from, the wound can't be that big.”
”How long has it been there?”
”Hard to tell. It's all dry.” The picture moved down toward the carpet, and Howard's rubber-gloved hand entered the frame. He touched a dark spot about four inches from the wall. The normally loose carpet fibers were stiff. ”See? That's got to be a few days at least. Could be a lot longer, though. A lab might be able to figure it out.”
The picture rose again as Howard stood.
”Something I want to show you in here,” he told them.
He moved down the hall and into the living room. Almost every inch of wall s.p.a.ce was covered with overflowing bookshelves. There were even more books stacked on the floor here and there. The furniture consisted of two easy chairs, a love seat, and coffee table. There was no TV.
For a moment, the camera caught Misty standing by the door, looking concerned, then it swung to the right and pointed once more toward the floor.
”See the books?” Howard asked.
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