Page 69 of Her Dying Secret

“Ryan.”

Turner smirked. “Ryan? That’s it? Like Cher or Shakira?”

“Who?”

“You got a last name, Ryan?” Turner said. He turned back to Josie but hooked a thumb toward Ryan. “Is this for real? These kids don’t even know who Shakira is?”

“Tramel,” said Ryan. “Are you here to arrest Mr. Lee? Because of the stuff on the news?”

Ignoring his question, Josie said, “If you’re not able to provide a key to Mr. Lee’s room, I’ll have to ask you to step aside.” She turned her body so that he had a better view of the police cars crowded around the front of the house. Noah stood next to one of the SUVs, overseeing everything. He stared at Ryan. “You can wait over there with my colleague, Lieutenant Fraley.”

“Come on, kid,” Turner urged. “Find us an extra key. I’ll tell you all about Shakira.”

With one last glance at Josie, Ryan backed up and gestured for them to follow him through the foyer and down a hallway. “I have a key. Come on, I’ll get it for you.”

Two teams of officers poured in behind them. Their feet pounded up the steps, one team moving to the third floor and the other to the second floor to ensure there were no surprises or ambushes. Ryan led Josie, Turner, and the two uniformed officers with them to a door marked with a sign that read: Office. He jiggled the knob several times and then lifted it up, pushing at the same time to get it to swing open.

The interior was dim, lit only by a small sliding sash window high along the exterior wall. It smelled of dust, chalk, and wood polish. An old oak desk that looked like it had been pilfered from a principal’s office circa 1950 took up most of the room. The copy machine alongside it didn’t look much more modern. Along the far wall was one blue metal filing cabinet with a matching metal table next to it. Both were dented, their sharp corners rusted. Ryan bypassed the desk and went for the table which held a Keurig, two chipped mugs, a selection of coffee pods, sugar packets, Coffee Mate, and a handful of plastic spoons. “Want some coffee?”

“Just the key, kid,” said Turner.

“Sure, sure.” Ryan walked behind the desk and bent to rifle through one of the drawers.

Josie could hear the rapid tap of Turner’s fingers on his thigh. He groaned softly.

Ryan moved on to another drawer, his hands moving faster. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I swear it’s here somewhere.”

This time, Turner growled, patience lost. “Listen, kid. I don’t have time for this I-Spy bullshit. I was trying to be courteous, but we can smash in the door, no problem. You stay here. My colleague has some questions.”

Ryan’s head whipped up, his mouth hanging open. He started to speak but Turner was already gone, taking the uniformed officers with him. Looking to Josie, he said, “I’m sorry. It’s here. I can find it if you just give me a minute.”

“Forget it,” said Josie.

Ryan shrugged. “Okay, but the landlord’s not going to be happy about the property damage.”

Ignoring his comment, Josie asked, “When is the last time you saw Mr. Lee?”

“I’ve never seen him here.” Ryan abandoned the desk for the Keurig. He pressed a pod into the top of it and then placed a mug beneath the brew base. He tapped a couple of buttons until the machine started making gurgling noises. Coffee streamed into the mug. “That’s what I was trying to tell you out there. He doesn’t come here.”

“He doesn’t come here, or you’ve never seen him?”

The Keurig emitted a long buzz and then went silent. Ryan lifted the lid to get to the pod and then disposed of it in a small trash bin near his feet.

“Ryan?” Josie backed up until she was on the threshold. From there she could see inside the office, but she could also see up and down the hall. Other officers were moving from room to room, checking the common areas.

“I’ve never seen him.” He dumped three sugar packets and six Coffee Mate creamers into his cup and stirred them in with a plastic spoon.

A slow series of creaks came from overhead. More footsteps on the stairs. Someone calling for a prybar. “His truck is parked out back,” Josie pointed out.

Ryan pulled a napkin from his pocket and folded it in half. Then he tucked the plastic spoon inside. Leaving it on the table, he picked up his mug and swiveled in her direction. He took a long swig before his gaze settled pointedly on her pistol. “That’s his truck? How do you know?”

“We know, Ryan. How long has it been out there?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe some of the other guys might know.” Ryan slugged down the rest of his coffee and returned the mug to the table. “Maybe one of them saw him but I doubt they’ll admit it if they have. The people who live here don’t much trust cops.”

Josie had not seen any cameras on the exterior of the house, but she asked anyway. “Are there cameras out back?”

His hands hung loosely at his sides. His fingers flexed once. “Does this look like the kind of place that has cameras?”

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