Page 43 of Zen's Crash

Rigs frowns. “I’ve never heard of them doing that before.”

“I think it was him. The other day when we went to her house, there was another package on the doorstep with chocolates in it and a creepy note. Lexi thought it was a mis-delivery meant for a neighbor.”

Rigs muses out loud, “It’s possible. It certainly fits with what we know about his mentality. We need to find this guy and put him down once and for all.”

“What about the stuff we found on the flash drive and the kill bag?”

Siege comes to stand beside us. “It could be two separate situations. Someone is clearly stalking Lexi. But as far as the serial killer goes, either Lexi’s father is the serial killer and the bag is his, or he was hunting the serial killer and the killer planted the bag on their property, or…” Siege pauses like he’s trying to run scenarios through his head. “I don’t know, maybe somehow Lexi’s father found it and wanted to keep it safe as evidence, so he buried it in his backyard? Those are the only options I see for the killings and the bag being found. This person stalking Lexi may be an entirely different and unrelated situation.”

Gazing from one to the other of them, I say, “Are you suggesting that two bizarre situations are happening to the same woman but it’s all just a coincidence? Sorry, I’m not buying that bullshit. Sure, it explains all the details and ties everything up with a nice bow. The problem for me is that the chances of this being unrelated are astronomical.”

Before either of them can answer, the security room door flies open, and our contact from Las Salinas PD enters with two plainclothes officers.

Rigs glances at me and jerks his chin towards the door before saying in a hushed voice so the cops can’t hear, “Wanna pay a visit to the apartment right above this office? That was your secondary target location, right?”

“Yeah, let’s do it. Why leave any stone unturned,” I tell him.

Slipping out while Siege is briefing our contact on what we found, we take the stairs up to the second floor, and I knock while Rigs covers me. When we don’t get an answer after five knocks, Rigs begins picking the lock. It doesn’t go well. It’s taking him longer than before. Standing there watching is making me ever more anxious by the second. I’m pretty certain the perp isn’t home, but I’d like to check out his apartment before the cops turn up.

“What’s wrong? Can’t you get it open?” I say as I keep turning to look down the hallway.

Glancing up at me with one of his lock-picking instruments in his mouth, he mumbles around the slim steel pick, “It’s a weird lock. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

Suddenly, the door across the hall swings open. Rigs barely has time to hide his instruments as he gets to his feet. An elderly lady sticks her head out the door. “I’m Violet. If you’re looking for Reggie Murphy, he doesn’t live here anymore.”

Thinking on my feet, I tell her, “We were supposed to remove the rest of his furniture so he didn’t end up with a removal fee taken out of his security deposit.”

She tells me innocently, “You don’t look like movers. You look like bikers in all that leather.”

I give her my best smile. “Well, you’re absolutely right about that. We are members of a motorcycle club—one of the nice ones. We throw fundraisers for the children’s hospital every year. But, you know, everyone needs to earn a living, so moving furniture is what me and my friend do.” I feel bad about lying to a sweet old lady, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

“Well, that’s all well and good then,” she says primly.

“I guess we won’t be able to do the job he hired us for today,” I tell her in a disappointed tone.

The old lady looks up the hall in one direction and then the other before saying, “Reggie left me his spare key. If the property managers haven’t changed the locks, I might let you in just long enough to move out the remaining furniture because they’re strict about residents clearing their apartments before they leave.”

I glance at Rigs before responding, “That would be mighty nice of you, ma’am.”

It takes her a minute to get the key, and she slips it in the door and gives it a turn. Before she leaves, I ask, “Would you happen to know anything about security at this complex?”

She rolls her eyes. “Reggie was it. Now that he’s gone, I don’t think they’ll hire a replacement because all they’ve done is complain about the cost of security and how unnecessary it is.”

“What do you think? Do you feel safe here without security?” I ask out of curiosity.

She sighs and turns away. “Reggie didn’t do much patrolling the building or the grounds. He stayed in his apartment and responded to calls when something popped off. The local policecan do that, since they’re only three blocks away. I hate to say it, but Reggie was a lazy layabout.”

With that, she walks into her apartment and shuts the door behind her.

Rigs mumbles, “A straight shooter. I like her.”

We slip into the apartment and almost slide on the mail that had been shoved through the slot. Most apartments have boxes, but not this place. Every door has an old-fashioned mail slot.

We turn on the light and see that the apartment is indeed mostly empty. There’s a sofa and a bed left behind, along with some trash lying about. I bend down to dig through a broken laundry basket filled with junk. Looking up at Rigs, I say, “Violet was right. Reggie is a lazy fuck. This mess he left is gonna cost him his security deposit if it hasn’t already.”

Rigs responds curtly, “This is no time for jokes. That mess downstairs was Reggie’s. With any luck, we just might find a clue as to where he’s gone if we look hard enough.”

Coming to my feet, I nod at him. “You’re right. We’d best get on it before the police put two and two together and realize Reggie lived on-site.”

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