Page 33 of Killer Clone

Stella wanted to shake Anja to get her to hurry up. She was ready to go get this guy.

“Oh, so he was at work this morning.” Anja’s eyes widened a bit. “But he’s gone home sick? How long ago was that? Around ten this morning? Right, thank you. Yes, I’ll take his number…” She grabbed a pen from Mac’s holder and jotted down his home number on the note. “Thank you.” She hung up.

Slade took the note she handed back to him.

“He should be home. Looks like we might have ourselves an easy one.”

14

Otto Walker’s apartment complex was in Miro Meadows, southeast of the city. Hagen could see how the place might appeal to anyone who was just passing through. Nothing about the complex felt particularly homey, though.

Each building was either two or three stories. The railing on the second floor looked like the barriers that low-security prisons used to stop inmates throwing themselves, or others, to the ground below. Some of the apartments had white balconies the size of coffins. The gray apartment doors—accessible via the outdoor walkways—were plain, differentiated from one another only by silver numbers that had dulled over time.

The place looked more like a motel.

Hagen crossed the lot, buttoning his suit jacket against the cold and over his bullet-proof vest. Stella strode alongside him. They made for one of the two sets of stairs that led from the parking lot to the apartments, one at each end of the landing.

The rest of the team waited in two black SUVs at the end of the lot. Slade and Anja were in one vehicle. Stacy and Ander sat in the other. Slade had assigned Hagen and Stella the job of reconnoitering the place and trying to get Walker to talk.

They didn’t have a warrant, but all signs pointed to him being the guy who killed Patrick Marrion. So Slade wanted the team on standby should things get interesting.

Otto’s green 2015 Nissan Sentra sat in the parking lot.

A figure approached, coming down the stairs leading to the second floor. The man was middle-aged and casually dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie. His shoulders were bent, his hands buried in his pockets.

He glared at Hagen from under his hood, examined Stella, then turned his attention back to Hagen. “If you’re selling life insurance, man, you’re in the wrong place. Ain’t no one here got a life worth shit.”

Hagen slowed. “What makes you think I’m selling insurance?”

The man didn’t break stride. He glanced back, hands still in his pockets.

“The suit, man. Anyone in a suit like that around here in the middle of a Wednesday morning, they’re either selling insurance or peddling the good news. And you don’t look like someone who’s heard any good news recently.”

He marched away. Hagen watched him go. In his earpiece, someone chuckled. Ander probably. They climbed the stairs. Stella leaned close to him.

“Knew that suit reminded me of something.”

Hagen ignored her. He liked this suit.

They reached the second floor, walking as though they had a place to go, and that place was number sixteen, the apartment in the middle of the floor. Hagen adjusted his pace and landed his foot with more care, dampening his steps.

They stopped in front of Otto Walker’s apartment door. The blinds were down, and no light escaped through the slats.

Hagen listened carefully. No sound came from the apartment. No music or television. A faint smell of fried onionsrose from one of the units downstairs, but Walker’s was dead quiet. Besides his car in the parking lot, nothing signaled he was there at all. Hagen tensed his jaw.

Walker had to be home. Lying in bed, sick, trying to sleep.

Hagen knocked, hard.

An older woman emerged from the apartment next door. The pink slippers on her feet had seen better days, and it seemed so had she. She stood half in the doorway, half out, watching them with one eye.

“Do you know your neighbor, ma’am?” Hagen smiled to catch more bees.

“I do, but you’ll have to pound harder. He was playing some horror movie so loud, I imagine he’s deaf by now.”

“What do you mean, a movie?”

“Some Halloween thingy, bloodcurdling screams, filthy language. Went on and on until about twenty or thirty minutes ago. Damn kids got no respect. I thought Otto was different. I really did. But he doesn’t even know what holiday’s coming up. So like I said, pound harder. He’d be deaf by now.”

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