Hot Time by W. H. Flint

Author:W. H. Flint
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781950994458
Publisher: Arcade Crimewise
Published: 2022-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

This time, Rafe didn’t linger in front of the Kenmore up on West Fifty-seventh Street. Reaching the entrance, he strode into the tasteful lobby again, past the cut-glass chandeliers and damask sofas. He looked for the doorman but saw no one.

“Morning, Officer. You’re back.” The voice came through the open door of the elevator. Rafe was glad to see it was the same obliging fellow as last night. That should make matters simpler.

“I just need to check on a few things,” he told him.

The doorman went to his desk and picked up his passkey. “Right this way, please.”

As the paneled cab lurched into motion, Rafe asked, “Has anyone else been by the apartment?”

The doorman gave him a puzzled look, as if to ask, Shouldn’t you know that?

Rafe caught the expression. “I don’t mean police,” he extemporized. “Mr. Mann’s family, for instance?”

“No, only you.”

As they rocked their way upward, a buzzer sounded and a bulb lit on the control panel. When the car stopped at the sixth floor, Rafe stepped aside to let the doorman lead the way. But he handed Rafe the key and said, “I have to get that call. Just lock up afterward and ring for me when you’re done, would you be so kind?”

Rafe went to the end of the hallway. But as he turned the key, there was no satisfying click. The door was already unlocked.

Stepping inside the apartment, he saw from the foyer that the place was a shambles. Books had been swept from their shelves and thrown to the floor. Cushions had been pulled from the sofa and chairs. The hunting paintings had been ripped from the walls and heaped on the carpet. Rafe paused for a moment, taking in the chaos.

He picked his way through the detritus to the bedroom. The sheets had been stripped from the mattress, and the contents of the bedside tables had been dumped on top. The desk drawer had been pulled out and flung onto the writing surface. As Rafe stood in the doorway, trying to make sense of the debris, he became aware of the slightest rustle behind him, like the first warning of a summer downpour.

He had just started to turn in that direction when everything went black.

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