Without Sin (An Owen Day Thriller) by Rachel Ford

Author:Rachel Ford [Ford, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

As with the fire at Judge Dandridge’s place, details proved elusive. There had been a killing at a rental property in the low-income end of town. Anonymous sources said there had been a nursery rhyme left at the scene. Anonymous sources reported conflicting details about the victim. Some said a woman, others a man, and some a man and woman: the couple who had been renting the place.

No names were listed. But the article had a picture of the house, lit up by red and blue flashing lights. It was a small place: a squat one story, with fat wooden siding painted a peeling off-white. There was a big picture window in the central area, and a few half-attempts at landscaping.

I repeated the steps I’d used to figure out who had leaked the fire video to Wagley: I pulled up the street view and scrutinized the houses in the area one by one.

The app showed me the streets in daylight, not at night, and not illuminated by emergency lights. And there was a lot of old siding and peeling paint in the area. A lot of small houses and bad landscaping.

But only one that matched the home in the article. I got the address and searched for it. Quite a few names showed up. There was the property manager, who worked for an out of state LLC; a slew of court filings for unpaid rent and bills listing former tenants; and a court document dated three weeks ago, for a small claims settlement between one of the local hospitals and a Bret Myslinski over unpaid bills.

It was possible that Bret had moved in three weeks. It was possible that someone else had moved into the place after him. It was also possible that someone had just dumped a body there.

But the neighborhood seemed too congested to make it a good spot to dump anything, much less a person. And details like a recently arrived neighbor would have been interesting enough for those anonymous sources to divulge.

So my money was on the vic being Bret Myslinski, or whoever lived with him. Or maybe both of them.

Jason – who was still there, still drinking beer – seemed impressed. “You should have been a detective, man.”

I shooed him and his beer out of my apartment. Then I bolted the door and sent Clark a single question. What was Myslinski’s rhyme?

She didn’t answer. I waited five minutes, and then ten. At fifteen, I turned in.

And slept soundly until just after eight in the morning. That’s when I heard hammering on my door: urgent, relentless hammering.

I dragged myself out of bed and glanced through the peephole. It was Jason.

I growled and unbolted and unlocked the door. “What the hell –”

He burst in, grabbing me by the shoulders. “They got him. They got him, dude. NRK. They got him, last night. They arrested him.”

I stared at the other man. If this was some kind of joke, I wasn’t amused. But he didn’t look like he was joking.

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