Foreign Deceit by Jeff Carson

and ran into a concerned looking old woman poking her head out the door.  
    She and Lia had a brief conversation.  
    “What did she say?”
    “She hasn’t seen him.”  
    A knock at the door produced no response from inside, no sounds at all.  
    “Would you object to me picking this lock?” Wolf raised an eyebrow.  
    “I…could you do that?”  
    “I could. They don’t teach that here in your military?”
    “I don’t remember learning that skill, no.” She smirked. “Well, in Italy, we do not need a warrant for drugs to search a person’s property. Since your brother had drugs in his system on the night of his death, and he was with this person on the night of his death…then, I don’t see any problem with us entering this apartment on suspicion of drugs.”  
    “Okay, good. I’m going to need some things — I need something that is long and thin metal, and I haven’t seen a lock like this in my life. I say let’s go to the old lady’s apartment and see what we can get there.” He turned to walk down the hallway.
    Lia reached down and turned the door knob. With a soft click the door creaked open to the inside.  
    She swept her hand at the door. “They don’t teach that skill in the American military?”  
    “Huh. No I don’t remember learning that. Touché.” He stepped in.
    The apartment was dimly lit. A corridor hallway inside the entrance was lined with a body length mirror and framed painting that looked to be Australian aboriginal art.
    Two doors were closed on the right hand side and a brightly lit bigger room was at the end of the narrow hallway.
    “Hello?” Wolf called into the apartment.  
    Lia flipped a light switch and the hall flooded with yellow light. She shut the door, suffocating all outside noise.  
    He caught the smell her breath as she turned toward him, and then the lavender scent of her hair. The apartment was completely silent save the gentle rustle of Lia’s clothing.  
    Wolf was aware he’d passed beyond the act of looking to staring. “I’ll check this door.” He turned and opened the nearest door, revealing Rosenwald’s bedroom. A queen sized bed lay un-made with two shirts strewn across it. A dirty clothes wicker basket was filled to the brim giving the room a musty body-odor smell. The screen-less window was open a crack, and Wolf felt another tiny sting and slapped his forearm.    
    A distant thunder rumbled outside, shaking the building deep. Light dimmed by the second. A mid-day thunderstorm was building outside somewhere within the haze.  
    “Pretty nice place!” Lia’s voice was somewhere else in the apartment. He left the room and followed her voice down the hall into a large living room that had vaulted ceilings. There were two massive windows set in an exposed brick wall that looked out on the river, filling the room with subdued natural light. The opposite wall was painted Italian-flag-green. From it hung a medium sized flat screen television. Australian landscape photography and paintings adorned the rest of the wall space. It was thoughtfully and tastefully designed with attention to detail. There was a leather couch, dark wood end tables and a kitchenette with a table where Lia was digging in a back pack.    
    “Notice the coffee table over there.” She nodded her head toward it.  
    Looking, Wolf saw a small pile of Euro coins, a few pieces of paper, and a tiny white bag. It looked like a bag of cocaine. He picked it up and looked closely. It looked and smelled like it at least.    
    “So, Matthew here is also using cocaine,” she said.  
    “I don’t think my brother was using cocaine.”
    “Sorry.” She gave him a sideways glance. “What about what the coroner’s report?”
    “It said there was residue on his nose. There weren’t any blood tests done.”
    “True.”  
    He closed and pocketed the tiny bag and they began a thorough search of the apartment. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for a single male from