and slashed. Foam stuffing, cotton batting, and feathers were everywhere. Every drawer was open and dumped on the floor. All the books had been wiped off the shelves, many ripped apart, pages scattered. The prints, paintings, and photos had been taken off the walls, pulled out of their frames, and hacked and torn to pieces. An antique mirror in an oak stand had been broken to bits, beads and shards of glass surrounding its wheeled feet.
I carefully made my way through the entire apartment. There didn’t seem to be a thing in the place that hadn’t been damaged or disturbed. The bed and carpeting, even the clothing in the closet had been sliced to shreds. The medicine vials had been opened and emptied. The endless array of hair care products, makeup, powders, potions, tonics, and toners had been dumped or poured out all over the bathroom tiles. And since I didn’t know the place, I had no idea if anything was actually missing or if the place had simply been destroyed. Still, I had a look around to see if there was anything that might give me an idea about Siobhan’s whereabouts.
It was a waste of time, but a few things were pretty obvious to a trained eye. The destruction wasn’t done by a pro. A second-story man knows what he’s looking for. He gets in, takes what he wants, and gets out. He doesn’t stay a second longer than he has to. Nor was it done by a tweaker, junky, or crackhead. The things that druggies snatch for quick sale, like jewelry and electronics, still seemed to be there, if a little worse for wear. Druggies did tend to be messy, but Siobhan’s apartment was several notches up from messy. For me, that left two possibilities, neither of which I liked very much. One was that there was a person out there who hated Siobhan Bracken beyond all reason, and had done this to her property because her person was unavailable. As frightening and unsettling as that thought was, the other possibility was, in a way, even more disturbing.
From the moment I had stepped into Siobhan’s flat and surveyed the damage, I’d been bothered by the totality of the damage. Something wasn’t kosher. Frankly, the scene seemed staged for maximum shock value, as if whoever had trashed the place wanted you to gasp at the sight of it. And there was something else, or rather the lack of something else. There was no sign of forced entry. Although the flat was on the fifth floor, I’d checked all the windows, the terrace door, and the front door. The perpetrator had used a key and had left the door open on purpose. Why leave the door open? Who would do that? When I reached what I felt was the most reasonable conclusion, I didn’t care much for it, not very much at all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I thought about calling it in, but was in no mood for a reunion with the detectives from the 9th Precinct. Our first meeting hadn’t gone so swimmingly that I was anxious to repeat the experience. Instead, I took a minute and used my cell phone camera to document the wreck that was now the interior of Siobhan’s flat. Exiting the apartment, I left the door to 5E ajar as I’d found it. I stopped by the lobby desk, but the doorman was nowhere in sight. I didn’t find that particularly curious. Doormen have to answer the call of nature, too. As I walked to my car, I left a message on Rizzo’s phone and described what I’d found upstairs in Siobhan’s apartment. I suggested he phone it in. It wasn’t like I would escape the cops’ scrutiny for very long. The surveillance cameras guaranteed my presence would not go unnoticed. Once the cops saw the shambles the apartment was in, they would be going over every digitized pixel those cameras had captured. There was just something I had to attend to before facing Detectives Frovarp and Shulze again.
The drive out to Nancy Lustig’s glass and concrete house took me ninety minutes. Half of that time was spent escaping from Manhattan. Oh, the joys of New York City traffic are legion. Once I managed to
I carefully made my way through the entire apartment. There didn’t seem to be a thing in the place that hadn’t been damaged or disturbed. The bed and carpeting, even the clothing in the closet had been sliced to shreds. The medicine vials had been opened and emptied. The endless array of hair care products, makeup, powders, potions, tonics, and toners had been dumped or poured out all over the bathroom tiles. And since I didn’t know the place, I had no idea if anything was actually missing or if the place had simply been destroyed. Still, I had a look around to see if there was anything that might give me an idea about Siobhan’s whereabouts.
It was a waste of time, but a few things were pretty obvious to a trained eye. The destruction wasn’t done by a pro. A second-story man knows what he’s looking for. He gets in, takes what he wants, and gets out. He doesn’t stay a second longer than he has to. Nor was it done by a tweaker, junky, or crackhead. The things that druggies snatch for quick sale, like jewelry and electronics, still seemed to be there, if a little worse for wear. Druggies did tend to be messy, but Siobhan’s apartment was several notches up from messy. For me, that left two possibilities, neither of which I liked very much. One was that there was a person out there who hated Siobhan Bracken beyond all reason, and had done this to her property because her person was unavailable. As frightening and unsettling as that thought was, the other possibility was, in a way, even more disturbing.
From the moment I had stepped into Siobhan’s flat and surveyed the damage, I’d been bothered by the totality of the damage. Something wasn’t kosher. Frankly, the scene seemed staged for maximum shock value, as if whoever had trashed the place wanted you to gasp at the sight of it. And there was something else, or rather the lack of something else. There was no sign of forced entry. Although the flat was on the fifth floor, I’d checked all the windows, the terrace door, and the front door. The perpetrator had used a key and had left the door open on purpose. Why leave the door open? Who would do that? When I reached what I felt was the most reasonable conclusion, I didn’t care much for it, not very much at all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I thought about calling it in, but was in no mood for a reunion with the detectives from the 9th Precinct. Our first meeting hadn’t gone so swimmingly that I was anxious to repeat the experience. Instead, I took a minute and used my cell phone camera to document the wreck that was now the interior of Siobhan’s flat. Exiting the apartment, I left the door to 5E ajar as I’d found it. I stopped by the lobby desk, but the doorman was nowhere in sight. I didn’t find that particularly curious. Doormen have to answer the call of nature, too. As I walked to my car, I left a message on Rizzo’s phone and described what I’d found upstairs in Siobhan’s apartment. I suggested he phone it in. It wasn’t like I would escape the cops’ scrutiny for very long. The surveillance cameras guaranteed my presence would not go unnoticed. Once the cops saw the shambles the apartment was in, they would be going over every digitized pixel those cameras had captured. There was just something I had to attend to before facing Detectives Frovarp and Shulze again.
The drive out to Nancy Lustig’s glass and concrete house took me ninety minutes. Half of that time was spent escaping from Manhattan. Oh, the joys of New York City traffic are legion. Once I managed to
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