Page 41 of 56 Days
“Twoweeks?” Karl makes a face. “Did you vom?”
“Looks about that long. Smells it, too. And your concern is touching, but no.Youdefinitely would have, though.”
“This hungover, yeah. Probably. So what have we got?”
“Body of a male,” Lee says. “I think. Lying facedown in the shower. Kneeling, really. Glass door completely shattered—safety glass, so pebbles of it are all over the show. Head wound, currently a maggot buffet breakfast. Consistent with him falling through the shower door and hitting his head on the bathroom wall.”
“So an accident?”
“Maybe.”
“Was the shower on?”
“No,” Lee says after a beat. Technically true. Thedrip-drip-dripof anot-quite-turned-off shower does not a shower make. “And guess what he has in his medicine cabinet? You’ll love this: Rohypnol.”
Karl raises his eyebrows. “What the hell is he doing with that?”
“Falling through shower doors is my guess.”
“But why would you roofieyourself?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Lockdown boredom? Maybe he doesn’t like banana bread. What’s bothering me is that the door to the apartment was unlocked, open an inch or so.”
“So?” Karl shrugs. “He could’ve just let the door close behind him whenever he last entered the apartment and didn’t realize it wasn’t locked.”
“And he was dressed. In the shower.”
“The shower he fellinto, probably.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s always something that doesn’t fit,” Karl says.
“Either way, we have an officially declared crime scene. I’ve already called the Super. He’s at the station. I thinkhe’sthinking accident too, but also that it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Did you tell him about Tweedledum and Tweedledee?”
Lee shakes her head,no. “It didn’t come up.”
“It will. Shite always floats to the surface eventually.”
“That doesn’t mean I need to reach in and pick it up with my bare hand in the meantime, does it? What about thedoor-to-doors?”
“Just started,” Karl says. “Everyone’s home, so they’ll be a while.”
“What are we asking?”
“Do they know who occupies apartment one, when did they last see them if so, anything suspicious or out of the ordinary in the last few weeks, yada, yada, yada. Your standard fare. I think it’s five questions, total.”
“How many have we got on it?”
“Three pairs. One per floor.”
“Did you remind them to stay outside? To talk to them from the corridor? To wear their masks?”
“What am I, their mammy?” Karl’s gaze fixes on something over Lee’s shoulder. “Hold up. Who’s this Instagram account come to life?”
Lee has no idea what that means, but when she turns she sees a man approaching Michael at the cordon. Late twenties, suit and tie. Chunky silver watch. A glimpse of novelty socks. Everything he’s wearing is fit so snugly that she fears she could be committing a sex crime just by looking at him. How does he sit down without ripping the seams? How does he getintothem in the first place?
