At least nine dead, he thought, stepping back, shaking his head. We’ll have to dispatch the mobile forensic unit. Hell, might have to ask Manchester and Nashua to assist as well. Damn it.
He left, poured himself a cup of coffee from the carafe in the breakroom, and sipped it, thinking. After several minutes of silence, he returned to the dispatcher. With the radio squawking in the background, Jack let the dispatcher know he was going to be stepping out for a bit.
When he had finished his coffee, he grabbed his keys from his desk and left the building. No one asked him where he was going.
Everyone knew. There was a multiple homicide at a college campus, and it would be all hands on deck until the case was solved.
Or put down as unsolvable, he thought, climbing into his car. And we all know it doesn’t take much for that.
Chapter 8: Scavenging
Monday, 10:45 PM
Walt Knight rubbed his left arm through his sweatshirt, realized what he was doing, and forced himself to stop.
I need a damned fix. He watched the back of the apartment building and waited, hoping for a sign that everything was going to go as planned, that he would be able to shoot-up before the night was done.
A car pulled into the parking lot, and Walt waited. Almost as soon as the vehicle was stopped, the driver’s side door opened, and an older man stepped out. The driver wavered on his feet for a moment, then he closed the door and walked away.
Walt could hear the keys jingling in the man’s grip, and Walt prepared himself to sprint to the door in order to catch it before it closed and locked.
As he watched, Walt observed the man reach out for the door, keys in the driver’s opposite hand. But the man didn’t bring the keys up to the lock. Instead, he took hold of the handle and gave it a tug. There was a moment of hesitation before the door swung open.
It’s unlocked! Walt bit down on his knuckle to stop himself from laughing with excitement.
The driver walked into the building, and Walt counted to one hundred before he went toward the back door. He glanced around the lot as he went, his eyes flicking up occasionally to see if there was anyone watching him.
There wasn’t.
He was alone in the parking lot, which was how he wanted it.
Walt reached the door and used his sleeve to help open it, sighing with relief when a cool draft escaped from the hallway. He didn’t waste any time as he hurried up the back stairs, going directly to the second floor. Suddenly, nervousness swept over him, freezing him behind the door that would lead him to the hallway beyond.
I can do this. I have to. Got no other choice. None.
As if to emphasize his situation, a terrible itching erupted along the needle-tracks of his left arm.
Walt opened the door and walked into the hallway. He saw the crime scene tape over the door of apartment B2, and a wave of relief washed over him. Not only was he on the right floor, but he could see the door to the apartment was slightly ajar. He wasn’t going to have to try and force it.
Walt went to the apartment, walking carefully, conscious of every sound he made. His heart beat hard against his chest as he worried about the noises issuing from the apartments he passed. Trembling, Walt came to a stop in front of the door to the crime scene, and with his foot, he nudged it open the rest of the way. His stomach churned at the sight of dried blood, and for a moment, he had an idea of what the scene must have looked like when it was all fresh.
Stop. I just need to get what I can, he thought. He dragged a large, plastic trash bag out of his coat pocket as he walked into the main room. Walt spotted a game system attached to the television, but he stopped as something else caught his eye.
A pair of old sunglasses stood on a coffee table, and he felt as though he couldn’t look away from them.
“Who are you?” a woman asked.
Walt jumped and nearly screamed with fear. He turned, excuses preparing to pour from his lips, but he didn’t see anyone. Walt swallowed convulsively, shivering.
“Who are you?” the woman asked again, and as he looked, he saw part of her become visible. She detached herself from the darkness, but he saw she wasn’t fully formed. There were gaps in some of her. They filled, slowly, and Walt found himself unable to respond or to function coherently.
She smiled as though enjoying his disbelieving stare. “My name’s Miriam, what’s yours?”
“Walt,” he whispered, suddenly conscious again of his position in a dead man’s apartment.
“Walt,” she grinned. “I like your name.”
Walt blushed. “Thanks.”
“What brings you up here, Walt?” The dead woman came to stand a few feet away from him, and the small hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“I’m just looking for stuff. You know,” he whispered. “Um, the guy, he owed me some money, so I came here to get some stuff I can hock.”
Her brow furrowed. “Hock? Is that when you sell something?”
“Yeah. That way I can get the money I’m owed.” He swallowed nervously, his speech was slurred in some places, the vowels slipping around due to the teeth he had lost to his addiction. “You’re dead, huh? I’m not just seeing something that isn’t there?”
“I’m a ghost,” she confirmed, the furrows vanishing from her brow. A small smile appeared. “Tell me again, why are you stealing the belongings of a dead man?”
His strength to keep to his lie wavered and began to crumble. He cleared his throat, but he still kept his voice low as shame crept into him. “I need the money.”
“Why?” she pressed.
“Dope.” Walt winced as he said the word. “I’ve got a habit.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “I understand. You’ve had it rough?”
Walt saw the out she was offering, and he took it. “Yeah. You know how it goes. Kind of too much pressure at times. Picked up the needle, put a little junk in my veins, and I’d feel better. Not anymore, though. I mean, the pressure. I don’t have that job.”
“What was it?”
“I was an ad exec,” he confided. “Now, you know, I’m just trying to score my next hit. Might get locked up this coming fall. Being on the streets in the winter, it isn’t easy.”
“No, I don’t imagine it is.” She was quiet for a moment, and Walt looked around, cataloging everything he needed to take if he was going to get a solid amount together for a good ride.
“Tell me, Walt,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “Have you considered traveling?”
He smiled and nodded. “When I was younger,” he told her. “I used to think about going over to Europe, you know, checking it all out.”
“Europe,” she smiled. “How delightful. You should pick up those sunglasses. They’re worth quite a bit.”
Walt turned and saw a pair of vintage sunglasses on a coffee table. “Hey. Yeah, I think you’re right. Those are probably worth a good amount. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she smiled.
Walt’s legs were stiff as he walked to the table and picked up the glasses. He turned them over in his hand for a moment. They were cool to the touch, but pleasantly so. With a broadening smile, he slipped them into his pocket. Walt shook out his trash bag again and looked around the room.