Chapter 17

Carlita veered left, picking her way through the overgrown grass.

Mercedes, with Paisley by her side, trailed behind, stopping when they reached the rear yard.

Compact and perfectly square, it was filled with the same overgrown grass. An unpaved alley ran along the back. To the right was a one-stall garage. The door hung haphazardly from its hinges, propped up by a cement block.

Off in the distance, a dog barked. Rambo, who was at Carlita’s side, let out a warning growl, his ears pointing back.

“Rambo thinks this place is sketchy,” Mercedes said.

“He’s not the only one.” Carlita inched forward, surveying their surroundings, and trying to recall exactly what Cool Bones had said about his last confrontation with Rudy McCoy. “According to Cool Bones, he met Rudy at his apartment. They stepped out into the backyard to discuss a customer. Rudy took a swing at him. Cool Bones knocked the guy to the ground and left not long after.”

Mercedes walked to the edge of the alley. A chain-link fence, with missing sections and several bent posts separated the adjacent properties.

Paisley and Carlita made their way over. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking the killer saw Cool Bones and Rudy argue. After Cool Bones left, he or she sneaked into Rudy’s apartment and killed him.”

“But not with the bat Cool Bones grabbed,” Carlita reminded her. “The murder weapon was never found.”

“What am I missing?” Paisley folded her arms. “The cops exhumed the guy’s body. They found a fingerprint matching Cool Bones’ print on the bat he was buried with, but it wasn’t the murder weapon?”

“My guess is they believe it’s evidence Cool Bones had access to a potential murder weapon.” Carlita lifted a finger. “Number one, Culpepper saw them arguing shortly before Rudy’s death. Secondly, they now have a matching print. Third, he has a criminal record, albeit only for minor stuff.”

“You mentioned someone else,” Paisley said.

“Rudy was concerned about a man named Cray,” Carlita said. “He told Cool Bones he may have stepped on a toe or two and also commented about how bookies were a paranoid bunch. If we can find this Cray person…”

“I’m sure the cops are already working that angle,” Paisley interrupted. “Although technically, it’s Cool Bones’ word against Culpepper’s.”

“It all goes back to incriminating evidence,” Carlita said. “Mercedes might be onto something. What if McCoy’s killer witnessed the two men arguing and saw an opportunity to take him out?”

Bang. Carlita turned to find a woman, plump and sporting shoulder length gray hair, standing in the doorway.

She squared her shoulders and made her way over. “Hello. We’re looking for Eunice Culpepper.”

“I’m Eunice Culpepper.”

“I’m Carlita Taylor. I own an apartment building over in Walton Square. My neighbor.” Carlita motioned to Paisley. “Mentioned the owner of this building might be interested in selling.”

Culpepper squinted her eyes. “Paisley?”

“Hello, Mrs. Culpepper. We didn’t mean to bother you. I thought I overheard you telling Steve you planned to sell this place. I mentioned it to Mrs. Taylor. We decided to come by and take a look around,” Paisley fibbed.

“I don’t recall mentioning it to Steve,” the woman said. “Although I have been tossing around the idea of selling and finding a small condo on the water.”

“The exterior of the property looks…promising,” Carlita said. “I hate to impose, but wondered if it would be okay if we took a quick look around.”

“You’ll have to look past the clutter. I’ve been working on clearing it out.” Culpepper warily eyed Rambo. “Does your dog bite?”

“He only nibbles,” Mercedes joked.

The woman pressed her hand to her chest.

“I’m kidding. Rambo won’t bite you.”

“Pets aren’t allowed in my building. He’ll need to stay outside.”

“I’ll hang out with Rambo,” Paisley offered.

Mother and daughter climbed the porch steps and entered a narrow hall. To the left was a door marked “1B.” Farther down and on the other side of the hallway was a “1A.”

“This is my unit. There are only four. Two main floor units and two upper units.” Culpepper flung the door open and ushered them inside.

Paperback books, reaching all the way to the ceiling, filled an entire wall. Stacks of yellow newspapers lined the bay window. Empty chip bags, piles of blankets, pairs of slippers, discarded shirts and shoes, along with a stack of laundry baskets, cluttered the floor.

In between the clutter, a small path had been carved out, leading from the living room into the dining area.

Carlita, keeping one eye on where she walked, followed the woman into the kitchen. Filling the kitchen counters and table were stacks of pots and pans, plates, cups and bowls, boxes of cereal, loaves of bread, and canned goods. The sink overflowed with dirty dishes.

She could feel her stomach churn at the lingering stench…a combination of grease and rotten fruit.

A fly buzzed by and landed on a bowl of food covered in a thin layer of mold.

“Like I said, it’s a little messy, but at least you can get an idea of the layout,” Culpepper said.

“A little messy?” Mercedes whispered in her mother’s ear. “This place needs a bottle of bleach or, better yet, a bulldozer.”

“The units all have good bones but need updating. Do you have a ballpark figure of what you want to offer?”

“I…uh…would have to run some numbers.”

Culpepper cleared her throat. She stuck her finger in Carlita’s face. “Don’t try to lowball me. I know how valuable rental properties are in this area.”

“I’m not trying to lowball you, but let’s be honest. This place needs a lot of work.”

“A lot of work,” Mercedes stressed.

Carlita tiptoed to the kitchen sink overlooking the backyard. Hot, humid air seeped in through the open window. She could see Rambo sniffing around the garage while Paisley kept a close eye on him.

If Cool Bones and Rudy McCoy had been standing in the backyard, the woman would have a clear and unobstructed view of them from her window. Carlita had no doubt Mrs. Culpepper witnessed them arguing, maybe even saw McCoy swing his bat at Cool Bones.

“This might be a little more than I’m able to take on right now.”

The trio finished the tour of the two bedrooms and equally cluttered bathroom before traipsing back outside.

“Thank you for the tour. I’ll give you my telephone number.” Carlita jotted her cell phone number on a slip of paper and handed it to her. “If you decide you’re serious about selling, call me.”

“I will.” The woman turned to Paisley. “Tell Steve hello for me and I’ll see him soon for my next ink. He’s such a nice guy. He reminds me of someone I once knew in high school.”

“Steve mentioned he was working on a complicated tattoo for you,” Mercedes said. “I’ve seen some of his stuff. He does nice work.”

“He’s a top-tier artist, a master at his craft.” Culpepper tugged at her blouse’s neckline, revealing a patch of bare skin. Bright blue eyes stared back at them.

On closer inspection, Carlita noticed only half of the facial features were skeletal. The other half was a young man, with dark hair curling around the nape of his neck.

“This is my deceased husband, Ronaldo.”

“What an interesting place for a tattoo,” Carlita said diplomatically.

“I’m keeping him close to my heart.”

“I hope it brings you comfort. Thank you again for showing us around.” Carlita waited until they were off the property and out of earshot. “What do you think?”

“The place is a dump,” Mercedes said bluntly. “I have never seen so much stuff in my life. I’m starting to feel claustrophobic just thinking about it.”

“It’s a mess. I think she’s a hoarder. I noticed a newspaper from 1999.”

“I’m a little surprised. Mrs. Culpepper always struck me as neat and tidy, even commenting about the tattoo shop’s cleanliness,” Paisley said.

“She seems to like Steve,” Mercedes said.

“Between you and me, I think she has a crush on him. She’s always inviting him over for drinks and comments about how he reminds her of someone she once knew.” Paisley changed the subject. “Did you find anything out about the dead tenant?”

“I was able to confirm Culpepper would have had a bird’s-eye view of the argument between Rudy McCoy and Cool Bones,” Carlita said. “She can see the entire backyard from her kitchen window.”

“Which means she would be considered an eyewitness,” Paisley said.

“I have no doubt she saw what happened. The guy swung his bat at Cool Bones. He grabbed it and shoved McCoy to the ground. Fast forward. A hotshot investigator reopens the case. Culpepper sees a story about it on television and calls him, telling the new cold case investigator what she saw. They exhume McCoy’s body. With new DNA technology, they’re able to match a print on his bat to Cool Bones and arrest him.”

“At the risk of stating the obvious, there’s no smoking gun,” Mercedes pointed out. “Mrs. Culpepper didn’t see Cool Bones kill him.”

“True, but there’s a lot of evidence pointing in his direction. The fact they argued only hours before the guy’s death. His print. The eyewitness. A new investigator who wants to make a name for himself,” Carlita said. “I’ve been thinking about what you overheard on the bus during your community service.”

“Officer Kean’s comment.”

“Yeah.” Carlita glanced at her watch. “If we get a move on, we might have enough daylight hours to find out if the comment he made is, in fact, true.”