CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Luca stood inside the worst apartment complex this side of the Mississippi and wondered how in the name of sweet baby Jesus he'd ended up here. A neighbor's music thumped like a robot getting frisky with a tin can and weed smoke choked the air, thick enough that Luca could get high just from breathing.

An unexpected occurrence out here in the ass-end of civilization, but it was nice to know that junkie neighbors weren't just a city phenomenon.

He checked the scrap of paper in his hand for the tenth time. Apartment 42B. Home of one Langley Carter, aka HangingLangley, aka the douchebag who might just be their killer.

Luca took the stairs two at a time until he reached a floor that smelled like a locker room had hooked up with Taco Bell. Apartment 3B was at the far end, its door decorated with a faded welcome mat that said ‘GO AWAY' in cheery lettering. He rapped his knuckles against the wood and nearly jumped out of his skin when the whole damn door shifted on its hinges. The thing was barely hanging on, connected to the frame by a few loose screws. Maybe it was true what they said – the younger generation didn't know how to use DIY tools.

What the f…?

He gave the door a tentative push, and it swung inward with a squeal.

Luca hesitated on the threshold. Ella's voice echoed in his head, with her stern warnings and common sense. Don't go in unless you hear screams.

But the door was wide open. Probable cause on a silver platter. And after all, he was a trusted member of law enforcement, and here was an open door in the middle of a busy complex. It would be downright irresponsible not to investigate.

Right, he told himself. Let's do this.

Gun drawn, he stepped into Carter's apartment and immediately regretted every life choice that had led him to this moment. Place was a certifiable dump. Empty beer cans and pizza boxes littered every surface. Laundry carpeted the floor like a fungal growth. And the smell reminded him of the toilets on the third day of a music festival.

‘Langley Carter!' Luca called out. ‘FBI! Come out with your hands up!'

Silence. Or the closest thing to it. The neighbors' music still thumped through the walls, and he was pretty sure he could hear two cats either fighting or mating in the alley below. But no response from Carter.

Luca picked his way through the trash-strewn living room. At least the kid had furniture, even if it looked like it had been salvaged from a dumpster. A ratty couch sat in front of the biggest TV Luca had ever seen, so at least the kid had his priorities straight. Still, it was impressive that a kid his age was able to rent a place of his own, especially as his file listed no job history.

He moved into the kitchen, if it could be termed such a thing. More like a corner with a microwave and a hot plate. But what really caught his eye was the pile of little baggies on the counter, each filled with a white powder that certainly wasn't sugar. There was at least a couple grand's worth, right there in the open, pretty as you please. No wonder Langley could pay for this place. The idiot was slinging nose candy to fund his haunted house habit.

But something didn't add up. Even the most brain-dead dealer wouldn't leave their stash out like this. Nobody left that much blow lying around unless they knew nobody would dare touch it.

Or he had to leave in a hurry.

After a quick search of the bathroom, only one room remained. Carter's bedroom. It waited at the end of his small hallway. Door ajar, darkness breathing beyond.

It hit Luca then, how alone he was. Ella was across town, chasing ghosts in an asylum. Backup was busy keeping the town from erupting into a full-on pitchfork mob. If things went sideways here, Luca would be on his own.

No time for cold feet, Hawkins. He nudged the door open with his elbow.

Luca instinctively pressed his sleeve to his nose, because while Carter Langley might have been in his twenties, but his bedroom was a teenage wasteland. The bed was an unholy tangle of sheets that probably hadn't been changed since puberty hit. Posters of video game characters and scantily clad anime girls plastered the walls. The floor crunched underfoot with a best guess.

There wasn't much to look at aside from a whirring computer, but there, on the desk, amid the empty energy drink cans and crumpled Kleenex, was a camera. A handheld camcorder, the kind they used to call handy cams back in the day.

Luca snatched it up and fumbled with the controls until the screen blinked to life. He hit the playback button, and the most recently recorded video started to roll.

A tremor ran through Luca's body, starting at his spine and radiating outward.

Jesus, he thought. Is this what I think it is?