Chapter 4

K ate walked into Smidge's office, finding him talking on the phone. He disconnected when he saw her and motioned her into the back room. "What have you got for me?" she asked, mildly curious.

"Don't expect it every time," he replied briskly, "but I figured we would start the process pretty quickly with one thing."

"GSR?"

He looked at her, then smiled. "I think you should come into my field."

" Nah ," she said, "somebody's got to do my job."

"They do at that," Smidge muttered. "Anyway, there is no GSR on his hands, so he wasn't holding the gun when it was fired. There you have it. You were right about it not being suicide."

"Unless the victim wore gloves."

"Which he was not wearing when I showed up."

Kate nodded. "So somebody didn't even put the gun in his hand when it was fired to make it look as if he was holding it?" she asked, shaking her head. "Yet maybe they did it afterward , but not at the proper time when it would have done them some good."

Smidge frowned. "So, you're looking for somebody who potentially isn't all that aware of gun residue and who doesn't know we can figure it out? Given all the cop shows these days," he noted, "that surprises me."

"It doesn't really surprise me that our killer is some novice," she muttered, "but I'm grateful nonetheless because we want some tools that every criminal doesn't have."

He snorted. "Good luck with that. It seems as if the criminals are aware of all these details and are too far ahead of us."

"Yeah, but we're catching up, slowly but surely."

He gave her a smirk. " You might be, but it seems as if my morgue is just getting fuller every day."

"Yeah," she agreed in sorrow because he was right. "Population density really adds to our crime rate, and the cities are blowing up around us. Then the pandemic didn't help."

"No," he muttered, "it really didn't, did it?" He crossed his hands on his desk and studied her.

She waited, but, when he didn't divulge anything further, she began, "So, it is not lost on me that normally you don't call me over, unless you have something more than GSR. So I assume you've got something you didn't want to tell me on the phone."

"Normally I don't call you over. That's true." He hesitated, then added, "Yet something is odd, and I didn't want to talk with the wife right there at the crime scene either."

"Such as?"

"When I arrived, she was on the floor, leaning over the body, going through his pockets. I lit into the cop, and his response was that she just wanted a few minutes to say goodbye before everyone got there, as she wouldn't be allowed anywhere near him."

"And he bought that, did he?" Kate pointed out .

"To him, it looked to be a suicide." He shrugged.

"I don't give a shit if it seemed to be a suicide or not," she snapped, making a note to talk with that cop—a talk he would not enjoy.

Smidge nodded. "You and me both. Anyway, you need to take a look at that. The home security cameras should have been on at the time, but I didn't see what she was going through his pockets for."

"Yet she was going through his pockets?"

He nodded. "As near as I could tell."

"Wait. Why the hell did he have pockets?" she asked, staring at him. "Was he dressed, or was he in pajamas?"

He frowned at her and then shook his head. "He was fully dressed." He motioned at the sheet-covered table. "Of course he's not now."

She walked over to the table and asked, "May I?" Smidge nodded. She flipped back the sheet and took a closer look at the victim. Unfortunately he couldn't answer the questions clamoring in her head. She turned and asked Smidge, "Did you go through his pockets?"

"I did, and I didn't find anything."

"But that could be because she found it first."

He nodded. "That is exactly what my concern is."

"Damn it." She sighed, frowning at him. "Okay, tell me exactly what she was doing when you got there."

He shrugged and gave her as much of a rundown as he could. "Remember that I was only there for a brief second, and the next thing I know, she was up, bawling her eyes out, and gone. The search happened right before me, so that was a switch I wasn't expecting at all."

" Right ," Kate murmured. "So, guess who gets to go back and have another interview with the lovely widow? Won't she enjoy that?"

"Yeah, from the sounds of it, she didn't think much of you," Smidge noted, with a glimmer of a smile.

"Nope, she sure didn't, and I won't be taking Rodney with me this time either."

The coroner frowned at her and then nodded with a knowing look. "She definitely has that female thing going on, doesn't she?"

"She sure does," Kate agreed absentmindedly, as she studied Amie's husband's body. "Was there any jewelry, tattoos, anything like that?"

Smidge shook his head. "Not yet, but obviously I haven't done a full check of the body."

She didn't say anything for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, keep me in the loop. I'll go back and have a talk with her right now."

"What was all that about you guys being at the wrong address this morning?"

She turned to him and nodded slowly. " You were given the right address, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was," he confirmed, with a shrug. "We got there within minutes. I was quite surprised you weren't there already, and then I heard you were directed to another address."

"Yeah, I was trying to get there," she muttered, "but we were given an address a few blocks away."

"I wonder why," he muttered.

"According to the officer who found the body, he was just so rattled by what he saw that he gave the wrong address," she replied. "It was the right number but the wrong street."

He frowned at her. "The crime scene was at 438 Creswell."

"The house I was sent to was at 438 Farwell."

"Was anything at the house?"

"It was an abandoned house, but we never stepped inside," she replied. "So, in a way, it wasn't a surprise to be called there."

Smidge shook his head, shuffling through the papers on his desk. "What was the address again?"

"At 438 Creswell is where we picked up the victim, yet at 438 Farwell was where I was initially told to go."

He now turned to his computer at a hurried pace. "That is a very interesting address."

"Why is that?" she asked, waiting as he clicked through his computer.

"Because that address has become notorious, since several murders happened there."

She stared at him and slowly sank down in his visitor's chair, as the memory of Simon's frantic voice rang in her ears. Get the hell out of there fast, please . "How long ago was this?"

"Oh, quite a while ago," Smidge shared, looking up the file on his screen. "Ten years maybe. Hang on, and I'll take a look." Moments later he gave her a date.

She nodded slowly. "That's interesting."

"Why? Did something happen while you were there?"

She winced. "In theory, no, and yet, in theory, yes."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Simon."

"Ooh, Simon's involved, is he?" Smidge rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I have to admit, as a man of science, I find everything Simon has to say completely dubious and definitely something that everyone should back off from," he shared, raising his hands in apology. "Yet I still find myself absolutely fascinated by that element of the unknown."

She stared at him in shock. "I didn't realize you understood very much about him."

"I don't have nearly enough insights into it," he noted, staring at her, "but I can appreciate the mystery. What did he say about that house?"

"We were walking up to the house, when he called me in a panic and told me not to go into whatever house I was at. He was literally screaming into the phone about it."

Smidge nodded. "Why?"

"He told me that, if I went into that house, I would die. The only explanation he could give later was strong, ugly death energy. Whatever the hell that means. But to give him credit, we didn't go in as we were at the wrong location so maybe there was someone inside… I have no way to know." Smidge stared at her, dumbfounded. She gave him a wry smile and added, "Welcome to my world."

Long after she left the morgue, she was still wondering about Simon's message earlier this morning. She couldn't forget that warning, yet she hadn't had a chance to even discuss it with him, and that was becoming more of an issue too.

She checked her watch. It was late, and her workday was over. However, for her, particularly after hearing and seeing what Smidge had shared, wishing he had mentioned something earlier, she was already driving back to Amie's house.

As she walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell, the door swung open by a man. Kate looked at the stranger. "Hi. Who are you? "

"I'm Nate." Then he looked annoyed for a moment and scowled at her. "Who are you?"

"What is your relationship to Amie?"

"Well, if I have a chance," he replied, then took a deep breath, "now that her husband is dead and gone, I'm hoping to marry her." Kate nodded and pulled out her badge. He flushed. "I guess that was the wrong thing to say," he muttered. "Obviously she's pretty stressed out and upset right now. I'm just here to comfort her."

"Comfort her while trying to take over her husband's place, when his body's barely cold?"

"I didn't mean it in that way," he protested, "and I certainly didn't have anything to do with it. They'd been unhappy for a while, so I guess in a way I'm not surprised."

"Why do you say that?" she asked, eyeing him curiously. "How unhappy are we talking?"

He shrugged. "They were talking about going to a counselor, and her husband had mentioned a couple times that he wanted out."

"And yet, if she's got you, I'm sure she wanted out too."

"Yes, but divorce isn't that easy," he muttered.

"Or that convenient," she noted.

He frowned and added, "I think you need to talk to her."

"Oh, don't worry. That's why I'm here," she replied in a dry tone, as she stared at him. "I'll need your name, contact information, and where were you this morning between three and six a.m."

He stared at her in shock. "Good God, the man committed suicide. Jesus," he swore and then looked back at her. "What the hell has that got to do with me?"

"Just answer the question," she stated patiently and gave him a look.

"I was home."

"How long has your relationship with Amie been going on?"

He again flushed and shrugged.

Just then Amie appeared at the door and stepped out, glaring at Kate. "Why are you here?"

Kate smiled sweetly. "Hi. Amie. So glad to see you. I need you to come with me and talk to me at the station."

"Oh, I don't think so," she snapped. "I'll talk to that partner of yours, but I won't be talking to you."

"You will be," Kate declared, with a hard smile, "particularly now that I realize you couldn't wait for your husband to die."

"It doesn't matter if I wanted him dead or not," she snapped. "I didn't kill him."

"Interesting," Kate noted. "Of course no life insurance or anything is waiting for you, is there?"

Amie's gaze widened. "You can't think I had anything to do with this."

"Why not? And, while we're at it, considering that we know you were caught in the process of searching his pockets, while he was dead on the carpet, I want to know what you removed."

Amie's face went red and then pale white. "Do I need a lawyer?"

"Maybe," Kate replied. "So far you haven't answered my questions."

"Where's your partner?" she asked, barely in a whisper, and then her voice got stronger, angrier. "You obviously don't like me."

"I don't know you enough to decide yet. As for my partner, he may be a little more influenced by the wiles of a woman," she shared calmly. "I, however, do not have any such problem. So, answer my questions now, or shall I issue a warrant instead?"

"I need my lawyer with me."

"Call him now," Kate said, "and then we'll talk about interfering with our investigation of a dead body, obstruction of justice, and anything else I can come up with between now and then."

Immediately the boyfriend raised a hand, moving closer to Amie. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, come on. She wouldn't have done anything wrong."

"Says you," Kate noted, gesturing at the two of them, standing in each other's arms. "That doesn't change the fact that, when the coroner came in to see the body, Amie had already convinced the police officer that she needed to be alone with her husband. However, instead of actually bawling her eyes out or praying for his soul," Kate shared in a dry tone, "Amie was busy going through his pockets."

Nate turned to face Amie.

She stood straighter and declared, "You make it sound so terrible. All I was doing was checking to ensure he didn't have anything incriminating on him."

Even her boyfriend gasped at that.

"Why would you do that?" Kate asked. "If he had supposedly committed suicide, what could he possibly have on him that was incriminating? Come to think of it, why would you even care? You've already got your next partner lined up, or at least lined up to keep you company while this all plays out. Then whatever happens at the end of our investigation, who knows?"

Nate stared at Kate in shock and then back at Amie. " Tell her that it's not like that."

"She doesn't want to hear anything," Amie snapped, glaring at Kate.

"I want to know what you took from his pockets, and I want it back."

"It's not yours," she snapped.

"Guess what? It's not yours either, not until it's released from evidence by the court. If we find that your husband did commit suicide, and you have absolutely no culpability in this case," she stated, "then we will release everything back to you. However, in the meantime, that's not happening. So, either I'm taking you down to the station right now and you can call your lawyer when you get there, or you can answer my questions here, give me whatever you decided you needed to steal from his cold dead body, and we will talk further." Kate gave Amie a hard glare all the while.

Amie stiffened and then slowly sagged. "I didn't have anything to do with his death."

Kate just waited.

Then the boyfriend spoke up. "I know you didn't. It's so terrible." He plastered her to his chest and comforted her.

" Terrible , yeah. Apparently your husband finding out his wife was having an affair may have been just terrible ," Kate muttered, with an eye roll.

"As if you're so high and mighty and perfect, I suppose," Amie snapped.

Her boyfriend shook his head. "Hey, hey, hey, none of that. Let's just get through this."

"Yeah, that would be good," Amie replied, shooting daggers at Kate with her gaze. "Her partner is a nice guy, but she on the other hand…"

Kate gave her a wolfish smile. "Exactly, and, from now on, you'll be dealing with me," she announced, with a nod and a bigger grin. "I don't let women influence how I work."

"Maybe you should. You might not be such a bitch."

"We can talk about who's a bitch after we discuss what you stole from your husband's pockets. Best we get back to the matter at hand. The insults can wait."

"I didn't steal anything. Everything that was my husband's… is now mine."

"Oh, is it?" Kate asked, with a knowing smile. "I guess that depends on how the will is made out, whether there are other beneficiaries or any heir apparent."

Amie hesitated. "Fine, I'll get it for you."

Kate motioned at the boyfriend. "You didn't tell me if you were alone at your home at that hour?"

"Yes, I was alone," he replied, then he looked uncertainly back to where Amie had disappeared. "She's not usually like this."

"That's because she's been caught doing something completely wrong and illegal," Kate explained. "So now the question is whether she will fess up and tell the truth or if she'll continue to be difficult."

He winced and nodded in understanding.

"She's not exactly a grieving wife," Kate pointed out, "which makes this all very suspicious."

"Yet he committed suicide, so I don't understand what the problem is."

"But did he kill himself?" she asked, looking at him. "How do you know that?"

He stared at her in shock. "Of course he did," he sputtered, as he blinked, looking around as if for Amie, then turned back to Kate. "Didn't he?" His voice was a harsh whisper but low, almost as if the awareness had suddenly hit him that his married girlfriend might not be quite so innocent.

Kate shook her head slowly. "No, he did not. This is a murder investigation."

*

Simon walked closer to stare up at the building for sale. The Paragon was definitely on his wish list, but that didn't mean his buying it would ever happen. His decision always included price, condition, and how the cost analysis came out, but he could already feel his heart beating with excitement as he got closer and closer. The Paragon was one of the old majestic originals in the downtown Vancouver area, and it needed a lot of work. Too many people would just drop the building, but that wasn't Simon's style.

It would happen in some cases, even for him, but, if he could make the original structure stand as firm and tall and elegant as it had been in its day, then that was his preference. However, in this case, he wasn't so sure that was even doable.

As he walked closer, his heart pounded faster and faster. He hesitated, then looked around, wondering just what was going on. As he took another step, a voice slammed in his head.

Are you sure?

He froze, slowly looked around to see if somebody on the street may be talking to him. Unfortunately, in this crazy woo-woo world that he lived in, sometimes he got a little confused between actual voices and those in his head. But right now? No, he was alone. He pondered that, as he stared up at the Paragon building. Walking to the front entrance, he pushed on the door, and it opened easily. It wasn't locked and probably hadn't been in a very long time, which also meant that the place could be full of vagabonds and any number of other things that he may not want to see, but that was part and parcel of the work he did.

Sometimes it seemed as if these old buildings were crying out to Simon for help, crying out for somebody to care and for something other than the bottom line to be a determining factor in their restoration.

He stared at the open entrance and sniffed the air cautiously. He found no smell of death or decay, only that of a musty, old, neglected building. He was happy to take a step inside. As he did so, that voice spoke up again.

Are you sure?

He frowned, looked around, and asked, "Why not?"

He found himself hoping for some answer that would make sense, but nothing came. He walked in slowly, studying the building, which would have been absolutely stunning in its day. However, not so much at this point in time. Its heyday was over, and the building was very much worse for wear, and sad in a way that Simon couldn't really explain. Yet he'd seen it time and time again with these older buildings.

While these age-old structures had been loved when in their prime, nobody had put in the money to fix them up, as they slowly collapsed downward from the inside out. All too often, once that decline started, people abandoned ship, and then the complete neglect began, making the erosion even worse.

Simon wandered the main floor. The place wasn't condemned, at least not according to any signs posted, but he would check with the city to see if that was in process. He wouldn't put it past the realtor to make that happen, to squeeze a sale through before Simon could be notified of the city's intent to condemn, but he hadn't been at this work for this long without having some idea of what realtors were likely to do. Some were honest, but all too often they were all about their paycheck and much less concerned about anybody else's money.

Still on the main floor, Simon noticed all the windows were broken, and the back walkway appeared to be in even worse shape than he expected. Frowning, he considered that this building would need a serious gutting to get it viable again. It's not that the rehab wasn't doable, and he'd done plenty of serious guts in his time, but it broke his heart to see this past grandeur left in such ruin.

Once again it just reminded him that so many people were completely driven by money and nothing else, and this building was a prime example. When he got a text from the nagging real estate agent, he looked down at her question and snorted. She had always been pushy, and, as much as she may understand some of what made him tick and the things that he liked, she really didn't understand who he was at his core.

Still, the decision to seriously gut a new acquisition or not depended on where his money was allocated, where his budget was for the upcoming project, how many overruns he had on any current rehabs, and the future economy in the construction business. Of course the real estate market had also gone completely chaotic, and sales prices had been driven way up. He hadn't bought into that whole scenario, preferring instead to focus on the projects he was working on. But then prices had started to drop to a point where many people were now panicked and trying to sell, to get out, which didn't make for a particularly stable market either, as far as property sales went.

Again, not something he would get into right now. His decisions to buy rehab properties were complex. When he bought projects that worked for him, he would do it for a lot of reasons, definitely based on the cost analysis but also that emotional factor, which he couldn't always pinpoint or recreate exactly. Yet he would know whether a building was one he could work with or the soul of the building was gone and he couldn't bring it back, no way, no how.

As he wandered the huge space, he could almost see the finished rehab, with loft apartments on the upper floors and complex commercial requirements filling out the first floor in front of him. It was as if seeing a movie, slowly creating from his imagination, incorporated into the specific building before him.

He hadn't really ever thought anything of his particular process and just figured it was part of his creative ability to visualize. Still, Simon knew that, if anybody else saw what he could see right now, they would think he was beyond weird. He already had more-than-enough people thinking that, so making sure that nobody ever saw him in this process was a priority. Right now, the building was singing to him, as if a serenade of days gone by playing gently in his head.

As he continued his wandering throughout the building, sometimes it roared into a crescendo and then crashed into a faint voice, a whisper almost. He called out, "I know. I hear you but no promises."

With that, the noises gently eased back, letting him know that, whatever made the songs around him, they were here, watching and waiting and… listening. He understood that too, but, just because he was here, it didn't mean that this building was his or that he could promise to provide what the soul of this building was looking for, which seemed to be everything, eternity even.

With half a smile on his face, he headed up to the second floor.