“Look,” Kincaid persisted, “I know he’s in trouble. I want to help, to talk with him, but he’s not at home and I don’t know where else to look.” He paused, waiting. “I’d be mighty appreciative.”
Cole sat up straighter, glanced to the left, then the right before leaning closer to Kincaid. “Try his apartment, 125 Hanover, off Mill Avenue. You didn’t hear it from me, okay?”
“Right. Thanks.” Hand on Sara’s arm, he guided her outside into bright sunlight.
Despite the heat, Sara felt a shiver take her. “An apartment? Why would Lenny need an apartment?” she asked, truly puzzled.
“We’re about to find out,” Kincaid said, although he thought he had a pretty good idea. When a married man kept an apartment, usually there was only one reason.
The Manderly Inn was actually two three-story apartment complexes, motel-style with a somewhat neglected courtyard between. At Kincaid’s knock, the manager ambled out of the lower unit facing the parking lot.
Middle-aged and short, wearing a gray T-shirt and chewing on a toothpick, the man squinted up at Kincaid. “You want to rent a place?” he asked. “We’ve got one on the third ready now and another on the first floor by next week.”
“No, that’s not why we’re here.” Kincaid showed him his badge.
He studied the badge for several seconds. “I’m Charley, the super. What do you need?”
“Lenny Nelson rents a place here, I understand. Is he around?”
Charley shook his head. “Haven’t seen Lenny since a week or so ago.”
“We need to see his apartment. Police matter.”
Charley’s amiable expression changed, turning wary. He fingered a brass ring of keys hanging from the belt loop of his faded jeans, searching for the right one as he led the way to the outside stairs. “Third floor, in back.” Climbing, he sneaked a glance at Kincaid. “I don’t want no trouble. Lenny’s a cop, too. He makes sure we keep things up to code, you know. We used to have trouble, dopeheads and deadbeats. But not since Lenny came along. He’s a good tenant. I run a clean, law-abiding place, you know.”
Sure you do, Sara thought as she followed the two men up the wooden stairway with a rickety railing.
“How long has he been renting here?” Kincaid asked.
“Almost a year now.” They stopped in front of a heavy door marked with a crooked “3-D.”
Sara braced herself as Charley knocked twice, waited a minute, called out, then unlocked the door.
“He’s coming back, ain’t he?” he asked, stepping back nervously.
“Thanks,” Kincaid said, noticing that the man looked as if he wanted to go in with them. “We’ll lock up when we leave.”
Charley hesitated, then reluctantly started back down when he realized no more information was forthcoming.
Kincaid turned on a cheap lamp before looking around. Industrial gray-green carpet, walls that had once been painted white, a sagging couch and chair, closed gold drapes hanging crookedly over a wide window. The lingering smoke of a thousand cigarettes mingled with accumulated dust.
“I wonder how many people have lived in this place,” Sara said out loud as she walked through the empty L-shaped dining room into a small kitchen.
“Plenty,” Kincaid muttered as he turned down the hallway. The first room held only a desk and a filing cabinet. A quick search proved both were empty. Next was the bath. He opened the mirrored medicine chest and saw a razor, shaving cream, toothpaste and a tube that turned out to be bright-pink lipstick. Two toothbrushes were stuck into a chipped glass.
Wandering to the large bedroom, he saw Sara standing in front of the open closet, her expression grim. A filmy robe in shades of blue hung alongside two police uniforms. On the floor were a pair of polished cop shoes and pale blue mules.
He touched her arm. “Are you surprised?”
“I shouldn’t be, should I? Not after learning what kind of marriage Lenny and Meg have. I wonder if she suspects.” She closed the closet door with disgust.
A double bed with rumpled sheets sat between two shaded windows. Sara felt moisture run down her spine in the oppressive heat of the apartment. On top of the maple dresser that had seen better days was a hairbrush with blond hairs tangled in it alongside a comb with two dark hairs intertwined. She couldn’t resist opening the dresser drawers. More clothes, women’s underwear, men’s briefs, two blue uniform shirts still in their laundry wrappers. On the bare floor next to the bed was the robe’s matching nightie, lying there as if hastily removed.
Kincaid opened the drawer of the lone nightstand and found only a box of condoms. He walked back to the living room.
Some things you’re better off not knowing, Sara thought as she trailed after him.
Kincaid was rummaging through the drawer of the end table. He removed several maps and papers as Sara leaned over for a closer look. “What did you find?”
He held them out one by one. “A hiking map of Coconino National Forest with a trail highlighted in yellow. Another map of northeast Phoenix with a route highlighted to Roosevelt Lake, with ‘widemouth bass’ written in the margin. And a brochure of Disneyland with some markings on it. Recognize these?”
Sara looked at the brochure and sucked in a quick breath. “Those notations on the Disneyland brochure were made by Mike. I recognize his handwriting. Do you think he brought that boy here, to this…this place?”
“Nah, he probably brought the stuff here so he could look them over away from his wife’s prying eyes.” Kincaid suspected he was wrong, but he didn’t want to upset her further.
He opened the second drawer and pulled out a marked-up racing form, several lottery tickets with a penciled line drawn diagonally through each and a brochure from Ak-chin Casino. Spreading out the brochure, he noticed a picture of a hotel and “Room 223” written alongside a price of $99 per night.
Sara’s shoulders sagged. “He’s not only an unfaithful louse but a gambler, as well.”
Kincaid agreed. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Back in the Explorer, Sara let out a troubled sigh. “I just know he took Mike up there where he…where some woman—”
Kincaid took her hand in his and squeezed. “Don’t think about it.” He handed her the maps. “Let’s go somewhere and study these. Maybe we can figure out where they went.”
Too upset to respond, Sara just nodded.
“There’s a little Mexican restaurant on Mill Avenue. Let’s grab something to eat. I’m starved.”
Glancing at her strained face, her hands folded tightly together, Kincaid knew she was picturing Mike in that crummy apartment with her brother-in-law and maybe some woman he was seeing. That couldn’t be easy.
He found he badly wanted to remove that sad, frightened look from Sara’s beautiful eyes. But locating a man on a trip with his son, a father who’d left a note telling the mother not to worry, wouldn’t be easy. And if he found them, what would be the charge? Lenny could be planning to return for next Monday’s internal affairs hearing and unless he didn’t, there’d be no warrant out for his arrest. Kincaid’s investigation could be considered harassment.
Yet, despite all that, he wanted to help Sara.
Shifting, he turned out of the parking lot, then suddenly braked as he realized he’d been snared, caught up in a situation he’d promised himself he’d avoid, at least for a while.
“What’s wrong?” Sara asked, turning toward him.