‘Damn,’ Garcia commented. ‘It sounds like the door is being tortured. Somebody should put some oil on that.’

Once inside, access to all three floors was gained solely via a concrete stairwell that led to long, narrow, and poorly lit corridors.

‘Do we have anything on her?’ Hunter asked, his chin jerking upwards as they took the steps going up to the second floor.

‘Very little,’ Garcia replied, flipping over to the last page inside the blue file. ‘Tanya Kaitlin, twenty-three years old, born and raised right here in Los Angeles – Lakewood. The younger of two children. Father, deceased. Mother, suffers from Alzheimer’s and lives with her son in San Diego. Just like our victim – no criminal record. Ms. Kaitlin works as a cosmetologist at DuBunne Spa Club in Torrance. She attended the Academy of Beauty LA at the same time as Karen Ward. They graduated together and, as you know, shared a house in South Bay during their internship.’

‘Did they both do their internship at the same place?’

‘Nope. As I’ve told you, Karen Ward did hers at Trilogy Day Spa, while the academy arranged for Ms. Kaitlin to go to a place called Six Degrees, also in Manhattan Beach. Both of their internships lasted twelve months, but Tanya Kaitlin’s employment history after that is a lot more compact.’ Garcia lifted his left index finger. ‘Only one job, and that was – still is – with DuBunne Spa Club.’

‘How long has she been living here?’

‘Just over three years,’ Garcia confirmed. ‘This is where she moved to after leaving the house she shared with our victim.’

There were ten apartments per floor. Tanya Kaitlin’s flat was the first door on the right as they exited the well-worn staircase. A brown doormat just outside number 202 met all visitors with the words – THE NEIGHBORS HAVE BETTER STUFF.

Hunter and Garcia positioned themselves to the right and left of the door respectively. It was just one of those LAPD force-of-habits that they now did without even realizing they were doing it. There was no doorbell, so Garcia gave the door a couple of firm knocks. Ten still seconds elapsed before they heard slow and heavy footsteps approaching from inside, but as the footsteps neared the door, they stopped and everything went back to complete silence.

Outside, Hunter and Garcia exchanged a couple of curious looks.

Garcia shrugged and was about to knock again when the door finally unlocked with two loud rotations of the key. It was then pulled back slowly, up to the allowance of the security chain.

Both detectives were forced to reposition themselves to be able to partially see the woman who had appeared through the sliver of open door. She kept the immediate lights switched off, cloaking most of her figure under shadows. All Hunter and Garcia could tell was that she looked to be about five-foot five.

‘Ms. Kaitlin?’ Hunter asked, tilting his head to one side, looking for a better angle. He didn’t find one.

Instead of uttering a vocal reply, Tanya Kaitlin sucked in a difficult breath through a clogged nose, following it with a subdued nod.

‘I’m Detective Hunter with the LAPD Robbery Homicide Division.’ Up came the credentials. ‘This is my partner, Detective Garcia.’

Her tired gaze moved from their faces to their identifications, and then back to them. She nodded once, releasing the security chain.

‘Please, come in,’ she said as she fully opened the door and took a step to her right. Light from the corridor outside fell over her, finally banishing her shadow coat.

Hunter’s eyes lingered on Tanya Kaitlin for only a couple of seconds. She looked like a human definition of distress. Deep dark circles framed a pair of puffed eyes that normally would’ve been pale blue but, due to total lack of sleep and countless hours of crying, looked a light shade of cherry-red. Her blonde hair had been tied back into a disheveled ponytail, from which wild strands fell by the sides of her face. Her sore-looking nose mimicked the redness in her eyes, and the skin on her forehead and cheeks looked just as dry as her lips. She wore a black and white bathrobe and no shoes. Her entire being smelled heavily of cigarettes.

‘Please come in,’ she repeated, guiding them into a living room that had been decorated on a budget, but with a lot of taste.

The flowery curtains that covered the balcony doors were drawn shut to almost completion, allowing only a weak breath of light through, just enough to keep the room from dying in darkness. Tanya indicated the sitting area by the east wall, where a blue sofa was accompanied by a couple of matching armchairs. A nearly empty pack of cigarettes sat on the glass coffee table that centered the seating suite. Next to it, an improvised pickle jar ashtray. The cigarette butts inside it had been smoked all the way to their filter. A couple of large scented candles burned at opposite ends of the room, their delicate aroma of vanilla and berries completely overpowered by the smell of cigarette smoke.

Hunter and Garcia followed Tanya inside, but waited for her to have a seat first. She took one of the armchairs, the one closest to the balcony. They took the sofa, which placed them directly in front of her.

As she sat down, Tanya pulled her bathrobe tighter around her, as if all of a sudden she had been disturbed by a cold gust of wind. Within seconds she seemed to have grown uncomfortable of her initial position, which saw her at the very edge of her seat. She shifted left then right before scooting back a few inches, all the while keeping her eyes low, aiming at her knees. She finally settled for sitting halfway up the cushion, with her back tense and away from the backrest, her shoulders hunched forward, her fingers interlaced together, and her hands thrown down between her knees.

‘Ms. Kaitlin,’ Hunter began, ‘we know how difficult this must be for you, and we’d like to thank you for seeing us and for your time. We’ll be as brief as we can.’

Tanya didn’t say anything. She didn’t look up either.

‘We understand that you and Karen Ward were best friends.’

A subtle head nod.

Another deep breath.

And then Tanya exploded into tears.

Hunter and Garcia had been through this same situation more times than they were able to remember. It never got easier. The best they could do was give her a moment.

Hunter got to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen. A couple of seconds later he resurfaced with a glass of sugary water.

‘Here,’ he said, coming up to Tanya. ‘Have some of this. It will make you feel a little better.’

Her hands had moved to her face; in a matter of seconds, crying had escalated into sobbing.

Both detectives waited.

‘I don’t understand . . . I just don’t . . .’ she said in between deep sobs.

‘Here, Ms. Kaitlin,’ Hunter tried again. ‘Just a couple of sips. It really will make you feel better.’

After a new series of deep breaths, Tanya finally let go of her face. Her gaze found Hunter and she reached for the water.

‘Thank you.’

Hunter gave her a sympathetic smile.

She had the tiniest of sips and motioned to place the glass down on the coffee table. Garcia moved forward on his seat.

‘Just a little bit more, Ms. Kaitlin,’ he urged her. ‘It will help, I promise you.’

She hesitated for a long moment before giving in and bringing the glass back to her lips. This time she had three human-sized sips.

‘Please, call me Tanya,’ she said as she placed the glass down. ‘And, yes – Karen and I were best friends.’

Before returning to his seat, Hunter handed Tanya a paper tissue.

She thanked him again and dabbed one of its ends against the corner of her eyes. Her gaze moved to the pack of cigarettes on the table and, maybe due to her grief, she felt the need to explain.

‘It’s been over two years since I lit up one of those.’ She chuckled apprehensively. ‘That was my emergency pack.’ The corners of her lips arched up a little, but not enough to produce a smile. ‘Do you smoke?’ she asked.