Mrs. Kobrecki got them from her desk. “Oh, and I suppose you should take her mail, too. The postman gave me that on Friday as I was leaving for my weekend trip. Martha’s mailbox was full. He couldn’t stuff any more in there, so I cleaned it out.”

“You didn’t think it unusual that she didn’t go to her mailbox?” Noah asked.

“She’d go weeks without checking her mail, like she was in her own little world.”

“Did she pay her rent on time?” Noah asked.

“She’d never missed a payment until a year ago. She said she’d gotten wrapped up in a project and lost track of time. After that she did automatic payment from the bank.”

Jack began sorting the mail, Noah the pictures. Wow. The kitchen sink was filled with dishes, the garbage can overflowing with paper plates. Her desk was covered with trash, coffee cups, and stacks of paper. In the living room were stacks of newspapers, so many the wall was totally obscured. Someone had done a very thorough cleanup.

Jack cleared his throat. “Mrs. Kobrecki, we’d like to have a last look around the apartment before we close this case. Can you unlock it for us?”

“Of course. I’ll get my keys. They’re in the back.”

CSU had sealed the scene. Jack didn’t need Kobrecki’s keys. “What did you find?”

“Something that looks like a paycheck,” Jack murmured, “plus a bank statement. Why don’t you chat with Mrs. Kobrecki and I’ll go to the car and check this out.”

The two stood when Mrs. Kobrecki came back into the room. “Let’s go,” she said.

“I have to start wrapping up,” Jack said. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Kobrecki.”

Noah followed Mrs. Kobrecki upstairs. “I apologize. My partner and I forgot that CSU sealed the scene with our lock. We’ll put your lock back when the case is closed.”

“I didn’t realize a suicide was a case,” Mrs. Kobrecki said, suddenly suspicious.

“It’s procedure, ma’am. Who lives in the apartment next to Miss Brisbane?”

“Nobody. The Smiths lived there, but they got transferred about three months ago.”

The hair rose on the back of Noah’s neck. “You mean this apartment was empty?”

“Yes. I won’t rent either of them for months after this.”

“Could you open it for me? The empty unit?”

Mrs. Kobrecki stiffened. “I don’t have the key to that unit on this key ring.”

Oh, really. “I thought you had a master.”

“I do, but it only works on the doorknob and the last tenants installed a deadbolt. Could you hurry, please? I’d like to get this over with.”

“Of course.” Noah opened the door, waited for her reaction. She didn’t disappoint.

Her gasp echoed off the walls. “Oh my God. Was she robbed?”

“We took her computer into our lab. But the rest of the place looks different?”

“Like day and night. I heard that people will call family and friends and give things away before they kill themselves. Do they clean, too?”

“Apparently Miss Brisbane did. Was her apartment always messy?”

“Not like at the end. She was always a little cluttered and always had dishes in the sink but the disgusting messes started… about a year ago.”

Noah wondered what had happened a year ago that had so changed her life. “Ma’am, who does maintenance and repair for you?”

“My grandson,” she said, still stunned and off-guard, as he had hoped she would be.

“I’d like to have his statement for the report, if that’s all right.”

Her eyes grew sharply suspicious once again. “Why? You have the pictures, why do you need to talk to Taylor?”

Smart old bird. “Just following procedure.” Her defenses were up. That was telling.

“Taylor is out of town. He won’t be home for weeks.”

“Can I get a phone number?”

Her lips pursed. “It’s stored in my cell phone, which as I mentioned, is dead. I don’t remember it by heart. I’ll have to call you with it.”

Ooh, very smart old bird. “Please do that, Mrs. Kobrecki. Thank you for your time.”

“Can I have my pictures back?”

“I’ll need them for my report. I’ll make copies and ensure you get these back.”

Her cheeks darkened. “Thank you. If there’s nothing else?”

“No ma’am. You’ve been very helpful.”

She looked as if she wanted to curse. Instead she left silently fuming. Noah locked the door and attached the crime scene tape. They needed to find Taylor Kobrecki.

Monday, February 22, 2:45 p.m.

Eve stood on Martha Brisbane’s apartment building manager’s welcome mat, her fist an inch from the woman’s door. She’d stopped herself from knocking twice already.

Eve’s attempt to talk with Christy Lewis had fallen flat. Christy hadn’t come into the office and hadn’t called in sick. That meant Christy had either overslept after spending all night online, or was still online. Frustrated and needing to do something, Eve had driven to Martha’s, hoping to learn where the woman’s funeral would be held.

But what if the building manager asks how I know Martha? You’ll say you know her from work. That’s not a lie. Drawing a breath, Eve lifted her hand to knock just as a little old lady came stomping down the stairs to the manager’s basement apartment.

“I don’t want any,” she said. She slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

“I think I’ll wait for the obituary,” Eve murmured. She started up the stairs, then heard footsteps coming down. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted, and she’d learned long ago to trust her senses. Slowing, she waited until whoever was coming was gone.

It was a man, all in black. All the way up to the fedora on his head.

Oh. It was more quiet exhalation than a word, but he’d heard. He paused at the door, then turned, and her stomach rolled, just as it did every time she saw him.

Mr. Tonic Water himself. He came to the head of the stairs, eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Eve?” He sounded as surprised as she was.

“Detective.” It was the only word that would move from her brain to her lips. Why was he here? Why did her heart have to hammer like a piston every time she saw him?

“Why are you here?” he asked, which was a damn good question.

She walked past him to the door. “I was wondering when Martha’s funeral would be.”

“That I don’t know,” he said. “How did you know Miss Brisbane?”

She stared up at him unflinchingly, her mouth dry as dust. “From work.”

His dark brows lifted slightly. “From Sal’s? I never saw her there.”

You only come in once a week. “Not from Sal’s. I’ll check the paper for her obituary.”

“Eve, wait. I need to know more. You knew her from work, but not from Sal’s?”

“I just wanted to pay my respects. Excuse me.” She could feel his eyes on her as she escaped, staring from beneath the brim of his fedora.

Fedora. Why was the Hat Squad here? Abruptly she turned. “I read Martha committed suicide.”

“That’s what the paper said, yes,” he said, his stare too penetrating for her comfort.

“But you’re homicide.”

“We investigate suicides.”

“But that’s not why you’re here. If Martha killed herself you would have closed it last night.” When he’d come by to fetch Jack, he was so angry she’d felt it across the bar. She came closer, until she could see under the brim of his hat. “Did Martha kill herself?”

His jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. “Why?”

Because if she didn’t, I’m not guilty or responsible. Someone else was. Oh my God. Martha was murdered. By whom? And why? She was in Shadowland eighteen fucking hours a day. How could any real person have known her to murder her?

She drew a breath of frigid air. “It matters to me, okay? Martha mattered.”

His eyes shifted and suddenly they were no longer unreadable. She saw a flash of pain, of grief, of anger. And suddenly she knew Martha mattered to him as well.