The Trapped Girl (Tracy Crosswhite #4)(91)

“Nobody recalls seeing her,” Faz said. “Only positive identification was by Dr. Wu, which didn’t exactly come as a surprise.”

“Did your uncle talk to Chambers’s sister?”

“He got to her this afternoon. He said it went okay as far as those things go. Said the sister took it stoically and thanked him.”

“Any parents?” Tracy asked.

“Deceased.”

“Any other siblings?”

“Apparently not. What did the hubby have to say?” Faz asked.

“He don’t know nothing from nothing,” she said, using a Faz colloquialism.

“You get the search warrant?”

“No. They got a homicide over at one of the colleges, so Kins’s guy is out until tomorrow morning.”

Someone knocked on her door. The clock on the nightstand read five thirty. She and Kins had agreed to meet at six. “Somebody’s at the door. I’ll call you later,” she said to Faz and hung up.

Kins stood in the hallway looking frustrated. “We’re not going to get our warrant,” he said.





CHAPTER 28


The jurisdiction cluster had become a whole lot more entangled. Portland Police were exercising control over Strickland’s Pearl District loft, and rightfully so. It was now a crime scene, an apparent homicide.

A large contingent of police and emergency vehicles—fire department response units, blue-and-white patrol cars, unmarked police vehicles, a CSI van, and the Portland Medical Examiner’s van cluttered the street in front of the three-story brick building. As was always the case, this much excitement was just too much for the local population to ignore. With the storm having passed and the sun again beaming, a crowd had gathered behind sawhorses that closed street access. Uniformed officers directed traffic to detours. Kins slowed as he approached and lowered his window, showing the officer his badge.

“Seattle?” the officer asked.

“We have an interest in another case up north.”

“Wherever you can find a place to park.” The officer moved one of the sawhorses so Kins could drive through.

Kins parked behind an unmarked Ford in the middle of the narrow street. Around them stood three-and four-story brick buildings that looked to have been originally built for industrial purposes, then renovated, earthquake proofed, and no doubt inspected ad nauseam for compliance with building codes before being turned into mixed-use structures. The area reminded Tracy of Pioneer Square in Seattle. After an urban renewal in the 1960s, Pioneer Square had become home to art galleries, Internet companies, cafés, sports bars, and nightclubs.

The ground floor of the Pearl District buildings housed retail businesses—cafés, restaurants, and what looked like high-end clothing and home-decorating stores. The upper floors, judging from what Tracy could see in the windows facing the street, were residential. Metal additions protruded from the roofs, likely multimillion-dollar penthouse condominiums.

“Busy area,” she said, looking around the street. “A lot of people around.”

The responding officers had set up a second perimeter at a wrought-iron gate between two concrete pillars. The walkway led to a side entrance to the building.

“I’m looking for Detective Zhu,” Kins said, again flashing his shield and ID.

“Third floor,” the officer said.

“What unit?” Kins asked.

“Only one unit per floor. It’s a loft.”

At the end of the sloped concrete walk, they came to a glass-door entrance beneath a forest-green awning bearing the building’s address and a symbol, what looked like an ampersand. Inside the lobby, with its wood-plank floors and leather furniture, they walked across to an old-fashioned cage elevator and wide staircase.

“Let’s take the stairs,” Kins said. “Those things give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“What about your hip?”

“I’d rather be in pain than die if that thing falls.”

“God, you’re paranoid.”

“I like to think of it as pragmatic.”

As they approached the staircase, Tracy noted three steps leading down to an exterior door. She took them and pushed on the door, which sprang open and led into a parking lot at the back of the building. She exited the building and let the door close behind her. When she tried the handle she found the door locked and noticed, on the wall beside it, a keyless pad. She considered the light stanchions and corners of the surrounding buildings, but did not see any surveillance cameras. Retrofitted metal decks anchored by extension arms and large bolts protruded from the second and third stories and likely obstructed the tenants’ views of the parking lot, and anyone approaching the ground-level door.

Kins opened the door for her from the inside and they made their way up the staircase to the third-floor landing. They encountered the final perimeter, an officer with a clipboard and sign-in log just outside the loft door. Kins signed for both of them and again asked for Zhu.

“Hang on,” the officer said. He took a step inside the loft. “Detective Zhu? You got a couple of visitors.”

Tracy contemplated the door to the loft. Larger than a standard door, it looked solid, with metal rivets. She again noted a keyless lock pad. Neither the door nor the doorjamb evidenced any sign of a forced entry.