Chapter 4 #2
The mention of a possible injury did the trick. “Fine. I’ll meet you on the second floor. Use the stairs—the lifts won’t operate without a card.”
The door buzzed open. I thanked him and entered the building, hurrying through the narrow ground-floor foyer to the metal stairs on the left of the two lifts.
My footsteps echoed, the sound reverberating softly as I moved past the first floor and on to the second.
It struck me then how silent the building was—there was no noise coming from any of the apartments or even the housing construction happening on the other side of the street.
The soundproofing was obviously damn good, though I guess you’d expect nothing less, given the exorbitant price these apartments sold for.
I reached the second floor. The distinguished-looking gent was already there and held out his hand as I approached. “I’m Franklin Viceroy.”
“Hanna Kang,” I replied, gripping his hand. My shields were well and truly raised, but his nervousness nevertheless bled through the brief touch. “I really do appreciate your help.”
“If Mr. Ashworth is in trouble, it’s the least I could do.” He hesitated. “Just be aware that security is recording all your actions. This way.”
He turned and strode down the corridor. I followed, briefly scanning for surveillance cameras but seeing nothing obvious. But then, once again, in a place this expensive you’d expect discreet.
They’d obviously retained much of the warehouse history during its redevelopment, and the hall was a mix of bare brick, ancient timbers, and old steel girders.
There were only four apartments in this section—two on each side—and each door had an intercom sitting to its right, with black iron numbers above it and a card scanner below.
Tane’s apartment was situated on the north corner of the building. The manager pressed the intercom, then stepped back. When there was no immediate answer, he glanced at me. “Do you wish me to open it?”
“Please.”
He tugged a keycard from his pocket and swiped it across the scanner. The door lock clicked open softly, but as the manager reached to push it open, I touched his arm, stopping him. “Let me go in first, just in case.”
He didn’t ask, “Just in case of what?” He simply motioned me to proceed.
I pulled on a glove, then pushed the door all the way open, revealing a small entrance foyer.
The air was cold, and the foyer empty aside from the vintage rack of black metal coat hooks running the length of the wall to my left; an umbrella hung from one of those hooks and a natty woolen trench from another.
The double wooden doors down the other end were closed, but from somewhere beyond them came the soft ticking of a clock.
Other than that, the place might well have been a tomb.
Trepidation stirred, but I ignored it and moved down to the double doors, carefully sliding one open.
The room beyond was a formal living room and was empty of life and color.
I took a couple of steps into the room, then stopped again and looked around.
A generously sized study lay to my left, just behind the hallway’s wall, while directly ahead was another corridor that ran toward the front of the building.
That softly ticking clock remained the only sound in the building.
“Mr. Ashworth?” I called. “Are you here?”
No response. Either he was unconscious or he’d left.
I glanced at the manager and said, “Do you get notifications when someone enters or leaves the building?”
“Not generally. The only time I’m notified is when someone wants a door remotely opened. I do keep an eye on the screens whenever I’m in the office, though.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see Mr. Ashworth leave by any chance?”
“I’m sure. And I thought you said you had an appointment?”
“I do, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone has forgotten or deliberately avoided a meeting with the Society.” I returned my attention to the larger hall. “How many bedrooms does this place have?”
“Three—two sitting either side of the main hallway that leads off from that living area, with the master and the guest bathroom both on the right, accessible from another short corridor. The main living area is L-shaped.”
“Thanks. Can you wait there while I check the rest of the apartment?”
“I really should accompany—”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Viceroy, but this may well be a crime scene, and the less people who enter the apartment the better it is for evidence gathering.”
He nodded, though his expression remained unhappy.
Tough. I walked past the pristine study, with its empty bookshelves and spotless desk, into the next hallway.
The bedroom doors were both closed, so I opened the one on the left and warily stepped inside.
It was a relatively small and cold space holding little more than two single beds, a bedside table that sat between them, and several pieces of modern, overly bright artwork that at least added some color if not soul.
The built-in wardrobe that ran the length of the back wall was empty.
I moved into the bedroom opposite; it was larger, its color scheme warmer, but, aside from a queen bed rather than two singles, it was a repeat of the first bedroom.
The guest bathroom was all black and chrome, and very masculine in style.
The mirror was large and set flush against the wall, and both the bath and the shower were big enough to hold a party in.
Tane didn’t seem the type to do that, but Monica was, so why wouldn’t she have stayed here rather than hire a penthouse across the other side of town?
She couldn’t use the excuse that there weren’t enough beds because there obviously were, and it was easy enough to Uber everywhere from here.
Or was it more a case of her not wanting her father to know anything about her plans?
While I hadn’t seen any security cams so far, I wouldn’t put it past the man to have the place bugged.
I moved on into the main bedroom. It too was overly masculine in design, which suggested to me his wife either didn’t have much say in the style or didn’t come up here often.
Nothing seemed to have been disturbed, however, so I moved on.
The dining room portion of the L-shaped living area was untouched, the black glass dining table free of decoration and handprints, and the eight plushly padded leather chairs neatly tucked underneath the table.
The kitchen, which dominated the midpoint of the room, was impossibly neat, which didn’t entirely surprise me because Tane did not seem the type to cook his own meals.
Sunshine poured in through the windows that lined the front of the building, and dust danced through the bright beams. While that would normally suggest recent movement, in a place this old, with high wooden ceilings and a mix of metal and wooden beams, dust had to be something of a constant hazard.
I reached the part of the room that doglegged right and paused.
There was little more here than a giant flat-screen TV dominating the end wall, a large, U-shaped sofa, and a coffee table the size of a single bed.
Between that and the corner window lay Tane Ashworth. On his back, unmoving, his eyes closed.
I ran over and dropped to my knees beside him, lightly pressing two fingers against the pulse point on his neck.
It was there, a little too fast perhaps, but nevertheless strong.
Relief stirred and I quickly scanned the rest of him.
There was no immediate sign of injury—no blood, no broken bones, no knife or bullet wounds.
I tapped the earwig and said, “Control? I need an ambulance at Tane Ashworth’s address ASAP.”
“Is he injured or murdered?” the day controller, whose name was Betty, if I remembered right, asked.
“Unconscious but alive.”
“Requests sent. Keep us updated.”
“ETA?”
“I sent a priority request, and the system doesn’t seem too queued, so roughly five minutes.”
“Thanks.”
I tapped off, then said, raising my voice in order to be heard, “Mr. Viceroy? I’ve found Mr. Ashworth and called an ambulance—could you please go down and wait for them? They should be here in a few minutes.”
“Will do.” He hesitated. “Is Mr. Ashworth badly hurt?”
“He’s unconscious, but there’s no immediate signs of injury.”
“Good, good” came the response. “I shall head down now.”
“Thanks,” I repeated.
I returned my attention to Tane and found myself staring into silver eyes that gleamed with a mix of confusion and distaste.
He blinked and, in that same instant, his magic rose, a thick, dangerous force that stung the air and burned across my skin.
I had no idea what the spell was, and no desire to find out.
I quickly dragged out my ID and showed him. “You requested a meeting with me, remember?”
He blinked again, and the confusion and his spell dissipated. The distaste, however, did not. “How did you get in? What have you done to me?”
“The building manager let me in. I found you on the floor, Mr. Ashworth. Do you remember what happened? Did you fall? Or were you attacked?”
The frown lines deepened in his thin features. “I... I don’t know.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember, then?”
“I was sitting down enjoying my coffee while I waited for you. The intercom buzzed, I answered it, and that’s the last thing I remember.” His gaze met mine again, and the distaste got stronger. “It was you at the door.”
“No, Mr. Ashworth, it wasn’t. I’ve only just arrived, and Mr. Viceroy can verify that.” And given there was no sign of a cup, let alone a coffee spill, his memories were obviously less than reliable. Perhaps he’d hit the back of his head in the fall and was concussed.
“Well, it was definitely a woman, and it definitely sounded like you.”
I frowned. “Meaning you didn’t actually see her?”
“No.”
“But you let her into the apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Did you confirm her identity first?”