Free Panic by Nick Stephenson Page A

out the door, and they rode the elevator back down to the lobby together.
    “That was good work,” said Leopold, as they walked out onto the street. “You really connected with those girls. Got us just the lead we needed.”
    “You really think the boyfriend has anything to do with this?” asked Mary, as the elevator opened up to the entrance hall with a subdued chime.
    “It’s a good place to start. Besides, if he’s not the one pulling the strings, he should at least be able to tell us where Christina went after she met up with him.”
    “I don’t like the sound of this guy,” said Mary, her expression hardening. “I don’t know if I’m going be able to hold myself back if it turns out he’s beating her.”
    “I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Leopold. “I’d be more concerned about what Jerome might do.”
     

Chapter 17
    It had been easy enough to gain access to Hank’s building. As Leopold had predicted, they were immediately buzzed in once Jerome had informed a neighbor they were there to check the gas lines, following the report of a leak. The tenant they spoke to simply told them to let themselves out when they had finished.
    The bodyguard led the way as they climbed the stairs to Hank’s seventh-floor apartment. The only other movement in the building was on the third floor, where a team of decorators was making renovations. The stairwell smelled of new paint, and judging by the mess the decorators had left, it looked like each apartment was being given a full revamp. They reached Hank’s door and Jerome knocked heavily. There was no answer, so he tried the handle.
    “Deadbolts.” 
    “Do the honors, Jerome,” said Leopold, gesturing for Mary to stand behind him.
    The huge bodyguard took a couple of big steps backward, lowered his shoulder, and charged. The door frame splintered as the force of his body ripped out the hinges and bolts, scattering pieces of wood all over the floor. Jerome stepped inside, kicking the debris to one side.
    Hank’s apartment was small and modestly furnished. The doorway opened into the living area, which also included a small kitchenette. To the right was a short hallway that led through to a cramped bedroom and a bathroom. The apartment had been recently decorated with a new coat of magnolia paint, except for the hallway, which was still exposed drywall. Overall, the apartment was meticulously arranged and scrubbed clean, with nothing out of place. Nothing except for the dead body that was slumped up against the wall.
    “No one’s here; place is deserted,” said Jerome, his hand still resting on his firearm as he returned from checking the other rooms.
    Leopold knelt by the body. The dead man was wearing casual clothes, had short brown hair and was decorated with numerous ear piercings and tattoos. Leopold noticed tiny red marks on the inside of his elbow, probably from drug use. The dead man’s left wrist had been slashed, leaving a gash that ran half the length of his forearm. Thick, dark blood had pooled around his arms and legs, staining the carpet where he sat. He held a serrated knife in his right hand, the blade flecked with dried blood.
    Mary knelt down next to Leopold and fished the man’s wallet from inside his back pocket, tilting the body slightly to allow her access.
    “This is Hank,” said the sergeant, examining the driver’s licence and getting back up on her feet.
    Leopold leaned in closer and examined the wound. Hank’s injuries appeared to have been caused by the serrated blade he was holding, judging by the tears in the flesh surrounding the deep gash on his arm. There were no other signs of injury on the body, although a full autopsy would be required to know for sure.
    “Whoever did this took their time,” said the consultant, squinting closer at the deep cut. “The wound is very convincing.”
    “What do you mean?” asked Mary, getting to her feet.
    “Hank committing suicide is too great a coincidence, considering