Free The Pawnbroker by Aimée Thurlo Page A

young woman with an infant entering a second-story apartment across the lawn. “But if he was going to kill him, why not here instead of when he met up with Gina?”
    â€œMaybe he wanted to know what Baza was up to first? Without more information, it’s hard to say.”
    â€œAnd easy to speculate. I’ll keep my eyes open. Gonna call Nancy now,” Charlie said, ending the conversation.
    Nancy arrived a bit later, in uniform, and together they went to the apartment complex office. Charlie remained by the door as Nancy showed the Baza photo to Mrs. Todd, who confirmed with a nod that he was the man was renting apartment 108. Charlie didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, but from the one glance Madeline shot his way, it was clear she wouldn’t be talking to him again anytime this century.
    â€œWhat in the hell did you tell her?” Nancy asked as soon as they stepped back outside. “You see that look? She’s going to hate you for life.”
    â€œI told her the truth, that Gina was my attorney, and we were looking for the man in the photo, who was faking his identity.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œI said he was a lowlife hiding out from his obligations. Still true.”
    â€œGet to the smoke and mirrors or I won’t let you through the door,” Nancy said, holding up the passkey Mrs. Todd had given her. They were halfway down the sidewalk, approaching apartment 100.
    â€œI said he was not making his child-support payments and that his daughter needed the money for her medical care. Okay, I played on her sympathy after seeing she was probably a grandmother from the photos on her desk. All I wanted to do was find out if he was staying here. Come on, you’ve never massaged the truth with a witness or suspect to get the answer you need?”
    â€œDid you say you were a cop?”
    â€œNo. But I gave her my real name and showed Gina’s business card. True and true. Now, what’s the procedure checking out the dead guy’s apartment?”
    â€œOne step at a time. I just hope to hell that Baza was living here. Everyone has a doppelganger somewhere, a look-alike,” Nancy said, stopping in front of apartment 108.
    â€œLike you and Scarlett Johansson?”
    â€œThink that’s going to get you anywhere?” Nancy said, putting on a pair of latex gloves she pulled from her back pocket.
    She sighed loudly, then handed him a pair. “Put these on. This doesn’t mean I actually want you to touch anything. Permission first, got it? I’m going to have to call Detective DuPree in a few minutes, so our time here has got to be productive. And make sure when he shows up you’re standing in the door and those gloves are out of sight. What he doesn’t know can’t cost me my rank—or worse.”
    â€œGotcha, Scarlett,” Charlie said, grinning.
    â€œWe don’t know if anyone is inside, so stand back,” she said. “Police, open up,” Nancy called out, key in the lock as she drew out her weapon. She waited ten seconds, then turned the key and opened the door, standing by the jamb.
    A warm, gentle breeze greeted them, but the only sound was from the heating system. There were no lights on. Nancy held up her hand, signaling him to wait, then advanced into the living room. The place was furnished with a generic fabric-covered sofa, two chairs, and a simple end table and lamp. A short hall was to the left, and across the room a breakfast bar extended out from the kitchen area. It held a small LCD television and a foam Starbucks coffee cup.
    Her eyes shifting from hallway to dining area, Nancy kept her pistol up and ready as she crossed the room just far enough to see behind the bar.
    Shaking her head, she moved down the hall. Ten seconds later, she spoke. “Clear! Come inside and lock the door behind you. Don’t touch the inside knob, you might smear any prints.
    â€œYou can look around,” Nancy