She edged closer. Slowly, Spencer began to move up the stairs, checking for anything suspicious each step of the way. When he reached the second floor, he paused and scanned the empty hall.
“Hannant lives in apartment eight.” He pointed along the corridor.
“If he’s home, wouldn’t he have answered when you tried his apartment buzzer just now?” Katrina asked.
“You’d think so. But there could be any number of reasons why not.” He approached the door cautiously, listening for any sounds inside. When he heard nothing, he raised his fist and rapped hard on the panels.
“There’s a bell.” Katrina pointed out.
“I want to shake him up.” As he spoke, the faintest sound from the other side of the door caught his attention. “Did you hear that?”
She nodded. “It sounded like a groan.”
“Aidan?” There was no mistaking the sound this time. Someone inside the apartment whimpered as if in pain. “It’s Sergeant Spencer Colton of the MVPD. Can you open the door?”
There was a shuffling sound followed by a scrabbling. Gradually, the door began to open. When he could finally see the person on the other side, Spencer was shocked. Aidan Hannant was unrecognizable as the person he had seen only the day before. He clutched his ribs and doubled over, his face a mass of cuts and bruises.
“Oh, my goodness! What happened to you?” Katrina started to move forward, but Spencer restrained her.
Yes, Hannant was a mess and he needed help, but they didn’t know who, or what, they would find inside that apartment.
“I’m going to call 911—”
“No.” Hannant’s voice was muffled by his swollen lips, but the word came out with enough force to be understood. “No medics. No law enforcement.”
“You don’t get a say in this, Aidan. I’m a police officer. If a crime has been committed, I have a duty to report it.”
“Talk to you.” Hannant shuffled to one side, indicating that they should enter.
“Wait here,” Spencer said to Katrina as he drew his weapon. “And you, too,” he added to Hannant. Although he seriously doubted the guy would be capable of moving without assistance.
The apartment was small, and once he was inside, Spencer was able to quickly check out each of the rooms. There was no one there and nothing that caused him any concern. The only thing that appeared out of the ordinary was an overturned coffee table and a mug smashed on the floor, its contents splattered across the rug.
Having satisfied himself that the place was safe, he holstered his gun and returned to where Katrina and Hannant were waiting.
“Lean on me.” He placed a hand under the other man’s elbow.
Katrina closed the door behind them and followed them into the sitting room. Spencer lowered Hannant onto the sofa and studied his face. “You need to get to a hospital.”
Hannant shook his head, then moaned as if the movement caused him pain. “No.”
“Do you have any painkillers?” Katrina asked.
“Bathroom cabinet.”
She left the room, returning a few minutes later with a bottle, a glass of water and a damp facecloth. Shaking out a couple of pills, she handed them to Hannant, then held the glass to his lips as he washed them down.
“Hold this on your face.” She handed him the facecloth. “It may soothe some of the pain.”
He did as she instructed, nodding gratefully.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk at Mustang Valley General?” Spencer asked.
“Talk here,” Hannant said. “Then leave town.”
Spencer didn’t like the sound of that plan, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa to Hannant and Katrina moved to a chair.
“Sorry.” Hannant spoke to Katrina. “The car and the warning. They paid me.”