"Maybe we should take the stairs," she said suddenly. That wiring was giving her a creepy feeling. It might mean nothing, but it was better to be too cautious than to be blown up.
"I agree," Owen said.
May felt a sense of relief as she walked out of the dilapidated elevator and headed over to the cracked staircase.
Climbing the stairs, she felt a sense of trepidation. When they came face to face with this criminal, she knew she would be facing a dangerous and highly intelligent individual who had shown an ability to preplan his crimes. She knew she had to be ready for anything.
It might also be that the mother would be difficult. She might know what he was up to. She could be in denial, or even enabling the killer. They would need to deal with her, to reach him, and that would be another challenge.
May and Owen arrived at the second floor. They walked down a dingy corridor, the floor dirty and the air stale.
She knocked on the door of the apartment that was listed as William's address, number 2C. There was no answer. But someone was home. From inside, she could hear the thud-thud of music. It was so loud it vibrated the door.
May knocked again, louder, and this time, the music was turned down.
"Who is it?" a woman's voice called.
"It's the police," May said. "We need to ask William Sime some questions."
There was a pause. A moment later, the door was opened. May found herself staring into the reddened eyes of a woman who she guessed must be in her early forties, but looked older.
Her brown hair was unkempt, with a halo of split ends. Dark circles underscored her eyes, and her skin was dull.
May guessed that Arlette Sime was still an addict, and had been for a long time.
"What do you want with him?" she asked, sounding belligerent.
"Can we come in?" May asked.
"I guess," Arlette said reluctantly. She led the way into the house.
As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, May could see that the living room was cluttered with filth. There were beer cans, empty cigarette cartons and dirty dishes strewn everywhere. The sofa was broken and the stuffing was spilling out, while the carpet was filthy. But there were some new-looking items. The TV. The big speakers on the walls.
Money was clearly available, just not being used for cleaning purposes.
"Is William here?" she asked.
Arlette pointed to the closed bedroom door.
"What you want with him?" she asked.
"Just to ask some questions," May said, not wanting to create any conflict, because in this place, she could see there was the potential for it to boil over, and with William so close by, they just needed to get face to face with him as soon as possible.
May walked over to the door and tapped on it.
There was no answer from inside, but she could hear a male voice, loud, confident, and smug.
"I'm going to kill you next, and you, and you. You're going to be bombed, sweetheart. And as for you, I'll blow the legs off your body. You know I can. You know I have."
The tones resonated with an evil confidence.
May felt a chill. She put a hand on the grip of her gun, just in case, not knowing what she would find when that door opened.
Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle, ready to come face to face with the man that she now strongly suspected to be the killer they sought.