CHAPTER TWENTY
Ella performed a little pistol maintenance before stepping out of the car. She unloaded the bullets, cleaned the chamber, and reloaded. Calvin Hammerstone’s residence, this seedy little house that was in desperate need of some TLC, was hidden behind a row of industrial buildings. They’d had to pass through a building site to get to it.
“This is pretty out-of-the-way,” Paige said.
“Sure is. You ready?”
Paige was up and out of the car. Since her little altercations with the two previous suspects, it seemed she’d developed a taste for confrontation. Ella kept her advice on the subject to a minimum. That would come later.
Ella banged on the door with force, subtly hoping that it might give way and present them convenient access. It didn’t, but a few more taps might.
They waited. Paige took the initiative to peep through the windows.
“Clear,” she said. “No car on the driveway either.”
After a minute and one more knock, it became clear Calvin wasn’t home.
“Try his work address?” Paige added.
Ella scoured Calvin’s details on her phone, found his work number and called it. Apparently Calvin worked at a local factory that made coffins as part of an offender rehabilitation scheme. A woman answered the phone.
“Eastern Caskets, can I help?”
“Hi, I’m looking to speak with one of your employees. Calvin Hammerstone. Is he there?”
“One moment. I’ll check.”
The caller moved the phone away from their mouth but Ella could still hear her chattering.
“Miss, Calvin is a shop floor worker and you’re through to the office. But his cell leader tells me that Calvin isn’t due in until tomorrow. He works four days on, four days off.”
Ella did the math. That meant that, assuming Calvin finished work before the early hours of the morning, he’d have been off work during this entire killing spree.
“Thank you. Do you have any idea where he might be?” Ella asked.
“Sorry, I… uh… keep away from him.”
Say no more, Ella thought. Judging by his mugshot on the police file, Calvin Hammerstone had that piercing psychopathic stare. Women could usually sense a creep a mile off. She hung up the phone, took a few steps back and weighed up her options.
Then she noticed a distinct lack of partner.
“Paige?” she called. Nothing. “Ellis. Where have you gone?”
Ella edged around the side of the house, taking care to ensure there were no prying eyes from the neighborhood windows. She couldn’t see a soul.
There were no gates, no fences. It was open season for any would-be intruders. Around the back, she found Calvin’s overgrown garden, complete with a collapsed shed and a burnt-out Mondeo.
“Ellis?” she shouted. “Don’t play games.”
The house’s exterior had two square windows at the top, two rectangular ones at the bottom. Two of them were cracked, and one of the lower windows was missing half of its pane. Ella could see right into Calvin’s equally shabby kitchen, save for the pile of unwashed dishes.
Then something roused from within. Ella gripped her pistol and prepared for the worst.
“Ella,” the figure said, her head bursting out of the broken pane like a Jack in the Box. She was only missing the jester’s hat. “Get in here.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Ellis, you lunatic. You can’t just break into people’s houses.”
“Open windows and broken doors are invitations,” Paige said.