Rudy checked the street again. It was still quiet.
He dug in the backpack for a spring-loaded window punch, which was compact and designed to fit on a keychain. Bending down, he primed it on the concrete floor of the balcony. Then he pressed the device against the window glass near the metal handle of the door. The hammer fired, punching an eight-inch hole with a quick, sharp crack. Kernels of glass sprayed inside.
He listened.
No one came running. No one shouted. Rudy reached his hand through the hole, undid the lock, and slid the glass door open. He pushed through the vertical blinds into the dark apartment, with one hand on the gun in his pocket. The blinds shuddered, flapping like baseball cards in bicycle spokes.
He was alone.
Quickly, he checked the bedroom. The bed was made, and it was empty. He returned to the living room. It was hard to see in the darkness, but he left the lights off. There was no time to waste; he had to make sure everything was ready. He held his hands in front of his face to make sure his gloves hadn’t torn and that the broken glass hadn’t cut his skin. He donned a plastic shower cap over his hair. Then he retrieved a chair from the kitchen and brought it to the front door.
He positioned the chair so that the door would block him from view of anyone coming inside. He would be invisible until it was too late.
The kitchen wasn’t well stocked, but he found a knife that would suffice in one of the drawers. It had a six-inch blade and a heavy, comfortable feel in his hand, and it was sharp. He had another knife waiting in his backpack, but that was only a spare, in case he didn’t find what he needed in the apartment. This knife, the one in his hand, would do fine.
He sat down in the chair behind the door.
He removed the Taser from the backpack. He put the knife on his thigh, where he could grab it as soon as the Taser did its work.
The setup wasn’t perfect. Nothing ever was. Where the glass door at the back of the apartment was broken, an occasional burst of city wind whistled like a witch and made the blinds go tap, tap, tap. If she stopped to listen before she came in, she might hear it. The risk couldn’t be helped.
In his mind, he rehearsed how it would go. He played out the motions one at a time, again and again. He was ready.
He breathed in and out in the darkness, and he waited for her.
26
“This is my place,” Magnolia told Frost. “I’m on the second floor.”
He stood in the street, studying the three-story Victorian apartment home on Sutter. The lower level was occupied by storefronts that had been built out to the sidewalk. The shops were locked and dark. A staircase led up from the street to the building entrance.
“Is there anywhere else you can stay tonight?” Frost asked.
“No. I don’t just live here, this is my office. I work here, too. Look, I’m cold and tired, and I just want to go to bed.”
“I need to make sure you’re safe,” Frost said.
“I sleep with my Mace on the nightstand.”
“Cutter’s a lot more dangerous than that. Trust me.”
“I know, you keep saying that. He’s a killer. Are you sure? I thought a dirty cop framed him or something.”
“A police detective did something wrong, but that doesn’t change who Cutter is.”
Magnolia shrugged, as if she didn’t want to face the close call she’d had. “Well, he didn’t seem like a bad guy.”
“He is. A very bad guy.”
“Whatever. If you say so. Look, if you want to come inside and make sure the bogeyman’s not in there, knock yourself out.”
“I want to check the street first,” Frost said. “Wait right here, and don’t go into the apartment until I get back.”
He walked down Sutter past the lineup of parked cars and examined the porches and doorways of the other buildings. The hiding places were empty. Most of the apartments on the street were dark, with their blinds shut. He continued to the end of the block, seeing no one else around, and then retraced his steps. Magnolia leaned against the shop window at her building with her legs squeezed together, her arms crossed, and the fedora pushed high up on her forehead. Her eyes kept blinking closed, and she shivered.
“You done?” she asked.
“Let me take a quick look in back.”
“I’m telling you, Rudy’s not here. He probably hooked up with somebody else.”
“This won’t take long,” Frost said.
He walked to the corner and turned right, leaving Magnolia behind him. The cross street was deserted. He followed the sidewalk beyond the streetlight, where the building butted up to a narrow alley, barely wide enough for cars. It was a dead end that didn’t go all the way through to the next street. He walked into the alley past the rear walls of the apartments. His shoes splashed in standing water. It was pitch-black here, and he grabbed a penlight from his pocket. It cast a weak glow, enough to surprise a rat foraging at a dumpster. The smell of trash wafted in the damp air. A handful of cars were parked below the balconies and fire escapes, and he peered inside each one.
Nothing.
Maybe he and Jess were wrong.
Frost retreated to the street. He walked quickly back to Sutter and turned the corner. Twenty feet away, the sidewalk outside the Victorian apartment home was empty now.
Magnolia was gone. She’d headed inside alone.
He took the steps of the apartment building two at a time. The heavy front door was ahead of him under an arched portico. He grabbed the doorknob, and the door spilled inward. It wasn’t latched. He bolted into a hallway lined with musty carpet and fading yellow paint on the walls. Stairs wound upward to the next level of the building.
There was only one apartment on this floor. One door.
It was open.
Frost reached for the holster inside his jacket and slid his pistol into his hand. Through the crack in the door, he saw lights. He took a step closer, his movements muffled by the carpet. When he reached the door, he nudged it wide with the toe of his shoe. The only thing he saw was the fedora lying in the middle of the floor.
“Magnolia?” he called.
There was silence for a long moment.
Then the woman’s face popped around the kitchen doorway. “Hey.”
Frost started breathing again, and he holstered his weapon. “I told you to wait outside until I got back.”
“I was cold.”
He didn’t argue with her. “I want to check the place out, okay?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
The apartment wasn’t large. It didn’t take him long to confirm it was empty. He checked the balcony and the alley below, and then he locked the sliding door. When he was done, he returned to the kitchen. Magnolia, still wearing her black dress, sat at a small table. She’d kicked off her heels; her feet were bare. She’d poured a glass of white wine from a half-empty bottle.
“You want a drink?” she asked.
“No, thanks.”
She took a large sip of wine. “Rudy was cute, you know.”
“He murdered seven women, Magnolia.”
“Yeah, I know what they say online, but I still can’t believe it. He didn’t seem like the type.”
“There is no type,” Frost said. “You can’t tell by looking at someone.”
“You really think he’ll come back here?”
“I don’t know, but it pays to be safe. I wish you’d go somewhere else tonight.”
“Sorry, I can’t. I’ll nap for a couple hours, but then I have to get to work. You sure you don’t want a drink?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Magnolia finished the glass and stood up, wobbling. “Anything else?”
“Be sure to lock the door behind me when I go. And never leave the front door of the building unlatched.” Frost slid a card from his wallet and put it on the table. “If Rudy contacts you, call me immediately. Don’t meet him anywhere. If he shows up at your door, don’t open it. Call nine one one. I’m not kidding.”