[MD1, 4:15PM]
>"I think I'd like to see the victim's apartment, and see if >we can trace her route that morning," Jordan said. > >"Sounds good. You want to drive?" > >"Why don't you," Jordan said tossing her the keys.
Zenya caught the keys and shrugged. "As you wish," she said, aware that she was being teased about her comment on the plane. "But I should probably warn you that the driving test nearly prevented me from graduating from the Academy."
Mary Ritchie�s apartment was in a small complex in a working class neighborhood. Judging from the bicycles, tricycles and assorted other playthings stored on balconies or in doorways, the residents were mostly families with young children. Recalling what Rebecca had said about Mary, Zenya suspected that this was precisely the reason she had chosen to live here. A picture formed in her mind of Mary chatting with the parents as they watched the children playing in the courtyard, looking forward to the day when she would have a family of her own.
"We should talk to her neighbors," Zenya said as they walked up the sidewalk toward the manager�s apartment. "They may have seen something. Maybe even the mysterious boyfriend Rebecca talked about."
Jordan nodded. "I�ve been thinking about that. If she normally told her friend about her relationships, why would this one be different?"
"Good question. Every reason I can think of for not wanting it to be public knowledge is all the more reason to confide in a best friend."
"Are you suggesting that Mary and Rebecca weren�t as close as Rebecca said they were?"
"Maybe, though I don�t think there was any intent to mislead. It could be that Mary�s death has altered her perception."
Jordan�s knock on the manager�s door was answered after a few moments by a gruff voice from inside shouting, "Yeah, yeah, hold on." Two minutes passed before the door opened and a middle-aged man with thinning hair appeared. "Wha�d�ya want," he grumbled.
"Agents Stern and Gorky, FBI," Jordan said. They displayed their ID. "Are you the manager of this complex."
"Yup. Ken Rowell," the man said impatiently. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the badges, then finally nodded. "I suppose you want to see Mary Ritchie�s apartment?"
"Yes, we..."
"Just a minute." Rowell slammed the door. From inside came the sound of drawers opening and closing. Eventually, the door opened again and the manager handed a key to Jordan. "Here. Don�t lose it and bring it back when you�re done. Cops been in and out of there ever since they found her," he grumbled. "Meanwhile, I�m not gettin� no rent on the place."
"Sorry about that," Zenya said. "Did you know Mary?"
Rowell glared at her for a moment. "I leave the tenants alone, and hope they�ll do the same. Paid her rent on time. That�s all I know. Got things to do," he said, and shut the door before anyone could say anything else.
"Charming fellow," Zenya said. "Unit 12D, isn�t it."
Jordan nodded. "Looks like we�ll have to find it on our own."
Mary Ritchie�s apartment was on the second floor of the building directly across the courtyard. It was small, consisting of three rooms, sparsely furnished but cluttered with personal momentos. Jordan went immediately to the computer, which was located a desk by the window looking out over the courtyard. While the computer was booting up, he began looking through the desk drawers. Meanwhile Zenya began examining the contents of a wicker shelving unit. On the top shelf, there were several framed photos, mostly of people Zenya recognized from the funeral. She noted, however, that there was not a picture of Rebecca among them. The shelf below that housed stacks of cheap romance novels, most of them well read and with pages loose and falling out.
"I can�t say much for her taste in reading material," Zenya commented.
Jordan glanced up and grinned. "Seems she knew her way around computer systems, though. It�s password protected."
"Can you bypass it?"
"Eventually. How long depends on how good the program is."
Finding nothing more of interest on the shelves, Zenya moved on the bedroom. The room was decorated in pastels, with lace curtains, lace bedspread. The overall effect of the decor was old-fashioned and almost childlike, except for a very expensive stereo system and home recording equipment on shelves that took up nearly a third of one wall. A guitar case was leaning against the shelves. On closer inspection, Zenya noticed that there was a tape still in the tape deck. She turned on the system, rewound the tape and hit play before continuing the search. Listening while she examined the ordinary contents of the closet, she heard the mournful strains of guitar music behind the hollow echo of a bad recording, and then a voice, apparently Mary�s, began to sing.
Zenya lost interest in the tape for a moment when she found a scrapbook on the top shelf of the closet under a stack of shoe boxes. Flipping through the pages, it soon became apparent that everything in it dated back to Mary�s high school days and was probably of no use. As she reached to put the book back in its place, a phrase in the song caught her attention and she froze. "He�ll take your heart and you must pay the price," Mary�s voice sang. Zenya quickly disregarded it as a coincidence, though a very prophetic one, but continued to listen more closely. After a few more bars, a phone rang on the tape and the music stopped, followed by annoyed mumbling and then the same voice saying, "Hello?... What do you want?... No, I�m through talking about it, Ted. If you want to do something for me, just don�t call me anymore." After that came the sound of the phone being slammed down, and then quiet sobbing for a moment before the sound ceased altogether.
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NRPG: Okay, so maybe that line is a little corny, but I really did hear it in a song the other day, and I just had to throw it in! :)
Alton: So, what�s on the computer?
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