Least Wanted (Sam McRae Mystery 2)

“How about the other guy? The big blond one. Is there anything special you can remember about him?”

“Naw, just what I tell you.”

“Did either of these guys give a name?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Did either of them tell you anything about why they wanted to talk to Cooper?”

“Naw, and I weren’t about to ask the big cop no questions. I just told him Cooper weren’t here and the guy left.” She snorted in a wet, throat-clearing way that made me wince. “Goodbye and good riddance to him.”

“What about the black man?”

“He just said he needed to talk to Darrell Cooper. I said he wasn’t in. He asked when was I expecting him back. I said I didn’t expect anything because it wasn’t my job to keep track of my tenant’s comings and goings. I told him he’d have to try again another time and he go off, all in a huff. He come back again the next day, only I didn’t open up this time.” The crow’s fee

t around her eye scrunched as she winked at me.

“So do you know where Cooper is?”

“No clue. Like I said, not my job to keep track of his comings and goings. I’m assuming he’ll be back, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“All his shit’s still here, that’s why. He don’t pay me for next month and it’s still here, out on the street it goes.”

“Ms . . . I never got your name.”

“McKutcheon. Elva McKutcheon.”

“Could I take a quick look in his room?”

She smiled. I had my wallet open before she could lift her hand.

CHAPTER NINE

I ascended steep stairs with Elva McKutcheon huffing ahead of me. The wallpaper was a faded rose print, but the place reeked of stale cigarette smoke and grease—hardly roses.

Elva opened the door and swept an arm, as if to say “Behold.” I entered. The room was neat, furnished with utility in mind: a single bed, an old chest of drawers, a dresser with a microwave, hot plate and TV on it, a dorm-size fridge, and a small suitcase, open on the floor. I peered in. A jumble of men’s underwear and socks. All the comforts of home.

In the bathroom, I found a clean sink, razor, miniature can of shaving cream and a bar of soap. I checked the cabinet. Half a bottle of Aqua Velva.

I started pulling out chest drawers, one at a time. Cooper hadn’t bothered to unpack. In the third drawer, I found a file. I picked it up and rifled through it: copies of invoices from ITN Consulting. Interesting. Also, an envelope. Inside was a small, unmarked key. I wondered what it might open.

I tried the next drawer down. Empty. Elva shifted back and forth as she watched me. I felt her eyes follow my every move.

“Look,” she said. “I know you said you wasn’t a cop, but what’s this about?”

“What do you care? You’ve been paid.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still my house. Lemme see some ID.”

I smiled at her sudden interest in my identity and pulled out my courthouse badge. “There. Feel better?”

“Maryland State Bar Association,” she read aloud. “You’re a lawyer.”

“No flies on you.”

She scowled. She couldn’t take it quite as well as she could dish it out. “You representing his ex-wife, right? The one he was bitching about owing child support to?”