“Yeah…I’d agree with that.” The man put down the bag of art supplies. “He moved out over the weekend.”

Decker felt his jaw clench. “When?”

“On Saturday.”

Decker exhaled. “I don’t suppose you’d know his forwarding address.”

The man shook his head. “You’re right. He wasn’t home a lot. But you could always tell when he was home. This is an old building with old, thick walls, but even with the insulation, I could always hear him screaming and swearing. No one on the floor liked him.”

“Did you see Mr. Banks on Saturday?”

The young man pressed his thin lips together. “Actually, I didn’t. But I talked to the movers.” He gave a fleeting smile. “I remember telling one of them that I hoped Rudy was moving far away.”

“What did he say to that?”

“That he was only hired help. But now that you mention it, it was odd that Rudy wasn’t around directing things.”

Decker smoothed his mustache. “Could he have been around when you weren’t home?”

“I was home most of Saturday. I did go out for brunch for a few hours. It’s possible I missed him.”

The notebook came out of Decker’s pocket. “Do you remember the name of the moving company?”

The man faltered. “No…no, I don’t remember.”

“Were the movers dressed in any kind of a uniform?”

“Pardon?”

“You know, usually movers wear shirts with the name of the company embroidered over the pockets.”

He thought about the question. “I don’t remember the name of the company, but they were dressed in a single color—matching shirts and pants in dark gray. Three of them. One big guy with tattoos, another was a little guy with like…geez, sort of a mullet, Hispanic or Italian looking; the third was also darker complexioned…buzz cut. Tough-looking dudes.”

“Do you recall any names?”

“Sorry, no. I’m good with images, not words.”

“You’re helping me a great deal. Do you remember what time it was when you spoke to Mr. Banks’s mover?”

“About one in the afternoon…what’s going on?”

“Mr. Banks and I arranged an appointment for this Monday. He never mentioned anything about moving, and I can’t reach him on his cell. Could I get your name, sir?”

“Baker Culbertson. Do you think something happened to Rudy?”

“I don’t know. Does the apartment complex have a manager?”

“Not in the building, no.”

“So who do you call when there’s a problem?”

“Imry Keric. If you hold on a minute, I’ll give you his number.” Culbertson opened the door just wide enough for him to fit through and closed it in Decker’s face. The gesture probably came more out of suspiciousness than rudeness. Decker was filling in his notes when Baker returned with a slip of paper. “This is his work number and this is his cell.”