Claire was standing on the staircase at the apartment on Oak Street when the call came in. She’d found that the best way for her to tackle a case was to go over all the things—big and small—that didn’t make sense about a case until they did.

First, there was the blood in the stairwell. Most of it had belonged to the victim, except for one smudge at the bottom of the staircase, completely outside any logical place where Beverly’s blood would have fallen.

Then there was the fact that everyone at the party had been wasted. Dr. Ortiz seemed to believe that the alcohol wouldn’t have affected the ability to strike Beverly, but it would have severely limited the killer’s ability to clean up after him- or herself. There wasn’t a trace of blood in any of the units, which meant that the killer had to have been very skilled or left the building immediately after the murder was committed.

Then, there was this whole thing with Ryan Hooks. The likelihood of him actually being the person responsible seemed slim, but she couldn’t ignore it, not after seeing him so clearly on the video. She’d called him but hadn’t yet heard back.

And there was Chris, the artist.

Or better yet, Paula.

None of it was adding up.

As she stood in the stairwell, her phone rang, and Claire pulled it out of her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number and frowned as she answered and put the phone up to her ear.

“Detective Puhl.”

There was a moment of silence, and then a man spoke.

“Hi, uh, Detective Puhl, this is Reg Bolton from 218 West Oak Street. Um, down the block from where Emma Bentley lives.”

Puhl’s frown deepened, but she gripped the phone tighter and began to slowly walk down the stairs. “How can I help you, Mr. Bolton?”

“Well, I’m at my apartment now, and Emma is here. She asked me to call you.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “She’s in my bedroom right now, and she told me to step out and ask you to send someone to my apartment right away. She said to tell you it’s about Chris.”

Claire blinked and then began to jog down the stairs more quickly. “I’m on my way.”

• • •

She raced out of the apartment and ran down the block, her gaze scanning the apartment buildings as she walked by. She saw that 218 W. Oak was on the other side of a small dog park. When she got there, she looked for Bolton’s name and pressed the buzzer. It sounded almost immediately, and Claire ran into the building.