“I’ve heard there’s a vacant unit now if you love it so much.” The voice came from behind her, and Claire turned to see Greg walking toward her. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “You look nice.”

There was a question in there—something like “why do you look so nice?”—and Claire felt heat rise to her cheeks, remembering that she hadn’t actually taken the time to remove her makeup from earlier that night.

“Thanks,” she said and then turned toward the building to signal that the conversation was over. As they walked up the steps side by side, Claire tried to prepare herself for what she was going to see inside. She had a strong stomach—she had to in this line of work—but it didn’t mean that it was easy for her to be the person who had to walk into a crime scene when everyone else was running away from it. One of the doors had been propped open, and she passed through the threshold, Greg a couple of steps behind her.

The inside of the building was not as impressive as the outside. It was obviously well-kept, but there was no hiding the fact that it was an old building, and old buildings had old-building problems. Beneath the beautiful rug in the foyer, the floorboard gave, just slightly, under their feet as they walked in, and there were noticeable chips in the paint on the walls near the baseboards.

On their left, there was a door to the first-floor apartment, which was slightly ajar. Across from it was a small table that contained a scattering of postcards and mailers, left there to collect dust. Claire moved past them, Greg close on her heels. Just past the small table, on the right-hand side of the hallway, was the start of a flight of stairs that led up to the second floor.

“There are three units, but the main action is on the third floor,” Greg said, pointing his chin up the stairs.

Claire nodded. She followed his lead and walked toward the staircase before climbing up, her shoes sinking into the plush floor runner as she did. As she walked, she noticed smudges on the wall and the carpet, along with a noticeable chip in the paint the size of a quarter.

“Is that blood?” she asked, eyeing the smudges.

“Looks like it,” Greg said. “There’s more.”

Indeed, Claire saw another few spots of the same, reddish-brown substance on the wall leading up to the second floor. When they reached the landing, there was a woman there holding a box with latex gloves, and they both took a pair. Slipping them on, they turned the corner to see the door to the second-floor apartment open.

“Guess everybody’s up, huh?” Claire said, looking back at Greg, and he nodded.