“That’s a breakdown, not an accident.”
“Could’ve been an accident.”
Ignoring his remark, Katie took a left and drove through several signals before finally reaching 12th Street. “Okay, what’s the address?”
McGaven looked at his notes. “It’s 1616 12th Street, apartment 21.”
“Okay, here’s the fourteen hundred block and the fifteen hundred block…” she said as they slowed and passed small houses and duplexes.
McGaven watched for the address.
There were sidewalks and well-manicured trees, tidy front yards and common areas. The street had been recently resurfaced, making the ride feel like gliding.
Katie spotted a sign for 1616 out in front of an apartment complex consisting of several buildings with four apartments, two upstairs and two downstairs. Light brown structures with white trim, they were independent four-plexes and were situated around the property. It reminded Katie of vacation rentals because of the trees, walkways, and gates.
She pulled up and parked along the street. Taking a moment to turn off the ignition, she scrutinized the property. “What do you think?”
“These are nice apartments. I had a call here once, prowler.”
She cut the engine. “Let’s go see what we can find.”
Katie exited the vehicle, followed by McGaven.
They walked around several of the apartment buildings until they found number 21.
“It’s upstairs,” she said and climbed up the stairs. Someone was cooking something mouthwatering. It made her stomach growl because she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.
“Smells good,” said McGaven.
Katie laughed. It was untimely, she thought, since they were going to the apartment of a murdered woman, but her stress had been elevated. And sometimes, police officers laugh at inappropriate times.
They approached the apartment. It had a small potted plant on each side of the door in desperate need of water and a cute welcome mat that said “Wipe your paws.” It struck Katie for a moment because it made reference to dogs. Could Darla Winchell have been connected to a military K9 at one time? She needed to verify with Sergeant Serrano.
Katie decided to knock, expecting that no one was home, but thinking there may be a roommate or boyfriend. She rapped three times.
No movement.
McGaven walked around to the side of the apartment and casually peered inside.
“Anything?” she said.
“It’s difficult to see through the curtains, but it looks like a light is on. And something dark. I can’t tell what it is.”
Katie glanced down at the doorknob, noticing something dark next to it. She gently touched it with her index finger. It appeared to be dried blood. Scrutinizing it more closely, she saw more dark smudges that seemed to have been wiped with something.
“What’s there?”
“Looks like dried blood. I’m not sure. And here, it looks like someone wiped something clean recently.”
McGaven inspected it. “It does look like dried blood.”
Katie walked to the railing and looked around at the apartments all over the property. She saw one with an “Office” sign. “Let’s try the office,” she said and hurried down the staircase.
They dashed across the property to apartment number eight, which displayed the “Office” sign. Katie knocked.
They didn’t have to wait long before the door was opened by a nice-looking, middle-aged woman, and a smell of something delicious wafted out. The woman poked her head out and said, “Yes? Can I help you?”
“Is this the office for the complex?” asked Katie.