“Plenty of latents but so far they’re all the same. So likely the deceased.”
“Even on the futon?”
“No prints at all on that. We’ll take it back, along with the mattress. But so far this is yielding nothing creepy. Unlike you-know-where.”
Next stop: you-know-where.
The bathroom, tiled mustard yellow from floor to ceiling, was blocked by crime scene tape and splotched by purplish stains. Luminol had pulled up splotches of blood on the yellow linoleum floor and the sink, a huge wash of it inside the bathtub. The tub’s drain cap had been removed.
Alicia said, “The trap’s boxed for removal. Mark had to go underneath the house. Lots of rat shit and what he says is raccoon shit.”
Lucy said, “Mark hunts, he knows his critters.”
Milo said, “Is this the only john?”
Alicia said, “Unless one of the guys has uncovered another up front. Limited floor plan, huh? Imagine how much she could’ve crammed into a palace.”
She walked a couple of feet up the aisle and pointed to a spot where the boxes ended midway to the ceiling. “This gap is from where I found the ten thousand. Where it found me.”
We followed her toward the front of the house. Now the aisle was different. Wider, the linoleum cleaner, as if it hadn’t been exposed in a long time.
Milo said, “We cleared this area?”
“Moe and Sean did in order to fit in,” she said. “Mostly Moe, I knew all that gym time would come in handy. Everything that got moved is also in those boxes outside but there was nothing sexy that I saw.”
Two suited figures worked fifteen feet away at the end of the hall. Windows were blocked by towers of junk, and light came by way of four battery-op fixtures. One figure stood on the floor, inspecting waist-high material. The other was perched on a step stool probing upper layers of tightly packed flotsam.
The one on the ladder, so muscle-bound his body strained the forensic suit, said, “Do I get a bonus, L.T.?”
The other, taller, lanky, said, “You deserve it, man. You were like a turbine, I was feeling kind of extraneous.”
To Milo: “You should’ve seen him, Loot. Moving stuff around like a forklift.”
He lowered his mask on a long, freckled face. Rusty strands of hair had escaped his hood. Detective Sean Binchy, cheerful as ever. Except when not. A few years ago, I’d saved his life. It had taken some time but we’d resolved that.
“Doc,” he said, “this is right upyouralley.”
The bulky man got off the ladder, came over, and unmasked, exposing a pink baby face.
Milo said, “Getting a workout, Moses?”
Detective Moe Reed flexed arms as thick as thighs. “Nah, not even a warm-up.”
Milo said, “I’m assuming you haven’t found anything interesting.”
“Just historical insight, Loot,” said Sean. “Looking at all these newspaper headlines from way back. Turns out everything they said back then was wrong.”
Moe said, “Back then and now.”
I said, “What’s the earliest date you’ve found?”
“Twenty years or so, give or take. But it’s not just theTimes,it’s theDaily News,theEvening Outlook,and tons of throwaway papers and magazines. Plus subscription stuff andunbelievableamounts of junk brochures. Cruises, real estate brokers, what have you.”
I said, “Martha Matthias was widowed twice, the first time when she was a newlywed and young. Her second husband died twenty-two years ago. I can see that being traumatic. Maybe that’s what started her hoarding.”
All four detectives stared atme.
Milo said, “Only you would think that way. Thank God. Okay, guys, I’ll stick around and help. Thanks for coming, Alex, I’ll walk you out.”
