“What about checking Ross’s attic?”
“We can do that tomorrow. One more night won’t kill him.”
Abraham wasn’t so sure about that, but there wasn’t much he could do to argue. He was dead on his feet, and what were they going to do tonight? Bang on the door until the dog’s howls woke the neighborhood? He didn’t like it, but tomorrow would come.
Hopefully with answers.
Sleep should have come the moment Abraham’s head hit the pillow. Instead, he tossed and turned, the horsehair mattress stiff and unyielding. Just like his conscience.
One more night won’t kill him.
But what if it did? They knew Poe actively sought his next target in an attempt to impress Lydia with his affections. If Poe were re-creating the victim’s crimes, Ross wasn’t likely to starve over the course of one night. Still, lying in bed, knowing there was a man whose life was potentially in danger didn’t sit well with Abraham, no matter how exhausted he felt. He had a duty to serve and protect. They had reasonable cause to enter Ross’s house and check on his well-being. A warrant wasn’t needed. On the other hand, if Ross were waist-deep in criminal dealings, they wouldn’t be able to use the evidence against him in a case, and a jail cell might be the safest place for him.
After struggling to sleep for over an hour, Abraham rose from his bed, redressed, grabbed a hand lantern, and slipped out of the house.
Three a.m. meant Lucian still patrolled his beat. It covered a section from Smith to Pearl to Broadway to Water Streets, an impossibly large area to find one man on the move. Still, after how the other two victims had received Abraham this evening, having a second person with him when he knocked on Ross’s door seemed prudent. Abraham found the nearest police box and used his key to access the phone Cincinnati had installed the year before. The dispatcher at the station house informed him where Lucian had last checked in, and Abraham headed in that direction.
It took another half hour to locate Lucian, but his friend didn’t hesitate to change course and join him. All was quiet on the dark street. The drinking establishments had closed their doors hours ago, and their patrons had either stumbled home or into a gutter somewhere. Even the gas streetlamps seemed too tired to do anything more than cast a faint glow over the cool mist hanging above the rutted street.
Abraham raised a fist to knock on the door but paused. “You have that baton ready to keep the dog away, right?”
“Got better than that. If it’s as hungry as you say, I’ve got a meat pie in my pocket.” Lucian pulled out a grease-blotched paper wrapped around an odd-shaped lump.
A treat for any dog, hungry or not.
Abraham hammered with a force that echoed down the street and made the door shudder. “Mr. Ross, this is the police. We need to speak with you.”
No sounds came from within. Not even the dog. Abraham frowned. Was the poor creature too weak with hunger to respond?
Abraham pounded and yelled louder. A dog inside the neighbor’s house barked, and a stooped salt-and-pepper-haired woman yanked open the door of her home.
“Land sakes, man. I told that other officer that Sam has been gone for over a week. No need to go on trying to wake a man who ain’t there.”
The dog nosed its face between the thin material of her wrapper and the doorframe. He snarled, and the woman pinned its head between her leg and the frame. “Hush, Butcher, or I’ll put you back where I found ya.”
“That wouldn’t happen to be Ross’s dog, would it?” Lucian asked as he pulled out the meat pie and tossed it at the woman’s feet.
The dog pushed through and pounced on the morsel of food. A waft of urine and rotted meat slammed into Abraham at the animal’s nearness. Matted fur couldn’t hide the ribs that protruded enough to be counted. Ross’s utter neglect of the living astounded him.
“Butcher’s not Ross’s anymore. He got out this evening, and I’m not givin’ him back.”
“How did he get out? We have reason to believe Ross may be in danger.”
“Oh, he’s in danger all right. If I ever see his face again, he’ll wish he were back in Longview.” After a glare that indicated Poe had competition, she waved to the narrow alley between their buildings. “The door out back has been rotting for years. Butcher probably finally busted it open.”
Without a further word, she pulled Butcher inside and slammed the door.
The farther down the alley they proceeded, the worse it smelled. An animal’s carcass must be nearby. No wonder Butcher broke out. He probably wanted to eat it.
Though the door remained closed, the bottom corner had been chewed through. Abraham knelt to take a better look, and the miasma of death assailed him.
God, let that be a dead animal.
He wrenched the door open with ease and, with the hand lantern, moved through the kitchen where the dog had scrounged for food. Empty sacks lay strewn and shredded on the floor. Cans punctured by teeth marks provided an obstacle course. The kitchen led into a main room that wasn’t much better. Having given up on food, Butcher had gnawed on cushions, furniture legs, and any exposed wood. There was no sign of Ross, but as Abraham and Lucian climbed the stairs to the second floor, the air turned from pungent to putrid.
Lucian tugged his coat over his nose and nodded to the closed door at the top.
When Abraham reached it, furious buzzing hummed on the other side.
