"Anyone else?"
She shrugged and pushed herself up with a labored breath. "I don't know anything more than what I just told you. Now, I'm going to need you to pay up and get out."
"I'd like to look at Rowan's and Tyler's rooms while we're here."
"Cops already looked through Rowan's. Got a new tenant in there now. Tyler's ain't been leased yet. You can look, but it ain't free." She turned on the water as if she were about to do the pile of filthy dishes.
"Two hundred."
The water turned off just as swiftly as it turned on. "Done." She fished around in yet another hidden pocket and dug out a key ring. She plucked two keys off the ring and palmed them. "Money first."
Wash and I rose, and he got his wallet back out and added another hundred to the one he'd already earmarked for her. "What about the tenant in Rowan's room?"
"He's day-working someplace. Won't be back till you're long gone." She held out her empty hand.
Wash placed the cash in it and took the keys from her other one. "You have a phone number I can call if I have any more questions for you?"
She turned the water back on. "I have a phone. Look it up in the phone book. Can't promise I'll answer if you call." She looked over her shoulder and grinned. "Probably won't."
"Fair enough. Thanks for your help, Ms. Barnett."
"Just leave them keys next to the front door when you're done."
"Will do." Wash motioned for me to walk ahead of him in the hall. I tucked my notepad under my arm and led the way as Ms. Barnett began singing in an oddly pleasant voice as the clatter of dishes arose at our backs. Her voice must have been beautiful when she was younger, though now it was rough from too many cigarettes.
I took the stairs carefully, some of the steps more creaky than others. They were almost soft, the wood so old or so ill used that it was breaking down.
At the landing of the second floor, a stained, threadbare runner covered the length of the hallway. There were six doors on this floor, each marked with a room number in Sharpie.
"Let's take Rowan's first." Wash approached the door marked 1B and inserted the key. The lock turned with a squeak, and the door swung inward. A musty smell floated into the hall, mixing with the already unpleasant odors that seemed to permeate the house.
Wash felt around on the wall inside until he found a light switch. Mental note: hand sanitizer as soon as we leave. The light was a bare bulb hanging overhead. The windows were covered with some frayed black fabric, almost completely blocking the sun.
Wash moved inside, and I followed. There was an unmade twin bed, a dresser I recognized from the police photos, and a few other pieces of furniture. Whoever was renting the room had meager belongings, just two pairs of shoes and only a few items hanging in the small closet.
"Look around. We probably won't find anything, but it's worth a try." Wash bent down and peered under the bed. He pulled a mini-flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on.
I went to the closet and flipped on the light. There were two simple T-shirts and a couple of pairs of pants. I pushed them aside, not really sure what I was looking for. Then I got to my knees and examined the floor, thinking there could be a Nancy Drew – esque loose board hiding a psycho treasure trove of prostitutes' fingers. Nope. Nothing. The wooden boards were tight.
"Ow!"
I looked behind me. Wash had a hand in his hair, rubbing his scalp. He was looking right at my ass. He must have hit his head on the bed.
I sat back on my haunches and gave him a "that's what you get" look before I got to my feet. He stood, too, and went to the bookshelf next to the window, searching it as I took on the dresser, going through it drawer by drawer. I opened and immediately closed the underwear drawer. I wasn't about to touch some guy's grubby underwear. I finished my examination. Still nothing.
I peeked behind the mirror and saw a blood smear at the same spot where Rowan's T-shirt had been stuffed in the police photo.
"Anything?" Wash asked.
"Nope."
The room was a bust.
Wash checked behind the door for any last-minute clue finds-nothing there-and we left. "Let's try Tyler's room."
We reentered the hallway and stopped so Wash could relock the door. As he turned the key, a shuffling noise caught my attention. I turned. It was coming from the door to 3B, Gene Rourke's room.
"I think he's home," I whispered.
Wash dropped the keys into his pocket and took the few steps to Rourke's door before knocking. "Mr. Rourke, would you mind speaking with us?"