Page 43 of Love Me to Death

“Send me the information—I’ll head over there immediately. Who’s on scene?”

“No one yet. I have an ERT unit standing by.”

“Why didn’t you call the local police?”

“Sean Rogan found the body.”

Rogan? “What?”

He must have sounded as pissed off as he felt, because Kate quickly said, “Talk to him. He called me because he didn’t have your number.” She paused, then said, “Sean’s looking into Morton’s past because my family asked him to.”

“And you knew?”

“I just found out. After all, Patrick is his partner, and Patrick is out of town and worried about the situation. Sean called me as soon as he found the body. He’s not screwing around.”

A Rogan in the middle of his investigation was not what Noah wanted.

“Noah?”

“Where’s Rogan now?”

“At the scene.”

“I’m on my way.”

Sean stood outside Ralston’s building while the FBI’s Evidence Response Team did their forensic work upstairs. He supposed he had Kate to thank that he wasn’t officially detained, but while he waited for Agent Noah Armstrong to arrive he called Jayne instructing her to dig deeper into Ralston and Morton’s history, focusing on shared connections. Clearly, Ralston’s murder was no coincidence.

Why had Sergey Yuran sent him here? Did the Russian trafficker know that Ralston was dead? Had he killed him when the deal into the online sex trade went south? It didn’t seem to be up Yuran’s alley—he was ruthless, but this wasn’t his M.O.—and the smashed computer was a sign that Ralston had information that the killer didn’t want getting out.

Or was there something more here? Who else had Ralston talked to about Morton’s deal? And who ultimately bought into the scheme? Had Morton and Ralston cut out an unknown partner? Taken the money and run? Ralston had the suitcase, Morton had violated his probation—there was something just out of reach. He needed more information. But there was no doubt in his mind that Morton and Ralston’s murders were connected. He’d inspected the body and the guy had been dead for several days. The cold apartment slowed decomp, but Sean knew enough about forensics that the coroner could account for ambient temperature and give a good range for time of death.

An elderly black woman with a small Pomeranian in her purse and a canvas grocery bag over her shoulder turned the corner and walked slowly down the damp sidewalk toward Sean. He covered the distance quickly and said, “Let me help.”

She smiled, revealing perfect teeth that didn’t quite look real. “Thank you, young man.” She handed him her grocery bag.

Sean put his hand on her elbow. “Where are you going?”

She gestured toward Ralston’s building. “The first-floor apartment on the right.”

The entrance was only about 150 feet away, but it took several minutes to reach the front stoop. The little dog stared at Sean but didn’t bark. “Cute dog.” Not his type of pet, but he figured the woman was a possible witness.

“She’s a little bitch, but I like her.”

Sean suppressed a grin.

The woman glanced at him as she climbed the front step. “You’re not from here.”

“No. There was a homicide upstairs.”

She shook her head and sighed. “I’m not surprised. Two B or Three D?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Three D.”

“Robbie. I hadn’t seen him this week.”

“Did you know he was planning a trip?”

“He don’t like me.”