Beer Money (A Burr Ashland Mystery) Read Free Page B

had taken an apartment here for simple economics; it was the best of the places he could afford. Which clearly meant that he'd been able to afford next to nothing.
    Tim's apartment was in a red brick four-plex with small windows and cheap doors. The lobby smelled musty and dank, like a wet basement. I went to Tim's mailbox slot. Glanced over my shoulder, then pulled the narrow jimmy strip from my wallet. It only took me a few seconds to pop the lock. Inside were grocery store fliers and bills. I thumbed through the entire stack, found nothing out of the ordinary. I put it all back and closed the mailbox door.
    I climbed the steps. Even through the decades old carpet, they creaked loudly. From one of the downstairs apartments I heard the unmistakable sound of disco. Blondie.
    Crime scene tape was criss-crossed over Tim’s door.
    I used the key Tim had given me in case of an emergency and heard the lock click open. I pushed the door open, crouched down and sneaked between the ribbons of tape. I stepped inside the apartment and closed the door quickly behind me.
    From previous visits, I knew what to expect. A living room, a bedroom off to the left, a kitchen at the other end. A bathroom just off the kitchen.
    But the apartment had been tossed. Thoroughly trashed. What few things Tim had managed to retain possession of after the divorce were now strewn around the room.
    In the living room the cheap couch and recliner had been gutted. The upholstery was slashed, the stuffing strewn around like confetti. The cheap plywood frames had been literally pulled apart and smashed to pieces.
    Down the short hallway to the kitchen, the carpet had been torn up. Beneath it the old stained wood floor had chunks missing. Holes had been knocked in the thin walls.
    The kitchen wasn't much better. The refrigerator was tipped over on its side, a flood of water seeped into the floor. Food was flung everywhere and it was starting to rot. The cupboards had been all but ripped from the walls. Plates and glasses were smashed upon the floor. Drawers had been emptied and tossed on top of the mess.
    I looked down the hallway, into the first bedroom. Everything was on the floor, heaped in a pile. Pillows. Sheets. The mattress and box spring. Someone must have had a sledgehammer because the dresser was smashed into long planks of splintered wood. Clothes from the closet were tossed everywhere, the cheap white plastic organizer lay in a jumbled heap on the floor.
    To the left was the spare bedroom Tim had used as an office. The door was ajar. I peeked in.
    The entire room looked as if someone had picked it up and shaken it. Papers were everywhere, covering a pile of computer equipment that lay in a heap on the floor. The desk chair was upside down, its upholstery slashed. His file cabinets had been pushed over and laid on top of one another. Their drawers were out, their contents apparently read then tossed to the floor. Tim had kept a neat stack of open files on the main part of his desk. These were gone as well.
    Tim's computer, an older desktop Mac, was in the middle of the pile. The screen had been bashed in, the keyboard bludgeoned and the hard drive flattened.
    It seemed that whoever had done this hadn't found what they were looking for and decided that if they couldn't find it, neither would anyone else.
    I walked back through the apartment, anger building inside me. They must have killed him first. Tried to get him to give them what they were looking for. When he didn't, they tossed him through a window then came here. It was like they took what little remained of the man after his death and trounced all over it. Spat on his grave.
    My hands were shaking by the time I'd made my way back to the front door. My jaws were clenched so tightly it was a miracle my teeth didn't crack. I wanted to find the people responsible. I wanted their blood on my hands.
    I realized that Gabby must have known about this when she came to talk to me. I wondered why she