I turned to face him, leaning back against my door. Then I crossed my arms in front of me, because I was already tired of this game and we were just getting started. “Listen, Ray. I realize you think I had something to do with this whole mess.” I jabbed my elbow into the door, indicating the mess in my apartment. “And you think I’m hiding a big, juicy secret from the world. Possibly hidden somewhere behind that door. In fact, you’ve been dogging me for a very long time trying to find out exactly what it is, making my life hard and increasingly more miserable along the way, but here’s the truth—are you ready? I’m not hiding anything.” Well, other than the fact that I’d just turned into a scary werewolf. “I’m not on drugs and I don’t deal them. I don’t have ties to the Colombians, and more importantly, I haven’t broken any laws. The truth is, my boy-friend and I decided to go camping at the last minute simply because the weather was beautiful.” Thank goodness it wasn’t tornado season. “It was just one of those happy, carefree decisions people make. He took care of bringing the keys, and I forgot to get them back. And while we were gone, someone trashed my place. That’s the end of the incredibly juicy story.” I reached up and snatched the dangling keys from his grasp and turned to unlock my damn door.
Ray’s voice hummed with contempt. “Really, Hannon? And where in the hell is he right now? Shouldn’t he be here with you, so he can unlock your door with his key? And help you see about all your troubles?”
“Nope,” I said as the deadbolt snapped open. “The last time I checked, I was a big girl who could handle her own problems.”
He wasn’t buying any of it, but I didn’t have much choice. Telling the truth was not an option and I had no other alibi at this point. Ray didn’t have any legal right to harass me in my hallway anyway, and as a former cop I knew my rights—but if I tossed him out I might as well just buy my own orange jumpsuit. I could call a lawyer, but lawyering up was just short of admitting you did it. I was hoping my apartment would be a big enough distraction, so we could focus on a new topic, like how I had nothing to do with any of it.
The door swung open.
My apartment was more than a helpful distraction.
It was a f**king showstopper.
My breath hitched in my throat. The devastation was complete. The apartment looked exactly how I’d imagine a frat house would appear after a night of disruptive partying by an army of hooligans bent on total destruction. There wasn’t a scrap of furniture in my living room left standing. The only nice thing I owned, an antique sidebar, which used to run along my living room wall, was now lying in a heap of broken wooden chunks.
I must’ve barreled into it from the side. A few times. Now it resembled a collapsed cardboard box, all the broken bits lying haphazardly at odd angles.
The rest of my furniture was scattered around the apartment. Literally. It was like a grenade had exploded my life into complete chaos. My gaze landed on my shredded couch. Stuffing erupted from the cushions like fluffy intestines, and both armrests were completely mangled. I must have pushed off hard, because the couch was clear across the room.
Damn, I liked that couch.
“I’ve never seen a place trashed this badly in my entire career,” Ray said smugly. He stood just behind me once again, peering over my shoulder at the wreckage.
I ignored him and scooted my bags inside the door with my foot, displacing debris as I went. Then I started to pick my way around the room. The police had dusted for prints and there was residue everywhere. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t going to find any suspicious fingerprints. I rarely entertained.
I headed straight across the room to the sliding glass doors that led out to my tiny balcony. Sheets of plywood stood in place of the glass. Huge shards of broken glass scattered the floor inside, right by the opening. Yeah, Marcy.
I unlatched the doorframe and slid it open. It still worked, which was surprising. I must have hit it cleanly, since only the glass had shattered. The frame was intact.
I stepped onto my small balcony.
I’d chosen to come out here first for two reasons. One, because that’s what Ray would expect me to do. A good cop investigates the entry point of the crime scene first, and even though Ray was not buying my camping story, I still believed he thought this was a true break-in. A break-in I had something to do with, but still a break-in. I also believed Ray thought I’d been home when the attackers came, and had sub-sequently fled, thereby leaving behind my much-needed keys and purse.
The second reason? I wanted to see if any incriminating evidence lingered so I could try and get rid of it quickly.
Ray stepped onto the balcony with me, crowding us both. “Hannon,” he said. “There was a car in the parking lot with significant damage to the roof. It was all scratched up with what appeared to be … claw marks. The diameter and size matched the gouges all over your floor exactly. It’s like they threw their f**king dog off the balcony when they were done. Except there was no blood. We should’ve been scraping a dead carcass off that roof.” He managed to sound accusing, like I’d been there to witness the dog-throwing. “But the techies told me a regular canine wouldn’t be heavy enough to inflict that kind of damage. The mutt would’ve had to be attached to a boulder to crush it that far in. The steel frame warped.”
“Hmm. I didn’t hear about a car being wrecked,” I said in a distracted tone. I was casually examining the top of my railing for gouges. There should be some there, which would give some legitimacy to an animal launching itself off of here, but there were none. Marcy had swept the entire balcony.
“We also found evidence of grappling-hook marks and some rope, but not a single person in the whole building saw anyone shimmying up or down three stories. Pretty strange, don’t you think?”
“Yep. Strange.” I turned and headed back into my apartment, sidestepping a large pile of broken things on the way in. “It’s a mystery. You’d think at least one person would’ve spotted a body climbing up or down three stories.”
“That begs the question: how in the hell did they get their pet in here if they climbed a f**king rope? Now that would be a great circus act if you ask me.”
“Maybe there were two people. One who shimmied up and unlocked the door for the waiting dog owner,” I suggested winningly. I might as well go along with the probable scenario like a good P.I., since there was no arguing that an animal had been in my apartment. I had no idea what the fur samples would come back as, but I was hoping for “undetermined species.” Having it come back as wolf would be a pain in the ass, and would raise more questions than it answered. The human police would never in a million years think “werewolf,” but it was best not to raise any complicated questions.