Skeletons in the Closet

Chapter 34

The cab dropped me off two blocks away from Corey Swanson's apartment. I may not have been a professional sleuth, but I had the common sense to not walk right through the front door where anyone could see me. As I shuffled down the street towards his building, I kept my head low and my hands in my pocket, hoping that I wouldn't draw anyone's attention.

I knew he lived in a project building, but what I saw exceeded even my worst expectations. The building was practically falling apart. Windows had been busted out and boarded over, there were large chunks of brick that were simply gone. Whether it was from erosion or something else, I had no idea, but it looked like a block of cheese that had seen large bites taken out of it. How it hadn't been condemned and destroyed, I had no idea. The idea of people living in it floored me and I instantly felt a pang of guilt for anyone having to live in conditions like that.

A few buildings over, I ducked into an alley. The alley led behind the buildings, a longer alley connecting them. Glancing around to make sure I had no one following me, I moved quickly towards the back of Swanson's building.

According to the files on him, Swanson lived on the third floor. I managed to find the fire escape, which wasn't in bad shape given the state of the rest of the building. Aside from being littered with trash and a few lovely hypodermic needles, there was nothing wrong with it. I checked my surroundings again, making sure that no one would see me, and began to make my way up the fire escape.

Peering through the cracked window, it didn't look like anyone still lived in this particular apartment. Trash was strewn about the floor, the walls cracked and chipped throughout, stains permeating the ceiling. There didn't look to be any personal effects, so I was fairly certain no one was around.

Prying the window open, I climbed in, careful not to make too much noise or to rustle any of the trash laying on the floor. I really didn't even want to be in this hell hole, afraid that simply standing here would result in the contraction of some horrific disease.

Slowly, I made my way to the door and opened it just enough to peek out. Even in the daytime, it looked like a scene out of a horror movie. The fluorescent lighting overhead flickered and buzzed, barely illuminating the corridor. The walls and floor resembled the apartment I had entered through: trash everywhere, the walls cracked and chipped, stains of God-knows-what on every surface.

Seeing no one, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way quickly to apartment 3F. When I spoke to detective Foulkrod earlier in the day, he informed me that his tails had been following Swanson as was the norm. Today was the day he typically headed to the racetrack and would be gone for several hours. I was careful of my wording so that Foulkrod wouldn't know what I was up to; he was sure to disapprove of my current plans.

I slipped a credit card into the slot between the door and the frame, attempting to jimmy the lock like in the movies. Much to my surprise, I didn't need to even do that: the door was not only unlocked, but slightly ajar. It opened a few inches as I stood there feeling incredibly lame.

Pushing aside my minor embarrassment, I quickly moved into Swanson's apartment and gently closed the door behind me. His living arrangement wasn't much better than the one I'd just left. Though there were no needles to be found, the trash quota was certainly met. Fast food containers and empty beer bottles were littered everywhere. I could make out insects scurrying from one food wrapper to the next, hoping to find the treasure that lay inside. The lone window, though uncracked, was covered in a layer of filth that made it difficult for light to come through, let alone actually see out of. A dingy couch sat in the middle of the room, rips in the cushions and a few more beer bottles laying atop them. A beat up coffee table sat in front of the couch, the lone pieces of furniture in this room.