The Killing Room

SEVENTEEN

The apartment building was a low-rise, brown-brick building on Fifth Street. Jessica and Byrne parked the car, entered. There was no security door through which they needed to be buzzed in. Jessica noted that many of the mailboxes in the lobby were pried and dented. An old Dymo label identified the Rollins apartment as number six.

As they rounded the corner on the second floor, heading to the last apartment on the left, they smelled it. It was unmistakable. The stench of death filled the hallway.

‘I’ll get the super,’ Byrne said.

Jessica bunched the collar of her coat over her nose and mouth and eased herself to the door of apartment number six. She knocked, listened. Nothing. She knocked again, announced herself.

No one came to the door.

Jessica again put her ear against the door and listened. From inside, faintly, she heard music. It was a child’s song, one that she remembered from her own childhood. Because it was so faint she could not quite put a name to it, even though it was familiar. She doubted that it was the radio. The sound was scratchy, like an old record from another era.

Other than this sound she heard nothing — no voices, no television, no footsteps moving around the apartment. She eased her hand onto the doorknob, gave it a slight turn. The door was locked. There were no deadbolts on the door, just the old skeleton-type key hole.

She glanced down the hallway. She was alone. Keeping the collar of her coat over her mouth and nose, she got down onto one knee and looked through the keyhole. She couldn’t see much, but putting her face this close to the small opening gave her a much stronger smell of decomposing flesh.

There was a dead body in this apartment.

A few seconds later Byrne came down the hallway with an older man whom Jessica assumed was the superintendent of the building. He wore a heavy coat and pilled woolen mittens. On his head was a filthy ball cap.

Jessica walked halfway down the hall to meet them.

‘Edward Turchek, this is my partner, Detective Balzano.’

The man grunted a greeting.

‘Can you tell us who lives in apartment number six?’ Jessica asked.

‘Just old Duke Rollins,’ Turchek said.

‘Alone?’

He shook his head. ‘Sometimes his granddaughter lives with him. When she’s not … you know.’

‘No, we don’t know,’ Jessica said. ‘Why don’t you tell us?’

‘Well, it’s just that she’s a little bit … you know.’ The man made a twirling motion by the temple on the right side of his head, the universal hand gesture meaning crazy.

‘This is Adria you’re talking about? Adria Rollins?’

‘Yeah,’ Turchek said. ‘That’s her name. Adria.’

‘And you’re saying she has some mental health issues?’ Jessica asked.

The man snorted a laugh. No one joined him. He cleared his throat. ‘Yeah. You could say that.’

‘And you say she is the man’s granddaughter? Not his great-granddaughter?’ Jessica asked.

‘Granddaughter, great-granddaughter, I don’t know. Duke is pretty old.’

‘Have any of the neighbors complained about the smell?’

Turchek pulled a face. ‘What smell?’

Jessica looked at Byrne, back. ‘When was the last time you saw anyone go in or out of this apartment?’

‘Not for a while, I guess. I pretty much mind my own business here.’

Jessica looked up at the peeling paint on the walls, the cracked and taped window at the end of the hall, the bootlegged electric and cable TV wires stapled to the ceiling, the uneven floorboards in the hallway.

I bet you do, Jessica thought.

‘Do you know if Mr Rollins or Adria are home now?’ Jessica asked.

‘No idea,’ the man said. ‘Did you knock?’

Jessica’s eyes burned a hole in the man’s forehead until he looked away.

‘We’re going to need to get into this apartment,’ she said. ‘Do you have a master key?’

The man ran a hand over his stubbled chin. ‘I don’t know if I’m allowed to do that.’

Byrne took a step toward the man, backing him to the wall.

‘I’m looking at a half-dozen building code violations, and that’s just the shit I can see from here,’ Byrne said. ‘Now, just based on the odor you don’t seem to be able to smell, we can take down that door. That’s plenty of probable cause. If you want to spend the rest of the day repairing the damage, then deal with L amp; I, who I’m going to contact right now, you are welcome to it. Your call.’

‘I got the key right here,’ the man said. But he didn’t move.

When Byrne stepped to the side the man all but ran down to the end of the hall. He put the key in the lock, turned it. He opened the door a few inches, slipped to the side.

Jessica and Byrne stepped up to the doorway. Jessica knocked again, this time on the jamb. No footsteps. Just the children’s song, which had started over again.

Byrne pushed the door. ‘Philadelphia Police!’ he said.

No answer.

Ahead of them, against the far wall, was an old cranberry red sofa. On it were three or four dirty gray bed sheets, a pair of flat bed pillows with large grease stains in the center. In front of the sofa was a chipped maple coffee table with stacked plastic trays from a few dozen microwave dinners. To the left was a 1970s vintage console television, tuned to a game show, sound all the way down.

Still, from somewhere in the apartment, the children’s song played. Now that she was inside, Jessica identified the song as ‘A Smile and a Ribbon’, an old children’s song from the 1950s that she used to play. The sound seemed to be coming from a bedroom at the end of the hall.

Jessica turned to see the superintendent standing in the doorway. He had no reaction to the condition of the apartment, and still seemed unable to smell the appalling stench of decomposing flesh.

‘We’ll let you know if we need anything else,’ Jessica said.

The man looked up, shrugged, and walked down the hall.

To the left of the living room was the doorway to the kitchen. The overhead ceiling light was on and through the doorway Jessica could see the pile of dirty pans and dishes overflowing in the sink. The pans were at least fifty years old, and reminded Jessica of her grandmother’s cookware. With Byrne just behind her, she eased through the doorway and peered inside. The electric stove was on, all four burners radiating bright red. It was freezing in the apartment, so Jessica figured the stove was on for heat. It barely warmed the one corner of the tiny kitchen.

They walked across the living room, down the hallway. The first door on the left was the bathroom. There was no door. Jessica peered inside, and in the grim gray light coming through the translucent window she saw the bleak state of the room. There were piled rags and towels in the corner, an unflushed toilet, no shower curtain. The tub had not been washed in years.

The two doors at the end of the hallway were clearly the bedrooms. The horrible smell was coming from the bedroom on the left; the music from the bedroom on the right.

Jessica flanked the door on the right, while Byrne knocked on the door on the left.

‘Philly PD,’ he said. ‘We’re coming in.’

He looked at Jessica. Their eyes met. On a silent three Byrne reached out, eased the doorknob to the left. He threw the door open, stepped to the side.

Nobody came through.

In the room was a single bed by the windows, which were covered by an old army blanket. There were magazines, newspapers, fast-food trash, and dirty clothing everywhere. On the bed, under the sheets, was an old man. Based on the smell of decaying flesh he had been dead more than a week. The sheet over him was stained with urine and feces. Byrne stepped in, holding his tie over his nose and mouth. He flipped open the closet door. A pair of worn and shiny suits from the 1950s hung there. Beneath, a pair of dress shoes bearing a thick layer of dust.

Byrne closed the door, stepped out of the room. The two detectives addressed the other door. The song started again. The repetition was maddening. Jessica got on her two-way, called for backup and an EMS unit. They looked at each other again. It was time.

‘Philadelphia Police!’ Jessica said. ‘We’re coming in.’

Byrne turned the doorknob, slowly opened the door. Jessica put her hand on the grip of her weapon and peered around the jamb. What she saw would live in her mind forever.

The room was a jumble of boxes and brightly colored children’s furniture. There seemed to be a dozen old and broken bassinets, cribs, high chairs, and small plastic tables. One of the cribs sat near the window, which was wide open, which helped to explain why the apartment was freezing.

The music came from an old red-and-white portable record player in the center of the room.

In the clutter Jessica did not see the figure sitting in the chair for a few seconds. But when the young woman coughed, both detectives spun around and nearly drew their weapons.

There, in the corner, sitting on a threadbare almond-colored upholstered chair, was a young woman, no more than nineteen. She was thin and gaunt, and wore three bathrobes, all institutional — polka-dotted, floral, pastel. In her lap was a large doll. The doll, which was missing an arm, had knotted and haphazardly cut orange hair. The young woman was calmly combing the doll’s hair with a large, tarnished silver serving fork. She looked up at them.

‘Is it dinnertime?’ she asked.

While Jessica crossed the room, Byrne skirted the broken furniture, cleared the closet. It was empty.

‘Are you Adria?’ Jessica asked.

‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Adria! That’s me!’

‘My name is Jessica. We’re going to get you help.’

Adria nodded, smiled. ‘Help!’ she exclaimed. She hugged the doll. ‘Pretty baby.’ She put the doll back on her lap, continued to comb its hair.

Byrne crossed the room. The crib beneath the window was the cleanest thing in the room. It had a neat stack of newborn Pampers next to it.

Taking all of this in, Jessica knew the truth. Adria Rollins was not guilty of anything. The baby had been taken right from this room.

The force of Jessica’s emotional reaction rocked her. She got Byrne’s attention. When he saw her eyes he understood.

‘Go check on EMS. I’ve got this,’ he said.

Jessica ran out of the apartment, down the hall. She found she could barely breathe. Her heart felt ready to pound from her chest.

And still, faintly, she heard the words of the song as it played.

By the time Jessica reached the lobby the tears came. She did nothing to stop them.