The upstairs to Big Al's featured six small apartments, to be used by staff and the owners. How many of those shared and mingled in these halls was another question Steve was afraid to ask.
Ornate nude paintings decorated the corridors and stairwells, as they slowly made their way toward Carrie's apartment. The building itself had seen better days, some of the amenities, pay phones and cigarette dispensers looking dated. If it wasn't for the erotic art scattered throughout the entrance area and beyond, the place looked like any other run-down motel along the Embarcadero.
"I think you overpromised, Stephen.", Dan huffed, as they conquered another flight of stairs, too afraid to touch the railing with his bare hands, "This place smells just as bad as those back alleys Norm and I canvassed."
"Sex and drugs and jazz music…", the young Inspector countered, temporarily startled when several feet away, a half-naked lady skipped across the hallway into an adjacent room, her loud giggling ensuing as the doors were shut again.
"Tell me this is the apartment we're checking out, kiddo."
With a smiling headshake, Steve pointed toward the east wall of the corridor.
"Not your lucky day, my friend. Last door on the right should be it."
"Could be similar accommodations.", Haley continued undisturbed, as he flanked the young Inspector, "Two divorces in fifteen years tell me that I am ready for some excitement again. Whatever it'll be, I am ready."
"Better not let Mike hear that, or he'll send you back down to patrols."
His off-the-cuff comment made Dan fall quiet in an instant, surprised about just how serious Steve was about standing up for the Lieutenant's beliefs even when he wasn't around.
Both detectives continued their cautious journey toward apartment number 5, woefully aware of some of the questionable noises coming from the other quarters.
"Isn't there anything they do up here besides the naughty?", Haley grunted and reached for Steve's shoulder, symbolically holding him back, "You better watch out, Kiddo. We might get dragged into this mess yet."
Ignoring the squeaking of bed frames and the unmistakable moaning coming from seemingly everywhere, they approached the place in question. With one hand raised to knock on the cheap pine door, Steve used his other to reach for the badge in his rear pocket.
Much to his surprise, the door swung open with a slight creak, when he tried to knock.
"Miss Vokulivicz? This is Stephen Keller, San Francisco PD. You called me earlier."
Greeted by an eerie silence, Steve stepped deeper into the apartment, his trained eyes looking for intruders or signs of trouble. Contrary to the rest of the building, the entrance area was neat and clean, the light coming in through the large windows overlooking Broadway reflecting off the expensive chandelier up above.
The room smelled of lavish perfume, mixed with a hint of leftover dinner.
Reaching back to open the holster to his Special, Steve signaled for Dan to hang to the right, as he took a left past the coat rack and toward the living room.
A bird cage with a green parakeet sat off near the window, undisturbed, as was the furniture.
Swallowing hard, the young Inspector pushed his back against the wall as he turned a corner, before peeking his head toward the bedroom area of the open floor plan apartment.
His heart dropped when he saw a pair of shiny maroon stilettos stick out from behind the leather couch.
"Dan!"
Giving up his guarded position, Steve rushed toward his victim, carefully circling the furniture to get a good look at the scene.
Carrie was sprawled out against the dated wooden floor, chest down, her arms close to her head as if to ward off an attacker from behind. The skin-tight black dress looked to be untouched, and her hair was still tied up neatly, not suggesting much of a struggle.
When he was reasonably sure that the perpetrator wasn't nearby, Steve went down on one knee, reaching for the side of the ladies' neck, woefully recognizing the red line that had become their killer's trademark.
His dreadful search quickly turned to surprise, then bone-chilling worry, when he could still find a pulse, a possible sign that their killer hadn't been able to finish the deed before they arrived.
"She's still alive, Dan. Go call a wagon and support. Our guy must still be around. I'll go after him."
Getting back on his feet, Steve sprinted out of the apartment, the black cowboy boots nearly making him slip on the polished floor, as he crossed back into the hallway.
With nobody in the vicinity, despite the couple next door who were audibly still busy, he walked toward the north corner of the carpeted corridor, where a snack machine and a large garbage bin decorated the outer wall.
He could see the flashing lights of nearby businesses mirror in the older glass as he approached, looking for a fire exit but not finding one. With Carrie still alive, the killer had to have been disturbed in the act, possibly by the busy couple even, fearing that company was approaching.
There was no other explanation.
In a fast pace, he backtracked the way they came up one more time, hoping to find clues to the perpetrator's whereabouts, but the area seemed deserted, giving little room for hideouts and alternate routes to flee.
Frustrated at a hot lead gone ice cold in a matter of minutes, Steve sighed at the foreboding thought of having to break up the party upstairs to check if the couple had seen or heard anything unusual.
Then, as the loud jazz music down below started up again, he also remembered that Erin McMillan's boyfriend David would be working as the AM bartender today.
