Chapter 04: Chez Monsieur Buster
A quick glance and they knew: The apartment wasn't their crime scene. All rooms were in neatly order and there were no signs of forced entry.
Danny sighed, disappointed, while moving around. "Nothing..."
"What if our killer took his time to clean everything?"
The CSI glared at Flack for a long minute.
"C'mon! It was just a joke! You used to be funnier, you know? By the way, let's check this house"
Danny didn't answer, but Don noticed he was already putting the latex gloves on to examine the little pile of mail scattered around a crystal table: "Bill, ads... oh, a card! Greetings from France. Nothing out of the ordinary..."
Flack, too, was glancing around, but even his trained eye couldn't catch something specific and weird. He looked in the sink: "Nothing in here... table is clean, too. No dirty plates, no crumbs and...", using a handkerchief he pushed his fingers against a cabinet which opened with a click showing the dishwater, "... nothing to wash"
Danny was curious: "How did you know the wash was hidden there?"
He answered without stopping to check the room: "You learn a lot of things by spending your free days buying furniture"
The CSI smirked: "So, the house is in order, the dishes are all washed, nothing is suggesting that something has happened..."
"It looks that Buster left like any normal day... did Sid tell something about the hour of death?"
"Not to me"
"What do we know? His sister filled a missing report two days ago"
"A week has passed since the doorman saw him for the last time... you okay? You seem thoughtful..."
"Nothing... it's only... I don't know. He disappeared, and his sister is the only person who got worried? Nobody else? I understand, he wanted to be left alone – if the deceased wife's story is true – but..."
"It doesn't have much sense, you're right... not a single friend, nobody? That's sad. What was his job?"
Flack took Buster's file and opened it. He scanned rapidly the words: "He was a proof-reader at Brooks & Sons, a publishing company"
"Did he work from home?"
"Your guess is mine"
"Well, I'll take a look at the bedroom"
"I'll call the techs; his PC is going to be taken to the lab"
"Adam will be thrilled... are you planning to swamp him?"
"Pardon?"
"You know... this way he'll have less time to spend with your sister"
"Aren't you headed to the bedroom?", Flack grunted, dialing the precinct number. After giving some orders, he joined Danny: "Let me guess: everything is normal"
Messer was standing in front of the closet, looking at some elegant shirts. Flack stepped closer: "They're not coming from a mall. See? They're tailored and personalized", he pointed to a G. and a B. knit with care.
"Is the typical dress code for the a proof-reader?"
Flack frowned: "I don't think so"
Looking around, Don noticed a basket: Inside, he saw a couple of cheaper shirts and a pair of jeans.
"Something happened..."
"Really, Sherlock? He has been killed"
"Danny, please... he has a closet full of elegant suits, but he's using more casual clothes"
"The elegant ones were maybe only for the formal occasions"
"A whole closet?"
"Bah, I don't get it: Why dressing so elegant? You just need to be clean and in order, no?", Danny looked at Flack to seek confirmation, but noting his dark gray suit and his blue tie he knew the colleague wasn't about to agree. He dropped the topic: "I'll take some shots. Maybe we'll be lucky"
"Have you seen these?"
On the desk, there was a bunch of letters and photos. Before moving them, Danny took a picture.
"A beautiful woman... maybe the wife?", the CSI turned upside the picture portraying a young red-headed woman. On the backside someone had written: Hampton, July 2008.
"A beautiful house, a famous holidays spot, classy clothes, a charming wife... he had a great life"
"And he lost everything"
"Hey, look at this!"
Half-buried under some letters there was a simple white paper. A printed sentence in the middle of it read: Where were you when your world has ended?
"Huh? Is it an ad?"
"I don't think so. There's no numbers, no logos. I'll take it to the lab, just to be sure"
"Let's hope all these evidences are real evidences..."
A loud ring interrupted them: "Mac? We're getting finished. No, all right, we'll meet you there", Danny put the phone in the pocket and took off the gloves, "Autopsy is done"
"Good. Let's leave. I need to talk to the doorman first"
"Okay... let's go"
They left, closing the door. They went downstairs: the kid was waiting for them, his complexion still pale.