Unfortunately, when all was said and done, I was the one with the correct answer to the sixty-four thousand dollar question: Eldon Andrew Porter was alive and still just as demented-if not more so-than before. It had merely taken him ten months to come out of hiding.

Now that he had surfaced, I found myself wishing that I had been a better shot.

*****

“It’s a bit of a climb,” the patrol officer ahead of us said over his shoulder. “We have to go up to the fourth floor, then over to the roof access.”

My eyes were still adjusting to the darkness inside the building as we climbed the debris-strewn concrete stairs. The faint nasal bite of urine, both stale and fresh, joined in a pungent reek with feces and rotting trash to foul the gelid air.

“Careful there,” he warned, directing the beam of his flashlight on a crumbling step.

We picked our way around the hazard, single file-Felicity in front of me and Ben bringing up the rear.

“There’re a lot of homeless that crash here, what with the ministry across the street handing out free lunches and all,” the officer continued, offering up an explanation for the background stench. “Actually smells quite a bit worse over at the freight elevator shaft.”

“Any of ‘em in here when you arrived?” Ben asked.

“No, not when I got here,” he answered. “Stockton was first on the scene though.”

“He up there?”

“No, he’s the green one downstairs tossing his cookies.”

“Friggin’ wunnerful,” Ben spat with more than just a note of sarcasm. “He say if he saw anyone?”

“Just the dead guy.”

Ben grunted his displeasure before moving on to his next question, “Who’s runnin’ the scene?”

“That would be Lieutenant Albright.”

“Whoa.” Ben all but halted on the stairs. “Not Barbara Albright… Tell me you’re not talkin’ about ‘Bible Barb.’”

The uniformed officer stifled what might have been a knowing or perhaps a nervous laugh. Maybe even both. It was hard to tell. “Yeah. That’s the one.”