"Believe me, lady, the pleasure's all mine."

Her faced reddened and she slammed the door. He continued upstairs.

On the third floor, he caught sight of the yellow crime scene sticker down the hall to the left. The apartment was halfway to the end, the telltale sticker carefully applied to span where the door met the jamb. He studied the door briefly-old, battered, in need of paint, but undamaged- and gave the knob a tentative twist.

That would have been too lucky.

He checked out the rest of the floor, getting a feel for the place, before retreating back downstairs, past the lobby, and descending to the basement. There, he found a door labeled, "Super," just as he'd hoped.

A small, dark-skinned man with a thick mustache opened the door at the second knock. Willy already had his pad out, opened to a blank page.

"What?" the man asked.

Willy glanced at the pad. "Mr. Martinez? Detective Murphy. I need to get into apartment 318." Seemingly as an afterthought, he did the same dismissive badge flash he'd pulled on the old woman.

The super didn't even glance at it. "My name is Jose Rivera. I don't know Martinez."

Willy flipped back a couple of pages. "Jerks. Somebody screwed up-has you as Martinez in one place, Rivera in another. Typical. You got the key?"

Rivera looked disgusted. "Yeah, I got the key. Why, I don't know. Somebody dies and I lose the place for a year. You watch. What good's a key for a place I can't rent? You people need to fix that. The system stinks, and the apartment stinks, too. All the shit that's in there, and nobody to clean it up. The neighbors bitch and I can't do nothing about it. I had a guy die two years ago and rot for a week before I found out. I lost three places that time- the people next to him moved out 'cause of the smell. Three places I was out." He held up three fingers.

Willy nodded. "Key?"

Rivera stared at him a moment.