That evening, while investigating another lead, Harmon’s scanner reported a drug bust in progress. Believing his assistance was needed; he rushed to the scene, finding the drug house surrounded by police.
“Who are you,” asked Harmon to the round 60-something woman crouched behind the cruisers with officers.
“Im the landlord and I own this house. Please don’t fill the building full of bullet holes. It’s my only source of income.” She wined while wrenching her small calloused hands together.
“I can’t make promises.” Harmon said.
“Ohhhh” she wailed. “I’ve had nothing but trouble from that woman since she moved in. Trash she is and the men she goes with.”
“Who are you referring to?”
“Deidra Sloan that’s who. I had no choice but to rent to her after Keith Conrad moved out without warning. He had a lease and owes me rent.”
Conrad being missing peaked Harmon’s curiosity. “When’s the last time you heard from Conrad?”
“Earlier this month, but he never gave his employer any notice either. Just took off like the wind. This whole town’s gone crazy since them murders.”
Harmon wondered if his conversation with Conrad spooked the man into hiding. “Did Conrad leave anything behind inside the apartment?”
“Yeah! A lot of stuff.” She said. “His furniture, clothes, TV. Left in a real big hurry is what it looked like. Took his cameras though.”
Staring at the talkative woman, Harmon looked pleased. “Conrad was a photographer?”
“That’s what he thought, and he had the young girls think’n he wuz too, but it was for show. Just a clever way to get young meat for himself if you ask me.”