The Last Dead Girl by Harry Dolan

He made a turn onto the main drag, Erie Boulevard, and headed downtown. K followed.
    â€œI’m messing with you,” Jolene said. “About the song.”
    â€œI thought you might be,” said K.
    â€œIt’s Dolly Parton. I love that song. I just wanted to see if you’d sing it.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    M alone drove past the university and the hospital and pulled into the lot of an apartment complex—an upscale version of the one across from Jana Fletcher’s duplex. The pickup truck rolled into a numbered space close to one of the buildings, and K found a space marked VISITOR farther back.
    He watched Malone disappear into the building. Impossible to tell which apartment was his. It could be useful to know. There was a row of mailboxes beside the entry door. There might be names on the boxes or there might just be numbers. K could go and check, but he wondered if there might be another way.
    â€œWhat are we doing here?” Jolene asked him.
    â€œShhhh,” he said.
    The building had three stories and each of the units on the top two floors had a balcony. More likely than not, David Malone lived on the second or third floor. Two chances out of three. K believed that if he concentrated, he could make Malone come out onto his balcony.
    â€œHow long are we gonna follow this guy?” Jolene asked.
    K held up a finger to silence her, and she murmured something that sounded like “You’re gettin’ to be kind of a drag.” But she didn’t say anything more. He focused on each balcony in turn, starting on the third floor, working his way left to right, then the second floor, right to left.
    He came to the last one with no result and glanced over at Jolene. She was sitting quietly, balancing the red Solo cup on one knee. No hands.
    He reached over carefully and picked it up. Held it in his lap while he started over with the balconies. He got through the third floor and halfway through the second before Jolene broke his concentration.
    â€œI don’t have germs, you know,” she said.
    â€œWhat’s that now?”
    She pointed at the red cup. “You can have a drink if you want. You won’t catch anything.”
    â€œI’m not thirsty,” he said.
    A bit of movement caught his eye. A car pulling into the space beside Malone’s pickup truck.
    â€œWell, maybe I’m thirsty,” Jolene said. “Did you ever think of that?”
    The woman who got out of the car wore glasses and a doctor’s white coat. K watched her go up the steps and into the building.
    â€œRude to hold on to it,” Jolene said, “if you’re not even gonna drink it.”
    K offered the cup to her. “Take it,” he said. “Just be careful. Use two hands.”
    Up on the second floor—all the way on the left—David Malone stepped out onto his balcony. He put a mug of coffee on the railing.
    â€œTwo hands,” Jolene said. “What am I, a baby?”
    â€œShhhh,” said K.
    â€œAre you shushing me again?” Jolene said. “I don’t believe you.” She drank from the beer, holding it with two hands. “Oh wow,” she said. “Look, it’s a guy on a balcony. This is great.”
    Movement on the balcony, a door sliding, and out came the woman with the glasses. The white coat was gone; she wore blue hospital scrubs. Her hair had been pinned up before, but now it was down. Another beauty, K thought. Maybe Malone had them all over the city.
    â€œOooooh, hey,” Jolene said. “It’s two people on a balcony.”
    K tried to tune her out. He watched the scene unfold. Malone and the woman didn’t look happy. They kept their distance from each other. Malone picked up his coffee and took a sip.
    â€œUh-oh,” Jolene said. “He’s not using two hands.”

8
    S ophie Emerson was still wearing the engagement ring I’d bought her. That was the first