“He was, a big firm in San Francisco,” Bruce said. “I’m sure he has a will, and the will appoints an executor who’ll take charge of his affairs. It’ll be a mess.”

Bob said, “If he’s been here for two years then he’s likely to be a resident of Florida. Of course he is. He has Florida tags on his car. So wouldn’t the lawyer be here?”

“Hell if I know. He probably has, had, lawyer friends everywhere.”

Nick stepped into the condo and closed the door behind him.

Bob said, “We could wait here for hours, you know? These poor cops are chasing their tails right now.”

“We passed a bunch of National Guardsmen on the way over, so help has arrived.”

“What about your place?”

“Got lucky. Lots of downed limbs, no real damage. Nothing like around here.”

Bob said, “I should’ve left. Now I have to rip out carpets and drywall and shovel out mud and crap. A week with no electricity. Temps in the nineties. You have plenty of food?”

“I’m okay. I have a small generator so the beer is still cold. Come stay with me and Nick. There’s food, and when it’s gone we’ll go looting, have some fun.”

“Thanks.”

Nick cracked the door and said, “Hey, fellas, come take a look.”

They walked into the den where Nick lit a wall with a flashlight. Bob asked, “Where’d you get that?”

“Found it on the sofa. Look at those specks next to the bookshelves. Could be dried blood. There’s more on those books just to the right there.”

Bruce took the flashlight and examined the wall. There were eight to ten dark specks of something, perhaps blood. Perhaps not. But whatever the substance there was no way that Nelson or his housekeeper, if he had one, would have allowed the stains to remain where they were. Bob examined them and shook his head.

“Follow me,” Nick said, and they walked down a narrow hall to the bathroom. He lit the vanity and said, “See those pinkish stains beside the faucet? Could’ve been left behind by someone trying to wash away bloodstains.”

“You read a lot of crime novels?” Bob asked.

“Hundreds. They’re my favorite.”

“So where’s the bloody hand towel or rag or whatever?” Bruce asked.

“Gone. There was no electricity, but the hot water pressure would’ve worked until the tank ran dry. Our suspect couldn’t toss the hand towel in the washing machine because it wasn’t working. And it’s empty now. He couldn’t leave behind the evidence, so he simply left with it.”

“Our suspect?” Bruce asked.

“Indulge me here. This could be serious.”

“It’s already serious,” Bob said.

“Got that.”

Bruce said, “You’re thinking somebody came over here in the middle of a Category 4 hurricane, caught Nelson in the den, whacked him in the head, dragged his body outside, tried to clean up the blood, and then ran off. Seriously?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Nick said. “Actually, it was the perfect time to kill somebody and make it look accidental.”

“I like it,” Bob said. “But where’s the blood on the floor?”

They looked at their feet. All six were on a wet and stained rug. Nick said, “It’s too dark in here to see anything, but what if, and, again, just indulge me, but what if we’re standing in the middle of a crime scene?”

Bob said, “I didn’t do it, I swear.”

Bruce said, “Let’s take a closer look at his head.”

They studied each other’s eyes for a second, then tiptoed back to the patio. Nick took the lead and inched closer to the corpse. He lifted a towel and leaned down. The bloody gash above Nelson’s left ear was sickening and, to their untrained eyes, certainly looked ghastly enough to cause death. Using the towel and being careful not to touch him with his fingers, Nick tried to lift Nelson’s head, but his neck was already stiff.

Nick stood and said, “Okay, here’s what I think we should do. Let’s roll the body off and let it land on the deck. We need to see his face and the other side of his head.”

Bruce said, “Not so sure about that. The cops have seen him and they’ll know we messed with the corpse.”

Bob said, “I agree. I ain’t touching him.”

Nick said, “Okay, then we can put him back to where he is right now. But we need to see everything.”

“Why?” Bruce asked. “What’s your theory?”

“The killer hit him once inside and knocked him out, then dragged him out here and whacked him again, probably more than once, to finish him off.”

“In the middle of the storm?” Bruce asked. “With rain coming down in sheets?”

“Exactly. The killer wasn’t worried about getting wet. Don’t you see? It was the perfect time to kill him.”

“With what?” Bob asked.

“Exactly! With something the killer found in the apartment. He didn’t show up at the door with a gun or a knife. He got inside, maybe it was someone Nelson knew but sure as hell didn’t know what he wanted, and he let him in because he was roaming around in a Cat 4. The guy grabbed a fire poker or a baseball bat or something he probably knew was in the apartment, and used it.”