It started with vomit. I mean, that was the most likely story – it was a Saturday night.
By Sunday morning, the story had pivoted to decaying flesh. A body was stashed in a lower-level storage unit. Or an elderly resident had passed away without notice.
This is all speculation, of course. I was fond of sewer gas, but my sleuthing was dismissed by the building’s engineer.
The doorman was the real victim in this crap. Sitting there amid the stench, still never opening the door for me. It would have been a breath of fresh air.