Mathew was a block and a half from his building, when saw that there were five police cars parked in front of it. He stopped at the intersection, waited just a moment, then went on, drove slowly past the first two cars, and stopped a few feet from the one nearest his front steps. He pushed the button to roll down the passenger window and called out, \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n
One of the uniformed officers, in his forties maybe, a lot of forehead showing under his peaked hat, came around the patrol car. He leaned down and said, \u201cYou\u2019ll have to move along, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI live here. Mathew Dacorian, third floor.\u201d<\/p>\n
The officer straightened up. His head and shoulders went out of sight above the roof of the car. He turned slightly to look at someone behind it and called out, \u201cThis guy says he lives here.\u201d Mathew couldn\u2019t hear the answer, but the officer leaned down to his window again. \u201cPark across the street please.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mathew thanked him, pulled forward just a car length, checked the traffic, made a U turn, and parked against the opposite curb. The officer was watching him, not at all perturbed by this illegal maneuver. Mathew took his briefcase from the passenger seat and, out of habit, checked both ways again before walking over to the policeman, who said, \u201cYou\u2019d better talk to Lieutenant Carpenter.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mathew followed him to a rather tall, not very dark man, looking rather more distressed than he expected a cop to be. He looked directly at Mathew as they approached.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr. Dacorian lives on the third floor,\u201d the officer said, then went away.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know a Frederick Bergendorf?\u201d Carpenter asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cFreddy lives on the fifth floor.\u201d There were too many police cars, too many officers down on the street. \u201cHas something happened to him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you account for your whereabouts this morning?\u201d<\/p>\n
The day, which had seemed so pleasant until now, took on a chill which had nothing to do with the weather. This was going to be bad. \u201cI left the building at about eight o\u2019clock, as I usually do. Drove to Dennison \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe community college.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes. Got there about eight thirty, got some coffee at the Union, went to my office, got ready for my classes. I teach Business English at nine, Contemporary Fiction at ten, Public Speaking at eleven. I came back to my office for a few minutes, then went back to the Union, had some lunch, and came home. I\u2019ve got homework to grade. I\u2019d like to get up to my apartment if I could.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou teach there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes sir.\u201d Patient, be patient.<\/p>\n
The lieutenant was not angry, or bored, just very unhappy about something. \u201cYou teach other classes there?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust the three. Monday Wednesday Friday, then again Tuesday Thursday Saturday. That\u2019s about all I can handle.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou been there long?\u201d He was looking at the building, not at Mathew, probably up at the fifth floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is my fourth year.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou like it there?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI like what I can do for my students.\u201d<\/p>\n
Carpenter looked at him now. He didn\u2019t seem suspicious, just \u2014 disturbed. \u201cDid you know Mr. Bergendorf well?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot really.\u201d Freddy was dead. \u201cWe always spoke. We never visited. I took care of his plants when he was out of town.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have a key to his apartment?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe gave me one when he went out of town. How did he die?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you know he died?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBurglaries don\u2019t usually call this many cops to the scene.\u201d<\/p>\n
Carpenter stared at him a moment. Mathew couldn\u2019t tell what he was thinking. Then he looked back at the building.<\/p>\n
It was going to be a cool day, not a chilly one like it felt now. A minor front had passed through the night before and there was only the vaguest of breezes. There was not much in the way of clouds, and the sun should have felt warm against the cool of the air. The streets were still damp, but the wet concrete smell was almost gone. A car drove by, slowing as it passed, curious about all the patrol cars. There usually wasn\u2019t much traffic on this street. There were no pedestrians at all at the moment, but there were some people at their windows. Mrs. Gabbe, two doors down on the other side, was standing on her front step.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I go up to my apartment?\u201d<\/p>\n
Carpenter didn\u2019t look at him, he was still looking up at Freddy\u2019s floor. \u201cSure. Go ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n
It must have been really bad. He felt a little sick. It wasn\u2019t that he liked Freddy so much, not much at all really. But there was nothing wrong with him \u2014 had been\u2026 He was another bachelor, not the brightest of men. Mathew had known him the entire three years he had lived here. Freddy had trusted him with his apartment. That was what mattered.<\/p>\n
He went up the concrete steps. The officer at the door was looking past him over his head. Carpenter must have given him a signal, because when he looked at Mathew, he stepped aside and said, \u201cGo on in.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d Mathew said. He didn\u2019t bother to check his mail. He seldom got anything anyway.<\/p>\n
The only policeman on the first floor was at the far end of the hall by the back door. He watched Mathew without curiosity or challenge. Mrs. Ellington\u2019s door was just past the entrance, at the foot of the stairs. She had to know there was something going on. She never left her apartment, except to get the mail. She even had her groceries delivered. Mathew went past and up the stairs, more and more uncertain, more afraid of what must have happened.<\/p>\n
There was nobody on the second floor. He came back around to the front, and paused by the door where the Finlays lived. They would both be out now. They left the building about the same time he did, and usually didn\u2019t come back until nearly six. They both had jobs, barely enough to pay their rent and groceries, and got no help from grown children living out of state. Ruth Finlay would be hysterical when she found out about Freddy. Steven \u2014 he always used his full first name \u2014 would be angry, and flustered, and then frightened.<\/p>\n
He went up to the third floor, and back to the front and his own door, and looked up the stairs.<\/p>\n
The next apartment was where Millicent Purnell lived. She would also be at work. She was an office manager at Kensington Electronics, and could afford a better place, but she had lived here for twelve years or more, and was comfortable, waiting for the right guy to come along. Mathew doubted he ever would.<\/p>\n
And above Miss Purnell was Freddy Bergendorf.<\/p>\n
He turned away from the stairs, pulled out the ring of keys attached to the chain of his key reel, unlocked the door, went inside, and dropped the keys back into his pocket. The backs of tall bookcases, three feet in front of the door, made a kind of entryway going to the right. The wall immediately to the left was blank. He should put up some pictures someday.<\/p>\n
He went around the bookcases, put his briefcase down on the coffee table in the wider part of the living room, between his recliner and the little sofa, and went through the dining room into the kitchen. There were three beers in the refrigerator. He stared at them, but he didn\u2019t really want one right now. He had homework to grade, and classes tomorrow. He pulled out a Verners instead, got himself a glass, then put both bottle and glass down on the counter.<\/p>\n
There was somebody here.<\/p>\n
He went back to his living room and took the full sized crowbar from the heavy, ornamental metal hook screwed into the end of the bookcase. He held it near the crook, so that it wouldn\u2019t slip from his hand if he had to swing it.<\/p>\n
There was no one in the living room, behind or under the furniture where it was possible for someone to hide. There was no one under the table in the dining room, or in the little broom closet in the kitchen. But you always checked the places where nobody should be, or could be, just to be thorough. You could be mistaken. Or maybe you\u2019d find a clue.<\/p>\n
He went into his bedroom. There was nobody between the bed and the wall, but there could be someone under it. He checked his closet first, stepping well back as he swung open the doors, but there were no strange feet on the floor behind his clothes, and no hands gripping the clothes bar, as there would be if someone were hanging there so he could pull his feet up. He turned back to the bed and lay face down on the floor, ready to spring up again if he had to, but there was only dust under it. That left the bathroom.<\/p>\n
He pulled the door open and stood in the doorway, holding his crowbar easily. The white plastic shower curtain was not completely opaque. Someone was crouched down, at the far end under the shower head, probably more frightened than he was.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow did you get in here?\u201d he asked, as if he were just curious.<\/p>\n
After two seconds, three seconds, the person hiding there stood up, and pulled the curtain aside. She was shorter than he, but not by much, younger than he, but not by much, blandly attractive, dressed like an office worker. She glanced at his eyes, then stared at the crowbar. \u201cYour door wasn\u2019t quite latched.\u201d<\/p>\n
Damn. \u201cThat happens too often. I\u2019m going to have to have it fixed. Did you murder Freddy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d she cried. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned as far back into the corner as she could.<\/p>\n
There was something about her terror that he didn\u2019t like. \u201cYou saw it happen.\u201d<\/p>\n
She panted a couple times, then nodded without speaking.<\/p>\n
He hefted the crowbar, held it up and looked at it, then let it down again. \u201cIs he still here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid he see you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think so. He was \u2014 he was about to turn around and I ran.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right. You don\u2019t have to stay in the tub. I\u2019ll put this away.\u201d<\/p>\n
Someone knocked rather loudly on his front door. He went back to the living room, around the end of the book case, and said, \u201cWho is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPolice, Mr. Dacorian,\u201d a man replied.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t Carpenter or the other officers he\u2019d spoken to. The pulled the door open and stepped back.<\/p>\n
A heavy man with a creased face stood there. He wore a brown suit, a pink shirt, and a blue tie. There were two uniformed officers behind him. He was a couple inches taller than Mathew, maybe forty-fifty pounds heavier. He glanced down at the crowbar, then back up at Mathew\u2019s face. \u201cDo you always carry a crowbar when you answer the door?\u201d The other officers were wary.<\/p>\n
\u201cAs a matter of fact, I do.\u201d He went back to the end of the bookcase, and hung it up on it hook. \u201cThis isn\u2019t the best neighborhood. Come on in.\u201d<\/p>\n
He went to larger half of his living room, stood beside his chair, and gestured toward the little sofa across the coffee table from him. The detective came in, and stood between him and his TV and shelves of videos. One of the officers stood near the end of the book case. The other was still at the door. Mathew gestured again.<\/p>\n
The detective didn\u2019t move. \u201cCan you account for your whereabouts this morning?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI told Lieutenant Carpenter about it just a little while ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell tell me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mathew took a breath, then said, \u201cDo you have a name, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n
The detective\u2019s face wasn\u2019t angry, or disturbed like Carpenter\u2019s had been, just kind of bored. He reached into his jacket, took out a leather folder, flipped it open. There was a badge, and a license. He was close enough that Mathew could read it. Rupert Jamison, Detective Inspector, Emerson Police. He closed the case and put it away. \u201cWhere were you this morning?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mathew sat, gestured to the sofa again, but Jamison didn\u2019t sit. Then Mathew told him what he had told Carpenter. Jamison listened but took no notes. Neither did the officer behind him, who was very carefully keeping to himself, with only an occasional glance at the crowbar, at Mathew, at the office end of the living room, or at the dining room. The other officer was just visible in the doorway, not looking at anything. It felt like they didn\u2019t really want to be here.<\/p>\n
\u201cI suppose you can verify that,\u201d Jamison said.<\/p>\n
Patient, be patient. \u201cIf you ask Registrar Cho, she can give you the names of all my students in the Tuesday Thursday Saturday classes, and you can ask them, about forty in all.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think that will be necessary,\u201d Jamison said. He turned away and went past the officer by the bookcase.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you tell me what happened?\u201d Mathew asked.<\/p>\n
Jamison said nothing, he just went to the door. The officer there went into the hall. The one at the bookcase, watching Mathew now, just dipped his head slightly, and followed the detective. The door closed behind them. Mathew heard the latch engage.<\/p>\n
He sat a moment, waited for the subtle anger at the back of his head to go away, then waited a moment longer before going to the door. He wanted to take the crowbar but he didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
He opened the door as casually as he could and stepped out, as if he really meant to go somewhere. There was nobody in the hall. He came back inside, closed the door securely, and went to the windows looking out onto the street. There were still three patrol cars, and an unmarked car across the street behind his own. Several officers were standing around. He couldn\u2019t see either Carpenter or Jamison.<\/p>\n
He went back to the bathroom. The woman was still standing in the far corner of the tub, under the shower. \u201cThank you,\u201d she said, her voice more a breath than a whisper.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou witnessed a murder. You should probably go talk to Lieutenant Carpenter. Not Inspector Jamison. Tell them what you saw, and that you just ran away. The sooner the better.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey won\u2019t believe me.\u201d She was on the verge of tears.<\/p>\n
He took a breath. \u201cCome on out. Coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n
She stepped out of the tub. \u201cNo, I \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTea? Ginger ale? Beer?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGinger ale.\u201d<\/p>\n
He led her to the dining room, went into the kitchen, took another bottle of Verners out of the refrigerator, and another glass out of the cabinet. He went to where the woman was waiting, and gestured to her to sit at one of the four chairs at his table. He put the bottle and glass down in front of her, then got his own from the kitchen and sat opposite her.<\/p>\n
She stared at her bottle, as if she didn\u2019t know what to do with it. He took the opener from its place in the middle of the table and handed it to her. It took her three tries to get the cap off. He opened his own bottle while she was still pouring, not quite in danger of spilling. She took a sip, then put down her glass, as if surprised by the flavor.<\/p>\n
His own Verners had lost a bit of its chill. He drank off half the glass, and poured in the rest of the bottle. \u201cWhat did you see?\u201d he asked her quietly.<\/p>\n
She startled, stared at him, first at one eye, then at the other, almost panted, then swallowed, and took another sip of her ginger ale. \u201cMr. Bergendorf sometimes does business with us. I was bringing over his amended proposal.\u201d Mathew had no idea what Freddy did for a living. The woman opened her rather large purse, and took out several pages folded in half the long way, showed them to him without actually letting him see what they were, and put them back.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen I got upstairs,\u201d she said, \u201cI saw that his door was open. I started to go in, and then I saw him, with this other man, kind of small, pretty well dressed, gray slacks and jacket. The man was kissing Mr. Bergendorf, but I don\u2019t think Mr. Bergendorf liked it. He kept on waving his arms as if he was trying to get away. The man took in a deep breath \u2014\u201d her voice rose a bit, and began to tremble, \u201clike he was sucking the air out of him \u2014\u201d She stopped again, drank some ginger ale. \u201cThen he exhaled hard through his nose and inhaled again through his mouth, through Mr. Bergendorf\u2019s mouth\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n
She put the glass down, clenched her fists on either side of it, and stared into something terrible. \u201cMr. Bergendorf,\u201d her voice became strained and hoarse, \u201cwas half-way down on his couch. He waved his arms and kicked his legs. Then he just kind of trembled. Then he went limp. The man sucked on him again, and he went limper. The man let him fall, and started to turn around, and I ran.\u201d<\/p>\n
She wasn\u2019t crying, but she was panting so hard she was in danger of passing out from hyperventilation. Mathew gently slapped the table in front of her glass. She startled, stared at him with terrified eyes, and stopped breathing altogether.<\/p>\n
He poured the rest of the ginger ale into her glass. \u201cHave some more,\u201d he said, offering it to her.<\/p>\n
She looked at the glass, as if seeing it for the first time. She gasped, took it from him, and drank half of it.<\/p>\n
There was a pressure in his head, not a headache, but a sense of danger not really passed. What she had seen \u2014 assuming she had really seen what she had told him \u2014 had affected her more than a normal murder would have, certainly more than even a stabbing or a bludgeoning.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat am I going to do?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I don\u2019t think you should talk to the police.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAm I crazy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou might be, but what you\u2019ve told me isn\u2019t proof of that. But it\u2019s not the kind of thing you want to go telling the police about, even if it happened exactly as you told me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt did!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou saw what you saw, but that isn\u2019t necessarily what happened. Especially if you were taken by surprise, and badly disturbed by it. I know I would be. It doesn\u2019t matter. But the police won\u2019t like it, and they\u2019ll question you endlessly, and they might hold you as a witness, and have you take a psychological evaluation, none of which will do any good.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what should I do?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust wait here a while. The police will eventually \u2014\u201d he heard two sets of heavy feet coming down the stairs from the floor above, but they went past his door to the other end of the hall and on down the stairs. \u201cThey\u2019ll eventually leave, and after they\u2019ve been gone a while, you can go home. Not back to work. Phone your boss, tell him you came to deliver the proposal, found the police already here, you think Mr. Bergendorf is dead, and you\u2019re going to stay home. Okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou sound like you\u2019ve made up alibis before.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you really an English teacher?\u201d She had overheard him talking to Jamison.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am. It\u2019s a hell of a lot better than what I was before. I like teaching these kids. Kids. Eighteen to fifty two this semester. What I teach them helps a lot of them get out of their dead end jobs. Speaking clearly, writing clearly, thinking clearly. They can work their way up off the factory floor. It makes me feel good.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI imagine it would.\u201d She was working hard to become calm. Give her a few minutes, an hour maybe, then she could go home.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy name is Mathew Dacorian,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor Silverburg.\u201d She held out her hand, somewhat uncertainly. He took it gently, then let it go. \u201cMy friends call me Elly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you for including me among your friends.\u201d He tried to sound like he meant it, because he did. \u201cAnd I prefer Mathew, not Matt.\u201d He gave her only the smallest of smiles. The poor kid, not yet thirty probably, was coming down off her terror and disgust and having a perfectly normal reaction. Hell, if he had seen Freddy die that way, he\u2019d have a reaction too. Mostly rage, certainly. \u201cHave you had lunch?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow about a grilled cheese sandwich. Do you like rye bread?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSh-sure, that\u2019s f-fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGo lie down and let yourself go. I\u2019ll bring it to you when it\u2019s ready. Bedroom or sofa, whichever is more comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d she almost squeaked, and went into the bedroom. She had seen how small the sofa was. She closed the door behind her. He could hear her, struggling to not sob too loudly, but he shut it out as he made her sandwich, buttering the bread on the outside. On second thought, though he\u2019d already eaten, he made one for himself too. The company would make her feel better.<\/p>\n
He got out two small plates, and when the sandwiches were properly browned on both sides, and the cheese was well melted, he cut the sandwiches in half diagonally, salted them lightly, and folded paper towels for napkins. He held both plates in his left hand, and rapped softly on the bedroom door.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust a minute,\u201d she said, her voice muffled. He heard her moving. \u201cOkay,\u201d she said, her voice normal.<\/p>\n
He opened the door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a small towel in her lap. She had been wiping at her face. \u201cEat it here, or out there?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn here,\u201d she said in a small voice. He handed her one of the plates, then sat down on the bed, about two feet from her. She looked at the sandwich, then took a bite. He started eating his own. \u201cI like this,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cCanadian Cheddar, three years old, a lot more flavor than regular cheese.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere do you get it?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDeli section of most grocery stores. You have to kind of try a few to find one you like. Irish cheese will do in a pinch. Boar\u2019s Head sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is good.\u201d She finished the first half and started on the other. She was hungry. Hell, it was nearly three.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got more ginger ale,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
She put the last of the sandwich in her mouth, handed him the empty plate, and stood up. \u201cThank you,\u201d she said, around her nearly full mouth.<\/p>\n
He couldn\u2019t help but smile more broadly this time. \u201cYou\u2019re welcome.\u201d He preceded her into the little dining room, and got the last two bottles of Verners from the refrigerator. This time she opened hers with no difficulty.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you often deliver revised proposals to clients in their homes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean, why not some lowly secretary or errand boy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m the lowly secretary. Office manager. Same thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI guess. You don\u2019t have to justify your being here to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
He got up and went to the living room window. There were no more patrol cars. No cops were visible on the street. He went to his door and looked out. Nobody in sight, no little sounds like somebody standing around waiting. Just to be sure he went to the back end of the hall, looked down the stairs, listened, came back to his door, looked up the stairs, and listened again. They had to have taken Freddy away before he had gotten home. He went back inside.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre they gone?\u201d Elly asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey seem to be. Let me make sure.\u201d<\/p>\n
He left again, closing the door securely behind him, went up to Freddy\u2019s floor, and around to the front. There was yellow police tape across Freddy\u2019s door. He saw nobody on the way as he went down to the first floor, but Mrs. Ellington\u2019s door opened as he went past it.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid they bother you much?\u201d he asked her.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot too much,\u201d she said, sounding more like a normal seventy-year-old than she usually did. Her long-haired black cat, its eyes glowing greenly as cats\u2019 eyes sometimes did, stared out at him from behind her ankles. \u201cI put on my best crazies,\u201d her own eyes got a little strange, and her smile kind of twitched, \u201cand the nice officer,\u201d her voice quavered just a bit, \u201cdecided real soon that he didn\u2019t want to talk to me. I wonder why?\u201d Her eyes glinted.<\/p>\n
He thought she might be laughing at him, but the glint was tears. \u201cDid you know him well?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. But he always said \u2018Hi,\u2019 and he never laughed at me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe let me take care of his plants when he was away.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stared him in the eyes. Her mouth got tight. Before a tear could start down her cheek, she went back inside, and closed her door, gently but firmly.<\/p>\n
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and went out onto the front steps. Mrs. Ellington had let him see her as she truly was, not as she always pretended to be. He appreciated her confidence, maybe more than she realized.<\/p>\n
There were no patrol cars. There were no uniformed officers. There were no men in plain clothes just standing around. Or women, either. People up and down the block, and across the street, had gone back inside. Considering how many police had been here when he had come home, it was odd that they should all have gone away so quickly.<\/p>\n
He stood there, hands in his pockets, looked one way, then slowly turned and looked the other. He looked up at the few thin, high clouds in the blue sky, then at the buildings across the street. If someone was watching from their windows, he couldn\u2019t see them. He went down to the sidewalk, and crossed the street to his car. He got in, started it, turned it around, and parked it where it was supposed to be, where his name was painted on the curb. He got out. There was nobody in the windows of the buildings on either side of his.<\/p>\n
He went back up to his apartment. Elly was still sitting at the table where he had left her, clutching her empty glass with both hands. \u201cThey\u2019re all gone,\u201d he said. \u201cHow did you get here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m parked about a half a block down.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right. Just go home, call your boss \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI already did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. He must have been concerned.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was. He knew Mr. Bergendorf too, a bit. I don\u2019t think he\u2019s going to get much work done this afternoon either.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen he won\u2019t mind if you stay home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. Watch a movie or something. Watch two. Get this experience into the back of your head, where it won\u2019t disturb you so much.\u201d He took the pad of paper from the middle of the table, and took his chrome Cross pencil from his shirt pocket. \u201cHere\u2019s my phone number.\u201d He handed it to her. \u201cI hope you don\u2019t ever have to use it, but if you do, almost any time except mornings when I\u2019m teaching, give me a call. Even late at night is okay.\u201d He had no idea what he would do if she did call, or even why he had told her that, except that it gave her something to hang on to, a connection, however tenuous and ephemeral.<\/p>\n
She looked at the paper as if memorizing the number, then folded it twice and put it in her purse. \u201cThank you.\u201d She stood, and he followed her to the door. She went into the hall, looked back at him, tried to smile, then went back to the head of the stairs and down, a bit too fast at first, but at a more normal speed as she went down to the first floor. He heard the door open, then close, and she was gone.<\/p>\n
#<\/p>\n
He did not normally watch the news. He did not take a paper. It wasn\u2019t the criminality and violence that bothered him, it was the stupidity, cupidity, lies and deceit, corruption and betrayal that made him angry enough to almost become violent himself again. But after doing his homework that afternoon \u2014 that is, after correcting his students\u2019 homework and, in a couple cases, seeing some real progress \u2014 he decided to watch the news on the TV which he used only for movies. He had a good collection of movies, and sometimes rented before buying.<\/p>\n
The announcement, when it finally came at the end of the hour, was brief and with no substance. Frederick Bergendorf had been found dead in his apartment. No description. No mention of possible murder. A few more words than that, but that was basically it. Five patrol cars, two unmarked, a lieutenant, a detective inspector, and over a dozen cops, and no comment.<\/p>\n
He turned off the TV, and just sat in his chair for, well, a while, not really thinking, just sort of feeling the situation. It made no sense. After all that fuss this afternoon, after all that nothing on the news, there were no police here now. They had had a situation like this before, and knew that nothing more was going to happen here. How many similar deaths had there been?<\/p>\n
He became aware that his breathing was too shallow, when he had to take a deep breath to make up for it. He wasn\u2019t afraid, but he was behaving as if breathing too loudly would give him away to somebody.<\/p>\n
He got up from his chair and got himself a beer. He didn\u2019t like to drink except on Saturday nights, when he could sleep in Sunday morning. Not that he drank that much, but he had learned long ago that even just two beers the night before could slow his thinking, just enough to be dangerous if something unpleasant happened. These days, it was just that he wanted to be completely on top of it for his students. They were ignorant, not dumb, most of them, and taking classes because they chose to, not because somebody made them, and even the brightest of them were a challenge to teach, especially the ones who didn\u2019t take instruction from anybody who didn\u2019t have obvious authority. He looked at the beer, then put it back. He was going to be distracted enough as it was tomorrow.<\/p>\n
He thought about his crowbar, but decided not to take it with him when he went out into the hall. If he was reading the signs right, there would be no danger here tonight. He went upstairs, being quiet but not sneaky. He passed Millicent Purnell\u2019s door. Who had called the police? Had Elly Silverburg done it? He didn\u2019t think so. She had been too terrified to think of anything, except hiding in some strange person\u2019s bathtub. He could ask the police, but he was sure he would get no answer.<\/p>\n
He went up to Freddy\u2019s floor. The yellow police tape across the door was stuck on with transparent packing tape. No problem. He carefully peeled back the ends on the hinge side and let the tape dangle. Then he took his keys off their chain, found Freddy\u2019s, and unlocked the door. The last time he had tended Freddy\u2019s plants, Freddy had told him to just keep the key. Freddy trusted him. Had trusted him. He hadn\u2019t much liked Freddy, but the thought of someone who trusted him that much being murdered made him almost as angry as reading a newspaper. More, actually.<\/p>\n
He took just one step into the apartment. There was no sense closing the door behind him. If anybody came up they would see the police tapes down. He listened. He could almost hear the refrigerator. There was a click somewhere, nothing important. Otherwise, the silence almost hissed in his ears. No subtle movements in the bathtub. No breathing in the bed.<\/p>\n
Elly had seen it happen on Freddy\u2019s couch, on the right, against the back wall. It was pulled out a little bit, so that a number of large illustration boards and mounted posters could be stored behind it. He had never bothered to look at them, and wasn\u2019t interested in them now. There was no sign of a struggle, but things weren\u2019t quite as neat as they should be, as they had been the other times he had been up here. The rug in front of the couch was a bit rucked up. The couch itself was not perfectly parallel to the wall. The low, glass-topped coffee table, with magazines on the shelf underneath, had been pushed aside a bit, probably by the police, or the ambulance crew, and had not put back just right. The plants, on the deep shelf under the windows at the other end of the room, had been moved around a bit.<\/p>\n
There was no smell other than the faintly bitter scent of some of the plants and their damp potting soil. Freddy kept his place pretty clean, for a bachelor. Cleaner than Mathew did. No spilled beer. No dirty socks. No disinfectant, no strong cleaning solution. There was a hint of cigarette smoke.<\/p>\n
Freddy didn\u2019t smoke.<\/p>\n
He went to the couch. If the assailant had had his back to the door, Freddy\u2019s head had been at the end toward the dining room. The cushions were just slightly disarrayed, but that in itself didn\u2019t mean anything. He picked one up, turned it over, looked at the lining material of the underside, and turned it back.<\/p>\n
Nobody had heard a shooting, or at least Mrs. Ellington hadn\u2019t. A stabbing would have left lots of blood, and there was no blood. Freddy had been \u201ckissed\u201d to death. By a guy. If Freddy had been gay, Mathew hadn\u2019t known about it.<\/p>\n
He backed away from the couch, watching the rug at his feet, being careful not to disturb it, leaving the little rucked-up wrinkle. No blood there either. When he was off the rug, he turned toward the door. There were no sounds other than the refrigerator, no smells other than the plants and cigarette smoke. And there had been nothing in the news, other than that Freddy had been found dead.<\/p>\n
He had to remember to breathe again.<\/p>\n
He left the apartment, locked the door, and carefully put the police tapes back up exactly the way he had found them, as near as he could remember. Then he went back down to his own apartment, thought about a beer again, but went to bed early, and lay in the darkness, thinking about nothing for a couple hours, until he finally drifted off.<\/p>\n
He had dreams during the night \u2014 people running, getting lost in a complex but small building, a smiling woman, other things which were of no significance whatsoever.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
His classes went well the next day. He was disciplined with himself and didn\u2019t think about Freddy at all from the moment he got into his car until he left his office to go to the union for lunch. His students listened to what he told them, and some of them understood what he said. They all turned in their homework, some of it hopeless, some of it almost good. He would correct it that afternoon.<\/p>\n
He sat at one of the small tables at the back. There were high windows all along the side behind him and the long side to his left. Today he had a tuna salad sandwich, regular chips, a fruit cup, and a small Coke.<\/p>\n
The student union had better lunches than some restaurants. After all, many of the people who worked here were paying for their classes by working in restaurants, and there were fewer jobs than applicants. Some of them had had extensive experience in fast food, which was why they were at Dennison, so that they could move up, or move on. They probably weren\u2019t aware that the union manager and their supervisors were also educating them in customer relations, basic courtesy, and good appearance and deportment, while they were doing their jobs.<\/p>\n
He had taken the second bite of his sandwich when he became aware of someone coming toward him. He looked up. It was Elly Silverburg. She smiled at him uncertainly, he gestured to the empty chair, and she sat. \u201cAre you having lunch?\u201d he asked her, trying to ease her anxiety with a perfectly calm voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cAhm, I already ate. Ahm, I just wanted to say thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re welcome. How did you know I would be here?\u201d He knew the answer, but she would expect the question.<\/p>\n
\u201cI heard you talking with that policeman. I don\u2019t think I like him very much.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know I don\u2019t like him at all. He had no reason to grill me after I\u2019d talked with the lieutenant down stairs. He had no call to be high handed about it.\u201d He took another bite of his sandwich.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wasn\u2019t very courteous was he.\u201d She was looking down at her hands on the table top. She wasn\u2019t expecting an answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt takes a while to get over seeing something like that,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
She nodded, small tight motions. \u201cIt does. I listened to the news last night.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course you did. So did I. They didn\u2019t say much.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked up at him now, her anxiety not quite getting the best of her. \u201cThey didn\u2019t. Why not? He was murdered.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe they think it was a heart attack.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I saw \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you didn\u2019t tell them what you saw. I wouldn\u2019t have either. I\u2019d have made something up, about strangling maybe. You didn\u2019t, by chance, call the police when you got into my apartment, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo! I just \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t think so, but I had to ask. I wonder who did. If it had been the woman who lived below him, she would have been up and down the halls, talking about it, semi-hysterical. But she was probably at work when it happened. So were the people who live below me, but if they had called they would have been out in the hall when I got home. And the woman on the first floor never comes out of her room except to get her mail. So who called the police?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI \u2014 I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is a puzzlement, as someone once said. I don\u2019t like it much. Too many cops, too little news.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you seen today\u2019s paper?\u201d<\/p>\n
This was why she was here, not to thank him, but because she needed somebody to talk to, and he was the only one who already knew her secret. \u201cReading newspapers does bad things to my blood pressure,\u201d he said. \u201cI used to read the headlines, to justify reading the comics, but I stopped reading the papers altogether a while ago. I take it there\u2019s not much there either.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust a notice in section two. One paragraph. Mr. Frederick Bergendorf was found dead on his sofa last night in his apartment. That\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took another bite of his sandwich and leaned back in his chair. \u201cPretty scary.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShould I go to the police?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThink about it. Too many cops. Too little news. There\u2019s a cover up. You could get yourself into real trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know. That\u2019s what\u2019s scary.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you go to work today?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah. I\u2019m on my lunch hour. Mr. Choptra was pretty upset. He let me have the rest of the day off yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow much time do you have?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout forty five minutes. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome with me.\u201d He picked up the rest of his lunch and stood. \u201cI\u2019ll drive and bring you back here. It\u2019ll take about an hour. Can you do that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUh,\u201d she stood, \u201cyeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
He took another bite as he led her out to his car.<\/p>\n
#<\/p>\n