I looked around the apartment. What else had I overlooked when I was here before? I went through the garbage in the bathroom, the bedroom, and the kitchen, but I only found a discarded razor blade, a bunch of tissues, and some fairly ripe banana skins. If I had infinite resources, I’d bag all the garbage and send it up to Cheviot for analysis, but the mitt seemed the one important item. I finally left, putting the hasp back in the padlock.
Just as the elevator doors opened, I decided I needed to be more thorough. I went down the hall to see who had come out to watch me. As nearly as I could tell, it had been the third apartment on the left. I knocked, several times, and finally a woman of eighty or so peered through a crack in the door.
“I’m V. I. Warshawski.” I flashed my ID at her. “I’m a detective working on the Vishneski case. You seem like the only observant person on this floor. Have you seen people coming in and out of the Vishneski apartment besides the family?”
“Can I see that ID of yours again, Missy? How do I know it’s not a fake?”
“You don’t, of course.” I held it up to the crack in the door.
The State of Illinois, Division of Professional Regulation, had duly certified that I had completed all required training, and was of good moral character. I could be a licensed private detective. The woman frowned from the card to my face and decided we were the same person, even though it didn’t have my picture on it.
I repeated my question. The hall was so dimly lit, I couldn’t believe she’d be able to identify anyone even if she’d noticed them.
“I haven’t seen anyone. Of course, Mona Vishneski, when she came home Monday, that was a shock for her to find her door broken in like that. I don’t know why the cops thought they had to do that. When I heard the noise, well, it woke me up—I’m sure it woke everyone up. Only, you know what people are like, don’t get involved, MYOB. That’s what gets people killed, too much MYOB—”
“Right,” I interrupted. “I could tell you’re a concerned citizen. What about the night before the police picked up Chad? When did he come home?”
Her mouth scrunched up in thought.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was watching TV in the front room and heard them going down the hall, him and his buddies. He knew they made too much noise, but he isn’t careful about it. That one time Mr. Dorrit complained, Chad swore at him in an ugly way, and it really did frighten us. He’s so big, you know, and he’s a soldier. If he shot us, he’d just tell the judge he was protecting America from terrorists and the judge’d let him go.”
I started to wonder how reliable anything she said might be, but she knew where she was heading.
“See, that night, that night he shot that woman in the nightclub, I heard them coming off the elevator. And I just peeked, you know. Turned out my light so they couldn’t see me. Like I did this afternoon when you showed up.”
“And? Who was with Chad?”
“Not his usual friends. These men, they came out of an office, not off the streets like the bums he usually brings home. They were laughing, slapping him on the back, like they were encouraging him to get louder, and I thought, that’s not very responsible of you even if you do work in an office instead of digging sewers. There’s Mrs. Lacey, with a new baby, and Mr. Dorrit, he has cancer, you got to be more considerate. But then they went into Mrs. Vishneski’s place, and, I will say this, the soundproofing in this building is good enough, once he gets inside, you don’t really hear him carrying on.”
“When did the other men leave?” I asked.
“I couldn’t tell you that, Missy. I’d gone to bed, I was asleep, I didn’t hear them. But Mr. Dorrit, he was out walking his dog, he’s got that little dachshund. He said they took out Mona Vishneski’s garbage with them, put it in the dumpster out in the alley. Those other boys would never have done such a thoughtful thing.”
No, indeed. I thanked the woman and backed away from her down the hall. She was ready to keep talking all night; she believed minding your own business got people killed, and, by gum, she was going to keep her whole building safe by reporting every detail that she could.
When I was here last week, I should have followed my first impulse, to canvass the building. Damn it, why hadn’t I? It was inexcusably sloppy detective work. I’d assumed Chad came home alone. And even after the people at Cheviot labs found roofies in his beer can, I hadn’t tried to see who might have doctored the beer.
While I’d been talking to the woman, Petra had been texting me, Tim R here, don’t no wht u want him 2 do.
On my way, I texted back. I guessed she was nervous about being left in charge and didn’t want to give him instructions on her own.
Before I left, though, I knocked on Mr. Dorrit’s door. Maybe I was doing too little, too late, but he might be able to describe Chad’s companions. The dachshund barked frenziedly, hurling itself at the door.
After a moment, I heard a slow step on the other side, saw a ghastly eye magnified at the peephole, and finally the sound of locks being turned back.