Before she had him scoot behind the door, Inspector Lee asked, “Do you know how to tell time, Tyler?”
“Yes, I have a watch.” He thrust his arm out for her to see his red plastic wristwatch.
“Can you tell me how long you think the man stayed here breaking the door down?”
Tyler frowned. “Not very long.”
“Five minutes?”
“Oh, no. Maybe . . . ten minutes?”
Lee glanced at her partner and Jaglom shrugged. Who knew what ten minutes translated to in little-boy time? Lee thought of another question. “Did you see the man go inside?”
“Yes,” he said spiritedly, excited to know the right answer. “He was inside; then the elevator made that loud noise and the man ran out of there.”
“How did he leave the building?”
“Down these stairs.” Tyler pointed down the stairs he was on.
His father grimaced at the realization that the man had been within inches of his son.
“Now, Tyler,” Lee said, pointing at Derek, “do you think the bad man was taller than our friend Derek?”
The stairwell door was partially open, and Tyler stared at Derek, who stood in front of my doorway pretending to kick it. His studious gaze moved from Derek’s feet up to his face. “I think so. Bad man was fatter. But his hair was that color.” He pointed at Derek.
“So he had dark hair?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Yes.”
“Can you describe it?”
Tyler held his breath and blew out his cheeks.
Lee glanced at Jaglom, who was taking notes, then back at the boy. “Okay, you’ve made it pretty clear he was heavyset.”
“Fat,” Tyler said firmly. “And ugly.”
“Okay, thank you, Tyler,” Lee said with a tight smile, then checked her watch. “Now I think it’s way past your bedtime, isn’t it?”
“That’s okay,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I can keep working.”
Lee chuckled as she walked with him over to his mom and dad. “He did a great job. I’ll bring the artist by your place tomorrow morning.”
His parents nodded.
Lee looked down at Tyler. “And if I have more questions for you, I’ll ask them at that time, okay?”
Tyler glanced up at his parents. “Okay?”
“Yes, it’s okay,” Lisa said, resigned to the fact that, rather than being distressed, Tyler was having the time of his life.
Lee thanked them all; then Mr. Chung hefted Tyler up in his arms and they returned to their home down the hall.
“Bet they’re happy they moved in here,” I muttered.
“I’m not saying a word,” Lee said, holding up both hands.
“I appreciate that.”
One of the crime scene guys walked out my door and I was reminded that my place was a complete mess. I was too tired to fume over the injustice of it all.
“I don’t suppose you’ll have Tyler look through mug shots,” I said.
Lee shook her head. “And give him nightmares for a year? Probably not.”
“I know. But I hate that we have only Tyler’s word that the guy who broke in was fat and ugly.”
Lee closed her notepad. “The way I see it, the guy could look like Keanu Reeves and Tyler would call him ugly because he was scared of him.”
I gave her a reluctant nod. “That’s probably true.”
“Huh,” Lee said, clearly thinking about it. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind finding Keanu Reeves breaking down my door.”
It was well after midnight when the police hammered a beat-up slab of plywood over my door and draped it in yellow crime scene tape. Suzie had taken Pookie home for one night, so Derek and I left to spend the night in his suite at the Ritz-Carlton. I made sure Tyler’s book was safe on the shelf, but I wrapped up the Kama Sutra and packed it in my overnight bag. I wasn’t willing to risk it behind a flimsy wall of plywood.
Walking through Derek’s sumptuous hotel suite, I was reminded of the incriminating evidence we’d found here during the last murder investigation. Would all our best memories revolve around murder? Or I supposed I could dwell instead on the fact that Derek still kept this suite available to use while he transitioned his business from London to San Francisco. Was this his escape hatch for when he grew tired of our relationship?