He dropped his bags on the floor and his coat on the couch, then sauntered into the kitchen, where Escher could hear a kettle being filled. He had keys, but he wasn’t expected—or perhaps even permitted, which would explain his not ringing the buzzer, and his timid entry. Escher pegged him for an old boyfriend—and when he came back into the front room and started sorting through a pile of CDs on the stereo, and tossing some into his saddlebags, Escher figured he knew what was going on. The old beau had come back, on the sly, to retrieve some of his stuff.
Escher had been in this very spot himself, more than once, but he’d always left a present behind to show he’d been there. Once, it had been a dead rat in the microwave, and oh, what he would have given to see his ex’s reaction to that!
The kettle boiled, and Giorgio went to make his instant coffee, or tea. Escher feared that Julius would give himself away, but so far it looked like the boyfriend had no desire to open the curtains either.
And Escher didn’t believe he would stick around in the apartment long.
But what if there was something he wanted in the closet?
Escher ran his eye over the clothes. As far as he could tell, they were all dresses and other women’s things. It was only when he looked down that he saw the hiking boots, shoved almost all the way to the back—and they were plainly a man’s.
The boyfriend came back, and although Escher couldn’t see him, he heard him sit down in the desk chair and rummage around in the drawers. Then, he hit the play button on her answering machine and listened to her messages. Escher had planned to do that himself.
But how long was he going to take? Standing in the musty closet was growing uncomfortable, and it was only a matter of time before Jantzen gave himself away somehow.
“You hungry?” Giorgio was saying to the damn owl, and he’d gotten up to feed it something.
Then, as Escher listened carefully, he heard him closing the straps on his saddlebags—was he finally done?—before snapping his fingers, as if he’d forgotten something. It was unmistakable—he was coming to the closet, probably for those fucking boots.
The door opened, and since the boyfriend was already looking down, Escher was able to head butt him, like a piledriver, without much trouble. But because of the bad angle, he ended up catching him not just on the forehead but the bridge of the nose, too. The guy stumbled back, stunned, not knowing what had just hit him, when Escher stepped out of the closet and cracked him under the chin with a swift uppercut.
He was actually lifted off his feet before going down hard, smacking his head for good measure on the edge of a low table. He was unconscious, the blood streaming from his broken nose and split lip, when Julius popped out from behind the drapes and said, “What the hell just happened?”
Escher was already going through his pockets, taking his wallet—he had a faculty card that identified him as Giorgio Capaldi, an assistant history professor—and his BlackBerry.
“Is he dead?” Julius gasped, coming no closer.
“No. But he’s going to have a very bad headache when he comes to.”
Dragging the body into the bedroom, Escher hoisted it onto the bed, then cut the cord on the bedside phone and used it to tie his wrists.
“Make yourself useful,” he said to Julius, who was watching slack-jawed from the doorway. “Find me a scarf, or some stockings.” He tied the remaining length of cord to the iron bedstead.
Julius found a silk scarf, and Escher stuck it into the boyfriend’s mouth before knotting the ends behind his head. Then, almost tenderly, he lifted the man’s head and rested it on the pillow.
“That should do it.”
Turning, he ripped open the bedside table, spilling the contents onto the floor. On the dresser, he opened the jewel box and threw the worthless costume jewelry around the room. But just to make things seem convincing, he stuck a couple of necklaces and earrings in his pants pocket.
Jantzen stood mute, as if transfixed, until Escher said, “Let’s go,” and pushed him back toward the front door. On the way, he swept a few things onto the floor and kicked the owl’s perch over. The bird hopped onto a stack of books, hooting and fluttering.
At the top of the landing, he listened for any noise, then gently closed the door behind him and led Julius back down. To add insult to injury, they found a parking ticket on the Volvo.
“I’m not paying that,” Jantzen protested, finally finding his voice again.
“Good,” Escher said, tearing it up. “Neither am I.”
Chapter 17
Too long, David thought. It was all taking him too long. While his sister lay dying, he was stuck here, thousands of miles away, struggling to find an antique looking glass that might, or might not, hold the key to her salvation.