That’s all.
And in the meantime, maybe the cops might find Tony’s body.
If they haven’t already.
And they get to his place ahead of me.
What if they’re already there?
Tony’s address on Adams was only a few blocks away from Judy’s apartment building. Just for the sake of caution, I made a slight detour and drove to her place, first. The neighborhood probably would’ve been crawling with cops and curious neighbors if Tony’s body had been discovered. But it was quiet, so I drove on.
As I drove, I wondered how to get inside his apartment.
I had no idea.
I planned to play it by ear.
Now, you might be asking yourself, All this over a redial button? Is she nuts?
Maybe.
I wondered about that myself.
But I kept picturing a cop in Tony’s apartment. He notices the redial feature and thinks, This’ll have the last number Tony ever called! It might even belong to the murderer! Check it out! So he gives it a try. Next thing you know, Charlie’s voice is in his ear, saying, “Thank you for calling. Nobody is available to answer the phone, right now, but if you’d like to leave a message…”
This’ll really get the cop going. Especially if he ever lays his hands on the phone company records and finds out what time Tony made the call—and how long it lasted.
He’ll be very eager to pay Charlie a visit.
But Charlie and Serena are out of town for the week.
And the only person with access to the house and phone is me.
Not a pretty picture.
But I now had a chance to make it go away.
All I had to do was get inside Tony’s apartment and make one telephone call.
Worth a little risk, don’t you think?
I thought so.
But then, I’d been through a lot, so maybe I wasn’t thinking very straight at the time.
29
MURPHY
Leaving Judy’s car parked around the corner, I walked back to 8448 Adams.
It was an old, single-level building with eight small units and an open, grassy courtyard in the middle. I didn’t know Tony’s apartment number. So instead of entering, I just looked the place over and kept walking.
Each front door had a mailbox nearby. Too bad. If you’re in a complex with a bank of mailboxes, the post office requires names on all the boxes. But when you’ve got your own box, like at this place, you don’t need to put your name on it. And nobody does.
Three of the units had newspapers in front of them.
One of those was probably Tony’s.
But which?
Had the Tribune delivery person shown up yet with the replacement? If not, I could simply wait for him and see what he does.
But there was a slim chance that he’d already been here and gone. (He certainly wouldn’t have left a second paper on the doorstep.) If he’d already shown up, I would have an awfully long wait.
There was just no way to know for sure.
Anyway, I didn’t have time to waste. I had to get this done and get going.
Maybe the car ports or garages would give me a clue as to Tony’s apartment number. So I headed for the end of the block to look for an alley entrance.
And heard a distant siren.
Oh, my God!
The sound froze me.
My mind went nuts. The cops had found Tony’s body, knew I’d killed him, knew where to find me, and were swooping in for the arrest. In a matter of seconds, squad cars would roar around the corners and shriek to a halt. Cops would leap out and come at me with their guns drawn.
I had an urge to break into a run.
The siren’s cry grew louder.
They can’t know it’s me! How can they know it’s me?
Just play innocent, I warned myself. Admit nothing. Stay calm.
What can they really prove?
As the siren noise bore down on me from behind, I turned my head and looked over my shoulder.
Siren blaring, lights aflash, an ambulance sped by me and kept going.
I laughed at myself. But my heart was thumping like mad, and I was suddenly out of breath.
Even after the ambulance was out of sight, I stood there gasping, trying to calm down.
Not enough sleep, that was the problem.
That, and a little too much stress.
Maybe I should’ve had that extra Bloody Mary with breakfast, after all.
I’ve gotta get out of here!
But I couldn’t just give up on Tony’s place without at least trying to get in. It was almost a miracle that I’d been able to find out his address. I was meant to come here, get inside somehow, and take us off his redial.
Just go for it!
I turned around and walked back to his building. I wasn’t sure what to do. Go door to door, maybe, saying my car broke down and I need to use a phone…
MANAGER
It was a sign near the door of apartment one.
The building manager would have to know Tony’s apartment number. And he or she would have keys for it.
I hurried over and rang the doorbell.
I did it with a knuckle.
Knuckles don’t leave fingerprints.
Nothing happened, so I rang it again. This time, a man’s voice called, “Hang on, there! I’m on my way!”
A few seconds later, the front door swung open. The screen door still stood in the way. Through the gray mesh, I could barely make out the man on the other side.
“Well, hello there,” he said.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Take a step backward, and I’ll open the screen. Don’t wanta knock you on your keester, do I?”
I took a step backward, and he swung the screen door open. He held it wide with an outstretched arm. He was maybe about thirty years old. He had messy brown hair and wore glasses. He also wore a Bear Whizz Beer T-shirt that showed a grizzly bear peeing in a woodland stream. His shorts appeared to be swimming trunks, even though the apartment building didn’t seem to have a swimming pool. He was barefoot.
Not much to look at, but he had a nice smile and I sort of liked the glint in his eyes.
“My name’s Fran Johnson,” I told him, and held out my hand.
“Murphy Scott.” He gave my hand a hearty shake as if we were old pals. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Fran. And what brings you here, this fine morning?”
“I’m looking for my boyfriend, Tony. Tony Romano.”
“Ah, Tony!”
“He lives here, doesn’t he?”
“He does indeed. I helped him move in last Saturday. Apartment six, directly across the way.”
Nodding, I muttered, “Six, I know,” and glanced over my shoulder at the unit on the other side of the lawn. It was one of the three with a Tribune on the stoop.
I faced Murphy again and said, “The thing is, he isn’t…I’m afraid something might be wrong. We were supposed to meet for breakfast this morning, but he didn’t show up. I waited over an hour for him.”
Frowning, Murphy shook his head.
“Have you seen him at all this morning?” I asked.
“Nope. I just got up.”
“I phoned him a few minutes ago, but all I got was his answering machine.”
“Maybe he screens his calls.”
“But I told him it was me, and he still didn’t pick up.”
“He might’ve been indisposed at the time. That sort of thing happens. He could’ve been taking a shower, for instance.”