"You called the police, ma'am?" Hyde asked.
"Yes, I did."
"What seems to be the trouble?"
"I like to think of myself as a reasonable person," Joanne said. "Live and let live, as they say. But this is just too much."
"What is it, ma'am?"
"Come in and I'll show you," Joanne said, and motioned the two policemen into the apartment. Both nodded at Herb, and Herb nodded back.
Officer Hyde looked at the broken mirror.
"What happened?"
"That's what we would like to know," Joanne said. "That's why we called you."
"You don't know what happened to the mirror?" Hyde asked.
"Herb, my husband, and I were sound asleep when it happened. "
"I told her I thought it was probably a sonic boom," Herb said.
"That's nonsense," Joanne said. "It came from in there."
She pointed at the wall.
"What's in there?"
"The next apartment," Joanne said.
"What do you think came from in there that broke your mirror?"
"You tell the officers, Herb."
"This was your idea. You tell them," Herb said.
"Sometimes you make me sick," Joanne said. "You really do."
"Why don't you tell us what you think happened, ma'am?" Officer Cubellis suggested.
"Well, all right, I will. So far as I know, she's a very nice girl. Her name is Cheryl Williamson. But she… every once in a while sheentertains in there, if you know what I mean. Most of the time, there's absolutely no problem, but once or twice-more than once or twice-she, they have gotten sort of carried away with what they're doing, and it gets a little noisy, if you take my meaning."
"What's that got to do with your mirror?" Officer Hyde asked.
"It broke," Joanne said, as if surprised by the question.
"And you think the people next door are responsible?"
"Well, Herb and I certainly aren't," Joanne said.
"Jim, why don't I talk to the lady next door?" Officer Cubellis suggested.
"Why not?" Hyde said.
"Maybe something happened to her," Joanne said.
Officer Cubellis left the McGrory bedroom.
"I don't know how much it will cost to replace that mirror, but it won't be cheap, and I don't see why we should pay for it," Joanne said.
"Yes, ma'am," Officer Hyde said.
Five minutes later, Officer Cubellis returned and reported that it didn't appear anyone was home in the next apartment. He had both rung the bell and knocked at Cheryl Williamson's front door, and then gone outside the house, up the side stairs, and knocked at her back door. There was no doorbell button there that he could find. There was no response from either place, and he could hear no sounds from inside the apartment, or see any lights.
"I know she came in," Joanne said. "I woke up when she came in. Her screen door squeaks. It was a little after midnight. "
"Possibly she went out again," Officer Cubellis said.
"Or maybe she knows the cops are here and doesn't want to answer her door."
"Why would she want to do that?"
"The mirror, of course," Joanne said. "Somebody's going to have to pay for it."
"Ma'am, you'll just have to take that up with her yourself in the morning," Officer Hyde said.
"Can't you just go in and see if she's there or not?" Joanne asked.
"No, ma'am, we can't do that."
"For all we know, she's in there lying in a pool of blood," Joanne said.
"Ma'am, why would you say that? Did you hear any noises, anything like that?"
Joanne thought it over before replying.
"No," she said finally, with some reluctance. "But that doesn't mean anything. The mirrordid get busted."
"Yes, ma'am," Officer Cubellis said, patiently. "But that doesn't give us the right to break into that apartment. Think about this: You and Mr. McGrory are in here, watching a Stan Colt movie on TV. Lots of shooting, women screaming, explosions. Particularly at the end. The lady in the next apartment hears this and gets worried and calls 911. When the movie is over, you and Mr. McGrory go out for a hamburger. So when the police get here, there's no answer. And they break in. And then you come home, and find the police in your apartment, and the door broken in."
"Who would have to pay for the broken door if something like that happened?" Joanne inquired.
"The police…" Officer Cubellis began, and then changed his mind about the ending, "… would have to make the lady next door pay for the broken door," he said. "Because she was the one who wanted the police to break in."
"Jesus Christ, Joanne!" Herb McGrory said. "Officers, I'm sorry we put you to all this trouble."
"No trouble at all, sir. That's what we're here for," Officer Hyde said.
"I'm sure you'll be able to work things out about the mirror, " Officer Cubellis said.
Officers Cubellis and Hyde left the McGrory apartment, got into their patrol cars, and put themselves back into service. Officer Hyde filled out a Form 75-48, an initial report form for almost all police incidents. On it he stated that the McGrory mirror had been broken, and that Mrs. McGrory believed the occupant of the adjacent apartment was somehow responsible. An initial investigation of the adjacent apartment revealed that there was no response at that location and the premises were locked and secured.
[TWO] When it was 2:23 A.M. in Philadelphia-the time that Officers Hyde and Cubellis reported to Police Radio that they were back in service after the "Disturbance, House" call-it was 8:23 A.M. in the village of Cognac-Boeuf, a small village in the southwest of France, not far from Bordeaux.
Despite the name, no cognac was distilled in the area, and the local farmers raised only enough milk cows for local consumption. Although sheep were still grown in the area, even that business had suffered from the ability of Australian and Argentine sheep growers to produce a higher grade of wool and a better quality of lamb at a lower price.
What once had been a bustling small village was now just a small, out-of-the-way village catering to what small farmers were left and to retirees, both French and from as far away as England, Sweden, and even the United States of America.
The retirees sold their houses or apartments in Hamburg or Copenhagen, and spent the money to buy-at very low prices; nobody but retirees had use for them-ancient farm-houses with a hectare or two of land, spent enough money to make them livable, and then settled down to watching the grass grow.
The Piaf Mill, for example, which sat on a small stream a kilometer from Cognac-Boeuf, had been purchased, with 1.7 hectares of land, six years before by a Swedish woman, Inge Pfarr Stillman, and her husband, Walter, an American, using the money-about $80,000-Inge had gotten from the sale of her apartment in Uppsala, near Stockholm.
It had gradually become believed that Walter Stillman, a burly man who wore a sloppy goatee as white as what was left of his hair, was a retired academic. He was obviously well-educated, and it was thought he was writing a book.
The mill, now converted into a comfortable home, was full of books, and every day the postman on his bicycle delivered yesterday'sInternational Herald-Tribune from Paris, and once a week, the international editions of Time and News-week.
Most afternoons, Stillman could be found in Le Relais, the better of Cognac-Boeuf's two eating establishments- neither of which had won even one of Michelin's stars- often playing chess with Pere Marcel, the parish priest, and drinking the localvin ordinaire.
The people of Cognac-Boeuf-in particular the shopkeepers-had come to call Stillman, respectfully, "M'sieu Le Professeur."
His name was actually Isaac David Festung, and he was a fugitive from justice, having been convicted of violation of Paragraph 2501(a) of the Criminal Code of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, for having intentionally and knowingly caused the death of Mary Elizabeth Shattuck, a human being, by beating and/or strangling her by the neck until she was dead.