The first thing Hawes asked the landlady was whether she had rented an apartment or a room recently to a tall blond man wearing a hearing aid.
“Yes,” the landlady said.
That was a good start. Hawes was an experienced detective, and he recognized immediately that the landlady’s affirmative reply was a terribly good start.
“Who?” he asked immediately. “Would you know his name?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Orecchio. Mort Orecchio.”
Hawes took out his pad and began writing. “Orecchio,” he said, “Mort. Would you happen to know whether it was Morton or Mortimer or exactly what?”
“Just Mort,” the landlady said. “Mort Orecchio. He was Eye-talian.”
“How do you know?”
“Anything ending in O is Eye-talian.”
“You think so? How about Shapiro?” Hawes suggested.
“What are you, a wise guy?” the landlady said.
“This fellow Orecchio, which apartment did you rent him?”
“A room, not an apartment,” the landlady said. “Third floor front.”
“Facing Philharmonic?”
“Yeah.”
“Could I see the room?”
“Sure why not? I got nothing else to do but show cops rooms.”
They began climbing. The hallway was cold and the air shaft windows were rimed with frost. There was the commingled smell of garbage and urine on the stairs, a nice clean old lady this landlady. She kept complaining about her arthritis all the way up to the third floor, telling Hawes the cortisone didn’t help her none, all them big mucky-muck doctors making promises that didn’t help her pain at all. She stopped outside a door with the brass numerals 31 on it, and fished into the pocket of her apron for a key. Down the hall, a door opened a crack and then closed again.
“Who’s that?” Hawes asked.
“Who’s who?” the landlady said.
“Down the hall there. The door that just opened and closed.”
“Musta been Polly,” the landlady said, and unlocked the door to 31.
The room was small and cheerless. A three-quarter bed was against the wall opposite the door, covered with a white chenille bedspread. A framed print was over the bed. It showed a logging mill and a river and a sheepdog looking up at something in the sky. A standing floor lamp was on the right of the bed. The shade was yellow and soiled. A stain, either whiskey or vomit, was on the corner of the bedspread where it was pulled up over the pillows. Opposite the bed, there was a single dresser with a mirror over it. The dresser had cigarette burns all the way around its top. The mirror was spotted and peeling. The sink alongside the dresser had a big rust ring near the drain.
“How long was he living here?” Hawes asked.
“Took the room there days ago.”
“Did he pay be check or cash?”
“Cash. In advance. Paid for a full week. I only rent by the week, I don’t like none of these one-night stands.”
“Naturally not,” Hawes said.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it ain’t such a fancy place, I shouldn’t be so fussy. Well, it may not be fancy,” the landlady said, “but it’s clean.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“I mean it ain’t got no bugs, mister.”
Hawes nodded and went to the window. The shade was torn and missing its pull cord. He grabbed the lower edge in his gloved hand, raised the shade and looked across the street.
“You hear any shots last night?”
“No.”
He looked down at the floor. There were no spent cartridge cases anywhere in sight.
“Who else lives on this floor?”
“Polly down the hall, that’s all.”
“Polly who?”
“Malloy.”
“Mind if I look through the dresser and the closet?”
“Go right ahead. I got all the time in the world. The way I spend my day is I conduct guided tours through the building.”
Hawes went to the dresser and opened each of the drawers. They were all empty, except for a cockroach nestling in the corner of the bottom drawer.
“You missed one,” Hawes said, and closed the drawer.
“Huh?” the landlady said.
Hawes went to the closet and opened it. There were seven wire hangers on the clothes bar. The closet was empty. He was about to close the door when something on the floor caught his eye. He stooped for a closer look, took a pen light from his pocket, and turned it on. The object on the floor was a dime.
“If that’s money,” the landlady said, “it belongs to me.”
“Here,” Hawes said, and handed her the dime. He did so knowing full well that even if the coin had belonged to the occupant of the room, it was as impossible to get latent prints from money as it was to get reimbursed by the city for gasoline used in one’s private car on police business.
“Is there a john in here?” he asked.
“Down the hall. Lock the door behind you.”
“I only wanted to know if there was another room, that’s all.”
“It’s clean, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”
“I’m sure it’s spotless,” Hawes said. He took another look around. “So this is it, huh?”
“This is it.”
“I’ll be sending a man over to dust that sill,” Hawes said.
“Why?” the landlady said. “It’s clean.”
“I mean for fingerprins.”
“Oh.” The landlady started at him. “You think that big mucky-muck was shot from this room?”
“It’s possible,” Hawes said.
“Will that mean trouble for me?”
“Not unless you shot him,” Hawes said, and smiled.
“You got some sense of humor,” the landlady said.
They went out of the apartment. The landlady locked the door behind her. “Will that be all,” she asked, “or did you want to see anything else?”
“I want to talk to the woman down the hall,” Hawes said, “but I won’t need you for that. Thank you very much, you were very helpful.”
“It breaks the monotony,” the landlady said, and he believed her.
“Thank you again,” he said, and watched her as she went down the steps. He walked to the door marked 32 and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again and said, “Miss Malloy?”
The door opened a crack.
“Who is it?” a voice said.
“Police officer. May I talk to you?”
“What about?”
“About Mr. Orecchio.”
“I don’t know any Mr. Orecchio,” the voice said.
“Miss Malloy …”
“It’s Mrs. Malloy, and I don’t know any Mr. Orecchio.”
“Could you open the door, ma’am?”
“I don’t want any trouble.”
“I won’t …”
“I know a man got shot last night, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Did you hear the shots, Miss Malloy?”
“Mrs. Malloy.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Would you happen to know if Mr. Orecchio was in last night?”
“I don’t know who Mr. Orecchio is.”