Christine held up a hand. “Okay, I’ll move on. What else have you done so far on the case? Catch me up.”
“I filed an Entry of Appearance, which puts everyone on notice I represent him. I cleared his visitors’ list at the prison of everyone but me. I’ll have to put you back on. I went to the scene.”
Christine gasped. “You went to Robinbrecht’s apartment?”
“Robinbrecht’s apartment is the scene, so, yes.” Griff flared his cloudy gray eyes. “How is it I don’t need a hearing aid but you do?”
“How did you get in?”
“How do you think? I called the D.A. Detectives take you. They stand watch. You look around.”
“Did you see anything helpful?”
“No.”
“I wish I had gone.” Christine couldn’t imagine what it had looked like, but she wanted to know.
“Then go. I’ll set it up for tomorrow morning.”
“Really?” Christine felt her pulse quicken. It would be grim, but maybe she would see something that Griff had missed.
“Hold on.” Griff dug under his accordion files and produced a single-lens reflex camera, which he passed her over the desk, dragging the black strap across his papers. “I took pictures.”
“Thanks.” Christine rose, took the camera from him, and turned it over to look through the pictures, but the back was sealed. “It’s not digital?”
“No, it’s not. Human beings are digital, not cameras. See these?” Griff wiggled his arthritic fingers. “They’re called digits. Know why? From the Latin, digitus, meaning fingers or toes.”
“Really?” Christine sat down with the camera. “You learn something new every day.”
“I don’t, but you do.” Griff waved at the camera. “Get that film developed. That will be your first assignment as my paralegal.”
“Okay, but I do have something I want to do first. In fact, right now.”
“Already, you’re not listening.” Griff frowned.
“I’m listening, I’m just not obeying.”
“You said you’d obey.”
“No I didn’t.” Christine hadn’t even said that in her wedding vows, which was turning out to be a good thing. “Let me tell you what I want to do, and if you give me the go-ahead, I’ll go. How about that?”
“No.”
But Christine didn’t obey, and told him anyway.
Chapter Thirty-four
Christine dropped off the film at a drugstore, which unfortunately didn’t have one-hour developing, then went on to Warwick Street, arriving at six o’clock, which was perfect timing. It was still light out, so she could see the lay of the land, and residents were returning home from work. She circled the block, noting that some were finding parking spaces in front of their houses but others were driving down the block, taking a right turn on Warwick, and turning into the skinny driveway behind the houses on Warwick.
She pulled into a space a few doors up from Gail Robinbrecht’s house and parked the car. She cut the ignition, grabbed her purse, and got out of the car, chirping it locked behind her. She walked to 301, two houses up from Gail’s, and scanned Warwick Street on the fly. All of the houses, from 301 to 307, which was at the corner, were redbrick row houses, the same except for the paint color of their shutters, window treatments, and plantings.
Number 301 had petunias and pretty black window boxes, with a black door to match, and Christine could see from the two front windows on the first floor that lights were on inside the house. She walked up the two front steps, knocked on the door, and reminded herself to act like a paralegal, which was basically a teacher with a better pay scale.
The door was opened in a few moments by a good-looking, if scruffy, young man in a purple WCU T-shirt and gym shorts, with red Dr. Dre earphones on. “Hi,” he said, lifting one from his ear.
“Hi, I’m Christine Nilsson, and I’m a paralegal working for an attorney in town.” Christine slid one of Griff’s business cards from her pocket and gave it to him.
“Okay, I’m Phil Dresher.” Phil tugged the earphones off and let them rest around his neck, but his rap music was loud enough that Christine could still hear the shouting.
“Phil, I just have a few questions about Linda Kent, who lived around the block at 505 Daley. Did you happen to know Ms. Kent?”
“No, not really. I know the neighbors on this street. We have block parties and stuff, it’s cool. But I don’t know around the block, on Daley Street.”
“You may have heard that Ms. Kent was killed in an accident on Sunday night. She fell down the back steps.”
“Oh that sucks. I didn’t know.” Phil frowned.
“Yes, we’re investigating the matter, and I was wondering if you saw or heard anything that night, perhaps saw her fall or heard her shout?” Christine wasn’t exactly lying, and neither she nor Griff wanted to do that. But if she led with what happened to Linda Kent, rather than what happened to Gail Robinbrecht, residents would assume it was about a negligence lawsuit and be more likely to talk.
“No, I don’t think so. What time did it happen?”
“We think midnight.”
“No, heard nothing.”
“Do you generally hear noises out back? Does your house go all the way through?”
“Yeah, we rent the whole house. All the houses go all the way back, I think.”
“Do you have a backyard?”
“Yeah.”
“So if there’d been some noise, do you think you would’ve heard it?”
“Not really.” Phil gestured to his earphones. “I study with these on or listen to music. My other three roommates play video games. We keep the AC on and the windows shut, so the neighbors don’t bitch about any noise we make. They’re always looking for an excuse to get students out of this end of town.” The young man turned toward the back of the house. “I can show you, we do have a backyard, and we sit out there sometimes, have some wine, you know. That’s what we did Saturday night with some friends. But we were out Sunday night since one of my roommates is graduating.”
“Congratulations.” Christine smiled. “By the way, I’m sorry about what happened to your neighbor Gail Robinbrecht.”
“Wow, I know, it’s horrible, really horrible.” Phil frowned in a way that made him look older than a college student.
“Did you know Gail?”
“Sure, me and my roommates, we liked her. Gail was the organizer of the block parties, she knew how to make it fun. My girlfriend liked her, too, and she’s really freaked. She wants us to start a neighborhood watch.”
“That’s a good idea.” Christine saw her opening. “Did you see anything suspicious that night around her house? It was last Monday night.”
“No, not at all.”
“Were you home?”
“Yeah, I was, but I didn’t see anything. I had the game on. We already told the police.”
“Great, good. Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome.” Phil closed the door, and Christine walked to 303, Gail Robinbrecht’s next-door neighbor. They had a Norway spruce in a blue glazed pot, and the front door was of natural wood with a brass knocker. Louvered shutters covered the windows, but classical music played inside, so someone was home. Christine knocked, and the door was opened by an older African-American woman with wire-rimmed glasses and a graying topknot, in a white silk blouse with a navy skirt, evidently part of a suit. She was barefoot, as if she’d just kicked off her pumps.
Christine smiled, gesturing at her feet. “I do the same thing, the first thing when I come in the door.”
“Ha!” The woman smiled, warmly. “Heels aren’t shoes, they’re torture devices.”
“I agree.” Christine introduced herself, handing her Griff’s business card. “I’m a paralegal for an attorney in town, and we’re looking into the accidental death of Mrs. Kent, who lived around the block on Daley.”