Seven miles away, in another rented apartment, a man suddenly sat upright in his chair. For the first time in over two weeks he heard what he had been waiting for. Although he hadn’t yet heard any voices, he could make out the distinct sound of light footsteps walking down the uncarpeted hallway. He could distinctly hear the sound of a window being opened and then the faint rush of flowing water.
He immediately picked up the telephone and quickly dialed the number.
“Someone’s in the apartment,” he said in a cool and even voice.
“Is it her?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t heard any voices. But someone is definitely there. I can hear them walking down the hall. Whoever it is, they don’t appear to be in any hurry. It’s not like they’re rushing around.”
“Maybe it’s just the landlord,” the voice at the other end of the telephone said.
“Maybe so. That’s not my problem, is it? I’m just telling you what I know.”
“Has he tried to call her again?”
“No. Nothing but that one time. At least he hasn’t left any messages on her machine. Lately it has been very quiet. The phone hasn’t rung at all for three days.”
“Okay. Keep listening.” The line went dead.
Within a matter of minutes, a tall, burly man and his middle-aged wife climbed into an old Toyota. The man threw two canvas bags into the back seat, started the engine, and pulled quickly out into traffic on Southwestern Lane. His name was Clyde. His wife’s name was Nadine. They were on their way to Jesse’s apartment. They had about five miles to travel. It would take them twelve minutes to get there.
Meanwhile, Jesse Morrel sat at her kitchen table. As she doodled on the notepad in front of her, a plan was taking shape in her mind. She knew that the Air Force would know what had happened to Capt Richard Ammon. They would have to know, or at least have some idea. He couldn’t just disappear without some sort of investigation. That was where she would begin.
But she also knew that she had no standing. Her marriage to Richard Ammon had never been reported to the military. She was not listed as a dependent on Ammon’s records. She wasn’t even a beneficiary on his life insurance policy. The only proof she had was the marriage license that had been issued to them from the Justice of the Peace at the white chapel. That was the way Richard had insisted it must be. He wanted no official ties that would lead the Sicherheit to Jesse.
But that was irrelevant now, and Jesse had already decided that, if she needed to, she would use the paper. She would go in and demand the kind of answers any other wife who had lost her husband had the right to demand. But she wasn’t ready to do that yet. Maybe later, if Richard didn’t reach her, or she didn’t get any answers herself. But she would wait a few more days before she pulled out her trump card.
A slight breeze through the open window blew back the thin curtains, waving them gently. Behind where Jesse sat at the kitchen table, the front door stood slightly ajar, allowing the fresh air to circulate through the stale apartment.
Suddenly, she stood up from the table. She shook her head and shivered with unexpected excitement.
What about the mail? She had asked the apartment manager to check her mail! Could it be that Ammon had been able to write her? Maybe he couldn’t get to a phone. Perhaps a letter was waiting for her now.
She grabbed her jacket and ran from the apartment, locking the door as she left. She jogged down the sloping sidewalk, and around the corner of the pool house on her way to the manager’s office.
When Jesse entered the tidy, oak-paneled office, she was slightly out of breath from her run. Her brown hair tossed about her shoulders as she walked into the room. The manager, a pudgy man with a shiny, bald head, looked up from his small television and visibly brightened. He was glad to see her. She was one of his favorite tenants. He noticed the flush in her cheeks as she stood behind his desk and asked him if she could pick up her mail.
Without getting up, he rolled his chair across the plastic floormat and pulled out a paper sack tucked behind the counter. He handed the sack to Jesse with a smile. Once again, she didn’t notice the look in his eye. She was too used to being admired.
She thanked him politely then, without asking permission, spilled the contents of the sack across the office counter. She sorted through the mail quickly. There was nothing there from Richard Ammon.
The manager noticed her shoulders slump. Whatever she was looking for, it obviously was not there. Jesse made no attempt to hide her disappointment, but the manager didn’t offer any encouragement. After all, what could he say? He didn’t want to be too nosy. Besides, he had already gone through her mail. He knew it was nothing but junk and bills. Nothing to get excited about.
Jesse gathered the mail up and dropped it in the paper sack, then stuffed the sack under her arm. She turned around to leave, hesitating for a moment while she thought. Finally, she faced the manager once again.
“I guess I’ll be out of town for a few more days,” she said in a quiet voice, not really looking at the man as she spoke. “Would you mind collecting my mail again? I know it’s a bother, but I really would appreciate it.”
“No problem, Miss Morrel,” he replied. “Anything else I can do to help?”
Jesse shook her head and gave the sack back to him, then turned and walked out of his office. The manager wondered for just a moment why she was leaving town again, then decided it was none of his business. He was about to return to “The Price Is Right,” when he suddenly remembered.
“Miss Morrel,” he called out after her. Jesse stopped at the door and turned around. “While you’re here, would you mind if I come with you into your apartment? We are taking an inventory of all the appliances, and I need to get the serial number off of your stove and fridge.”
“Oh… huh, sure, no problem,” Jesse responded, already lost in her thoughts.
Outside Jesse’s apartment complex, a gray Toyota pulled in and parked, taking up two parking spaces right next to the dumpster. The middle-aged couple got out and made their way to Jesse’s apartment. The woman carried a black, heavy purse. The man finished his cigarette as they walked, then flipped the butt into the gutter. They didn’t hesitate or wander through the maze of identical buildings. They knew where they were going. They had been to Jesse’s apartment before.
As they rounded the corner of her apartment building, Clyde and Nadine were a little surprised to see Jesse walking toward them. They both recognized her immediately. They had spent hours studying dozens of pictures of her.
But Jesse was not alone. At her side was a short, chubby man dressed in black slacks and a white shirt. The man hopped and skipped along beside her in an effort to keep up with her. As Jesse and the apartment manager approached, neither Clyde nor Nadine said a word. They looked at each other to avoid making eye contact with the girl and didn’t slow their pace. Clyde grunted under his breath and Nadine sniffled in reply as they wordlessly communicated their decision. Without hesitation, they passed by the sidewalk that cut off to Jesse’s apartment and continued down the path that led to the next building, where they quickly disappeared from view.
As Jesse and the manager walked up to Jesse’s apartment, Jesse pulled out a large set of keys. She sorted through the keys slowly, trying to find the right one, while the manager waited patiently by her side. Finally she separated one key from the others, inserted it into the lock and opened the door. Jesse hesitated, then motioned for the manager to follow her inside.
It only took a moment for the manager to get the information and serial numbers that he needed. While he did his work, Jesse waited patiently by the front door. Five minutes after he had entered the apartment, the manager was gone. Jesse didn’t take long to follow.