Make Room! Make Room! (13 page)

Andy walked slowly behind the tugtruck, stopping while he was still out of sight of the entrance, then leaning over the edge of the moat. Filth and rubbish littered the concrete bottom below, and there were wide gaps between the granite blocks where the cement had fallen away. It would be easy enough to climb down the wall after dark, there were no revealing lights nearby. Even in the daytime an intruder would only be noticed by someone glancing out of the closest windows. No one was watching when Andy let himself over the edge and clambered slowly to the bottom; it was like going into an oven here, with the heat trapped by the high walls. He ignored it as best he could and
walked along the inner wall until he found the window with the heart on it, it was very easy to spot and would probably be as easily seen at night as well. There was a ledge just below the row of cellar windows and he found he could lever himself up onto it—and it was wide enough to stand on. Yes, it was very possible to jimmy open the window standing here; the murderer could have broken into the building this way. Sweat dripped from his chin and made dark spots on the concrete of the ledge, the heat was getting to him.

“What do you think you’re doing there! You’re going to get your head broken!” The voice shouted down at him and he straightened and looked up at the drawbridge that crossed the moat, at the doorman standing there, shaking his fist. He recognized Andy and his voice changed abruptly. “Sorry—I didn’t see it was you, sir. Anything I can do to help?”

“Yes—get me out of here. Do any of those windows open?”

“Just move along a bit, the next one over your head, it’s a lobby window.” The doorman vanished and a few moments later the window creaked open and his wide face stuck out.

“Give me a lift,” Andy said. “I’m half cooked.” He took the doorman’s hand and scrambled up. The lobby was dim and cool after the sun-blasted heat of the moat. He wiped at his face with his handkerchief. “Is there any place where we can talk—where I can sit down?”

“In the guardroom, sir, just follow me.”

There were two men there; the one in building uniform jumped to his feet when they came in. The other was Tab. “Get on the door, Newton,” the doorman ordered. “You want to go with him, Tab?”

Tab glanced at the detective. “Sure, Charlie,” he said, and followed the guard out.

“We got some water here,” the doorman said. “Want a glass?”

“Great,” Andy said, dropping into a chair. He took the plastic beaker and drained half of it, then slowly sipped the rest. Facing him was a gray-tinted window that looked out into the lobby; he couldn’t remember seeing any window there on the way in. “One-way glass?” he asked.

“That’s right. For the residents’ protection. It’s a mirror on the other side.”

“Did you see where I was in the moat?”

“Yes, sir, it looked like you were just outside the cellar window, the one that got jimmied open.”

“I was. I came down the other side of the moat, from the back alley, crossed it and climbed up by the window. If it was nighttime do you think you would have seen me there?”

“Well …”

“A plain yes or no will do. I’m not trying to trap you into anything.”

“The building management, they’re already doing something about the security, it’s mostly the trouble with the alarm system. No, I don’t think I would have seen you at night, sir, not down there in the dark.”

“I didn’t think so. Then you believe that someone could have entered the building that way, unseen?”

Charlie’s small, piggish eyes were half closed, looking around for aid. “I suppose,” he admitted finally, “the killer could have got in that way.”

“Good. And that particular cellar room is the right one to come in through. Easy to get near the window, a broken alarm on the frame, everything just right. Whoever broke in could have marked the window with that heart so he could find it again from the outside. Which means he had to have been in the building first, probably casing it.”

“Maybe,” Charlie admitted, and smiled slightly. “And maybe he made the mark there
after
he got in, just to fool you into believing it was an inside job.”

Andy nodded. “You’re thinking, Charlie. But either way it could have been marked from the inside first, and I have to operate on that principle. I’ll want a list of all the present employees, all the new ones and all those who have left here in the last couple of years, a list of tenants and former tenants. Who would have a thing like that?”

“The building manager, sir, he has an office right upstairs. Would you like me to show you where it is?”

“In one minute—I need another glass of water first.”

Andy stood facing the inner door of the O’Brien apartment, pretending to be busy with the list of names he had obtained from the building manager. He knew that Shirl might be looking at him in the door TV and he tried to appear preoccupied and
busy. When he had left that morning she had been asleep and he had not talked to her since the previous night—not that they had done much talking then, either. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, it was just that the whole thing still had an air of unreality about it. She belonged here and he didn’t, and if she pretended that nothing had happened, or didn’t mention it—could he? He didn’t think he would. She was a long time answering the door, maybe she wasn’t home? No, the bodyguard, Tab, was downstairs, which meant she was still in the building. Was something wrong? Had the killer come back? That was a stupid thing to think, yet he hammered loudly on the panel.

“Don’t break it down,” she said as she opened it. “I was cleaning and I didn’t hear the door.” Her hair was tied up in a turban and her feet were bare. A lot of her was bare since she was wearing just a pale green halter and shorts. She looked wonderful.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he said seriously.

“Well, it’s not very important,” she laughed, “don’t look so sad.” She leaned forward and gave him a quick warm kiss on the mouth. Before he could react she had turned away and gone down the hall. The shorts were very short, and very, very round. As the door clicked behind him he realized suddenly that he was quite happy. The air was wonderfully cool.

“I’m almost finished,” Shirl said, and there was the sudden whine of a small motor. “It’ll just take me a second then I’ll clean this mess away.” When he came into the living room he saw that she was running a vacuum cleaner over the rug. “Why don’t you take a shower?” she called over the sound of the machine. “Mary O’Brien Haggerty will be getting the water bill so you shouldn’t care.”

A shower! he thought excitedly. “Since
I’ve
met Mary Haggerty I’ll be glad to send her the bill,” he shouted, and they both laughed.

As he went through the bedroom he remembered that this was the room where O’Brien had been killed—he hadn’t thought about that at all last night. Poor O’Brien, he must have been a real bastard while he was still alive, since there didn’t seem to be a single person who missed him or really felt moved by his death. Including Shirl. What had she thought about him? It didn’t matter now. He dropped his clothes on the floor and tested the water with his hand.

There was a razor with a new blade in the cabinet and he hummed happily to himself while he washed the gray whiskers out of it, then lathered his face. For some reason wearing a dead man’s shoes didn’t bother him in the least. In fact he greatly enjoyed it. The razor slid smoothly over his skin.

All the cleaning apparatus had vanished by the time he had dressed and gone into the living room again, and Shirl had her hair down and what looked like fresh makeup on. Though she was still wearing the shorts and top, for which he breathed a silent thanks. He had never seen a prettier—no, a more beautiful girl in his whole life. He wished he could tell her that, but it wasn’t the kind of thing he found it easy to say aloud.

“How about something cold to drink?” she asked.

“I’m supposed to be working—are you trying to corrupt me?”

“You can have a beer, I put some in the fridge. There are almost twenty bottles to finish and I don’t really like it.” She turned in the doorway and smiled. “Besides, you
are
working. You’re interviewing me. Aren’t I an important witness?”

The first sip of the cold beer cut a track of pleasure down his throat. Shirl sat down across from him and sipped at a cold kofee. “How is the case going, or is that an official secret?”

“Nothing secret, it goes slow like all cases. You shouldn’t let the TV fool you, police work isn’t at all like that. It’s mostly dull stuff, a lot of walking around, making notes, writing reports—and hoping a stoolie will bring you the answer.”

“I know what that is—a
stool pigeon!
There aren’t really stool pigeons, are there?”

“If there weren’t we would be out of business. Most of our pinches are made on tips from stoolies. Most crooks are stupid and have big mouths and when they start talking there is usually someone around to listen. I hope someone talks this time—because it looks like a next to impossible case if they don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

He sipped some more beer; it was wonderful stuff. “There are over thirty-five million people in this town, and any one of them could have done it. I’ll start running down all the former building employees and questioning them, and I’ll try to find out where the tire iron came from, but long before I’m finished the people on top are going to stop worrying about O’Brien and I’ll be off the case and that will be that.”

“You sound sort of bitter.”

“You’re right—I am. Wouldn’t you be if you had a job you wanted to do, and liked doing, yet you were never allowed to do? We’re over our heads with work and have been ever since I came on the force. Nothing is ever finished, no cases are ever followed up, people really do get away with murder every day and no one seems to mind. Unless there is some kind of political reason, like with Big Mike, and then no one really cares about him, it’s just their own hides that they are worrying about.”

“Couldn’t they just hire some more policemen?”

“With what? There’s no money in the city budget, almost all of it goes for Welfare. So our pay is low, cops take bribes, and—you don’t want to hear a lecture about my troubles!” He drained the rest of the beer from the glass and she jumped to her feet.

“Here, let me get another.”

“No, thanks, not on an empty stomach.”

“Haven’t you eaten at all?”

“Grabbed a piece of weedcracker. I didn’t have time for anything more.”

“I’ll fix us some lunch. How about beefsteak?”

“Shirl, stop it—you’ll give me heart failure.”

“No, I mean it. I bought a steak for Mike, the other morning of … that day. It’s still in the freezer.”

“I can’t remember the last time I had beef—in fact it has been a long time since I have seen a piece of soylent.” He stood and took both of her hands. “You’re taking very good care of me, you know?”

“I like to,” she said, and gave him another of those quick kisses. His hands were on the roundness of her hips when she turned and walked away.

She’s a funny girl, he thought to himself, and touched his tongue to the trace of lipstick on his lips.

Shirl wanted to eat in the living room at the big table, but there was a table built into the kitchen, under the window and Andy could see no reason why they couldn’t sit right there. It was a steak all right, a monster piece of meat as big as his hand, and he felt the saliva flow in his mouth when she slid it onto his plate.

“Fifty-fifty,” he said, slicing it in half and putting one piece on the other plate.

“I usually just fry some oatmeal in the juices….”

“We’ll have that for dessert. This is the start of a new era, equal rights for men and women.” She smiled at him and slid into her chair without another word. Damn, he thought, for another look like that I’d give her the whole thing.

There was seacress with it, weedcrackers to sop up the gravy and another bottle of cold beer from which she allowed him to pour her a small glass. The meat was indescribably good and he cut it into very small pieces, savoring each one slowly. He could not remember having eaten as well in his entire life. When he had finished he sat back and sighed with contentment. It was good, yet it was almost too good, and he knew it wouldn’t last: he felt a little gnaw of irritation as the words
dead man’s shoes
flicked through his mind.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I was more than a little drunk last night.” It sounded crude and he was sorry the instant he had said it.

“I didn’t mind at all. I thought you were very sweet.”

“Sweet!” He laughed at himself. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never that before. I thought you were angry at me ever since I came back.”

“I’ve been busy, that’s all, the place was a mess and you were hungry. I think I know what you need.”

She moved swiftly around the table and was on his lap, the whole womanly warm length of her and her arms were around his neck. It was a kiss, the kind he remembered, and he discovered that her halter was closed on the front by two buttons which he opened and pressed his face against the smooth fragrance of her skin.

“Let’s go inside,” she said huskily.

She lay next to him afterward, relaxed and without shame, while his fingers traced the outline of her splendid body. The occasional sounds that pierced the sealed window and closed curtains only emphasized the twilight solitude of the bedroom. When he kissed the corner of her mouth she smiled dreamily, her eyes half closed.

“Shirl …” he said, but could not continue. He had no practice in voicing his emotions. The words were there, but he could not say them aloud. Yet the way his hands moved on her skin conveyed his meaning more clearly than words could; her body
trembled in response and she moved closer to him. There was a hoarseness in her voice, even though she whispered.

“You’re really good in bed, different—do you know that? You make me feel things that I have never felt before.” His muscles tightened suddenly and she turned to him. “Are you angry at that? Should I make believe that you are the only man I ever slept with?”

“No, of course not. It’s none of my business and doesn’t affect me.” The tautness of his body put the lie to his words.