Corridor Man (9 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

The ride back to
her building was quiet. She sat in the back seat oblivious to everything around her while she studied her notes from the day’s proceedings.

“Here we are, back in the same day,” Bobby said and quickly pulled to the curb in front of the old Commodore Hotel. The place had been converted to exclusive condominiums a good thirty plus years ago, but the conversion construction still seemed to be on going.

“What, here already?” she asked looking up.

“Goes quickly, doesn’t it?” Bobby said, wishing she would make it that much faster by just getting out of his car.

“Do you think I could go back down there tomorrow?”

He half turned to face her in the backseat. “Tomorrow? Didn’t you finish your testimony today? I didn’t think they were planning to call you back on the stand tomorrow.”

“Oh, no I’ve finished with my testimony. But, I was just so fascinated I thought it would be fun to go down and watch. Well, maybe not just tomorrow, but the entire process until it’s conclusion for that matter. Who knows where all this could lead,” she said, then waved her notebook in the air.

“It’s open. I mean anyone can go in there and watch. Unfortunately, much as I would like, I wouldn’t be able to give you a ride downtown.”

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you to,” she said, then seemed to give an involuntary shudder as she quickly glanced around the interior of the car. “I’ll just drive myself.”

“Well, if you do that make sure you park in one of the ramps. They’ll ticket you on the street if you run a minute over and I think there’s a maximum two hour limit on parking with those new meters.” He waited a long moment for some sort of response, but didn’t get one.

“Thank you, enjoy your evening,” she said eventually, then quickly got out and walked briskly toward the door.

He drove back downtown to the main public library and got a library card. He took out a couple of books and left
Love’s Dark Fury
on a table in one of the reading rooms as a civic contribution before he drove home.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment and had the key in the lock when he remembered the scotch tape. He glanced down and sure enough the tape had been pulled loose from the door. Someone had gone inside.

He unlocked the door and stepped into his unit. It seemed quiet. He walked through the place checking the bathroom and the small closet. That took all of about fifteen seconds. No one was there and after a cursory glance nothing seemed to be out of place. Kate Clarken remained untouched on the kitchen counter.

About an hour after nightfall he glanced out of the window and there was the SUV, parked out on the street. He was tempted to go knock on the window, but then what? He sat in the dark and stared at the SUV until close to midnight, then went to bed.

He read his borrowed newspaper the following morning. On the way out he attached another piece of scotch tape to the door, then returned the newspaper to the front entry. The SUV was nowhere to be seen.

His day was spent delivering almost a dozen subpoenas around town. He had to have a signed receipt on each one so in four instances he delivered the things to people at their work place. Fortunately none of it came as a surprise and there were no incidents. Two of the subpoenas went undelivered because the individuals weren’t home. He returned them to Marci at the end of the day. She looked up at him as he handed the undelivered notices to her across the receptionist counter.

“On these two no one was home,” he said.

“Did you even go back and try a second time?”

“Actually, I went back twice for a total of three times,” he lied. She’d have no way of verifying.

“And they didn’t answer the door?”

“There didn’t seem to be anyone home. I even went around to the backyard, you know in case they were gardening. That was at the Mendel place, the other one, who is it, Johnson?”

“Johansson.” She read off the envelope.

“That’s a security building, so all I could do was call them on the security phone from downstairs. No one ever answered. They could have just been out shopping or on a week-long jaunt out to Las Vegas.” He shrugged.

“Unimpressive,” she mumbled.

“Tomorrow?”

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to attempt to deliver these again. I’ll have someone reach these individuals by phone first. Plan on calling in first thing tomorrow instead of just showing up, no sense racking up your hours if it’s unnecessary.” She squinted and flashed a toothy grin that struck him as more like baring her teeth than a smile.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Marci.”

She didn’t bother to look up, which meant he’d apparently been dismissed.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The piece of tape
had been pulled from the door, again. He’d placed it in a slightly different spot this morning just in case there was something on the door that had caused it to release. He was convinced someone was going through his apartment every day but he couldn’t figure out why. There was nothing to see or find for that matter and once through the place you wouldn’t think of returning a second time. Was it whoever had murdered Kate? Kate’s son? The feds? It didn’t seem to make any sense.

He walked up to the retail area and noticed on the way that he hadn’t seen anything hanging from that particular clothesline since the night he’d stolen the bath towels. He bought a four-pack of skinless chicken breasts listed as a manager’s special. On the way home he searched up and down the street and on the side streets. If the SUV was lurking somewhere he was unable to see it.

He applied another coat of furniture polish and sprayed more air freshener while the chicken baked. He glanced out the window halfway through his chicken sandwich and saw the SUV parked up the block. It was dark outside and with the tinted windows it was impossible to tell if the thing was occupied. Once again he decided against walking up to the vehicle and knocking on the window. He kept the apartment light off, grabbed his book and read in the bathroom behind the closed door.

He got ready for bed a little after midnight, the procedure amounted to draping his clothes over the back of a chair and climbing into the creaking bed. The SUV was still out on the street although he could swear it had moved about thirty feet. Then again, maybe he was just remembering where it had been parked last night or the night before. He thought about the SUV until he eventually dozed off.

It was the flashing lights bouncing off the ceiling and walls that woke him. He couldn’t recall hearing any sirens although when he looked out the window three squad cars were out on the street with their roof lights flashing. What looked like two more cars, unmarked, sat in the parking lot just below his window with lights flashing on their dashboards.

There was a paramedic unit out on the street with flashing red and white lights that seemed to bounce left to right. The rear doors were pulled open on the paramedic unit and a number of people were standing around an empty gurney, all looking pretty official. Bobby stood in the dark and looked down on all of it for the better part of two hours and learned absolutely nothing. The SUV was nowhere to be seen.

The following morning the activity from the middle of the night had ceased. There were still two squad cars out there, but they appeared to be empty and were parked along the curb with their lights off.

Bobby was reading his stolen copy of the newspaper and sipping from his second cup of coffee when there was a knock on the door. It wasn’t quite seven-thirty.

“Who is it?”

“Police officers, we’ve just a couple of questions.”

Perhaps he should have asked for some sort of identification, a badge number or even exactly what they wanted. Instead, he just opened the door. There were two of them, in uniform, a man and woman.

“Good morning, sir, sorry to bother you so early,” the male officer said.

“We’re wondering if you were aware of any sort of disturbance around your building last night?” the woman asked.

“Disturbance? No, did something happen?” He tried not to sound insincere.

“You weren’t aware of anything happening last night, say around two-thirty, maybe three o’clock?” she asked.

“No, nothing. I’m a pretty sound sleeper to tell you the truth. I’ve got some coffee on, would you like to come in for a cup?” That seemed to smooth over any potential problem.

“No, thank you, we have a number of doors to knock on. If something does jog your memory or if you hear or maybe notice something, anything, please give us a call. No matter how insignificant it might seem,” she said and handed him a card.

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to do that,” he said looking briefly at the card. “What happened anyway?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Sorry to interrupt your morning, sir,” the male officer said. They gave him a curt nod in unison and walked down to knock on the next door. He watched them for a moment until the
‘We’re on business here, please move along’
sort of look drove Bobby back into his apartment.

They had worked their way down to the first floor by the time he dropped the newspaper back at the front entry and went out the door. He put ten bucks worth of gas in the Geo at Super America and called Marci from the pay phone mounted on the side of the store to see if she wanted him to attempt to redeliver her subpoenas.

“We contacted both parties, they insisted they were home yesterday, all day,” she said, raising her voice at the end and then letting the silence just hang out there, suggesting he had maybe been trying to pull a fast one, and clever Marci had caught him.

“Then why didn’t they answer? I rang the doorbell and knocked at the one place, called on the lobby phone at the other. Are they elderly?”

Marci ignored the question. “They’ll both be home this morning. The sooner you come in and deliver these, the better.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” he said, then listened as Marci hung up.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Once you have these
properly signed I won’t have need of your services for the rest of the day. Maybe just phone in tomorrow and I’ll see if there’s anything we need.” Marci flashed another one of those teeth-baring grins and squinted her eyes for a second or two then returned to her blank face.

Bobby saw no point in trying to explain he’d done his utmost to deliver the things yesterday. Instead he half-whispered a meek, “Thank you,” and departed.

Twenty minutes later he stood on the front stoop and rang the doorbell three times before the door finally opened an inch.

“What is it?” a woman’s voice creaked out from behind the door.

“Hi, just making a delivery, I’m afraid I need a signature.”

There was a pause before the door swung open and a woman stood there, not elderly, but maybe mid-sixties. She had a metal crutch tucked against her right arm with a metal brace around her forearm.

“You were here yesterday. They phoned me earlier this morning.” She spoke in an unpleasant tone like she was accusing him of spray painting the front of her house.

“Yes, ma’am, I stopped by a couple of times yesterday, but…”

“Probably these darn meds I’m on. The fools have me sleeping almost sixteen hours a day, don’t hear a damn thing. Give me that,” she said and snatched the envelope from Bobby’s hand.

“If I can just get you to sign here,” he said and held out the clipboard with the attached pen.

“An awful lot of bother if you ask me,” she replied, then half balanced on the crutch as she dashed off a scrawl three lines high.

“Yes ma’am,” he said and smiled.

“There. Satisfied?” She thrust the clipboard at him in an almost stabbing motion.

“Thank you,” he said and quickly fled her front door.

He was outside the lobby of a senior high-rise waiting for the phone to ring on the other end. He was getting the once-over from two women with matching walkers who had stopped and were staring.

“Hello?” a voice answered just after the second ring.

“Mrs. Johansson, I’ve a notification for you down here in the lobby. I’m afraid I need a signature.”

“Not a problem, they called earlier and said you’d be by. I’ll buzz you in. I’m in seven-twenty, come on up.”

He hung up. The two women followed him over their shoulders as he went through the security door and onto the elevator. Seven-twenty was halfway down the hall on the left-hand side. The door opened as he approached.

“Wonderful, thank you for being so prompt,” the woman said. She smiled a nice smile, signed his clipboard, handed it back to him, took the envelope and closed her door. The entire exchange took less than ten seconds.

He stopped for coffee on the way back, lingered over a second cup and assessed the people around him. The coffee shop seemed to be full of an awful lot of people with very little to do on a workday morning in the middle of the week.

He was standing tall in front of Marci’s receptionist counter before eleven.

“Any problems?” she asked looking halfway surprised.

“No, everything went just fine. The one woman was on a crutch and mentioned her medications so I figure she must have been asleep and unable to hear me yesterday. The other woman, Johansson, couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.”

That last bit seemed to make perfect sense to Marci. “Very well, tomorrow I want you to call first. We’ll see if we have need of your services.” Fortunately she didn’t flash her grin, instead she simply stared at Bobby as if to ask, “Anything else.”

“I’ll be sure to check in tomorrow,” he said and walked onto the elevator just as a couple of suits walked off.

He returned home in the early afternoon. The squad cars were gone and the scotch tape on the apartment door was still attached. He spent the afternoon reading and occasionally looking out the window. He never saw the SUV. He made dinner, finished the book later in the evening and went to bed around eleven. He was up once in the middle of the night but still was unable to spot a trace of the SUV.