Code 61 - Donald Harstad [6]
We did a pretty good search of the roof area. With our lights, we could see most of the way to either end of the block, and look through some of the lower trees on the bluff. Nothing in sight.
“What's your name?” I asked our victim.
“Alicia Meyer.”
“Mine's Carl Houseman. Is there a particular reason you came up here? I mean, as opposed to going down the stairs or staying in your apartment until we arrived? Did this guy get in?”
“I think so. Then I thought he was waiting for me down there,” she said, pointing toward the edge of the roof.
“Reasonable,” I replied. “Any idea who 'he' is?”
“No.”
There was sort of a pregnant pause. Obviously, we were going to have to go back down. Look as I might, there was absolutely no sign of any stair leading down into any of the buildings. It was going to have to be the ladder again.
The trip down was easier. For her protection, Alicia traveled between Byng and me. Also for her protection, I went first. I felt it was better to look silly as I crawled backward to the ladder than to fall on her. I kept my eyes fixed on her bare feet as we came down. The rungs of the iron ladder were octagonal, and I kept thinking about how much that must hurt anybody without shoes. I must have distracted myself just enough, because my right foot striking the deck jarred me.
I went into her apartment first, then her, then Byng. We looked the place over very well. Nobody but us folks.
“Now,” I said, “what's going on?”
“I saw this guy,” said Alicia. “At the window. I know I saw him. Right there,” she said, and pointed a trembling finger toward her bedroom window.
I looked at the window, then at Byng. He shrugged. The window she had pointed to was the one adjacent to her kitchen window, and about ten feet from the rail of the platform outside. I knew; I'd just been there.
“That window, Alicia?” I asked. “You sure?”
“Yes, that window.” She glared at me, brushing a strand of brown hair aside so she could see me better. “I know what I saw. I know. He couldn't be there, because there's nothing to stand on. I know that. But that's what I saw.” Her exasperation was pretty evident. That was normal. She couldn't figure out what she had seen, either, and that was making it damnably difficult to explain it to us.
I was thinking reflection in the window glass at that point, and glanced around the room. The TV was off.
“You didn't have the TV on at the time, did you?” I tried to sound friendly and reassuring. Not accusative.
“No.”
“Okay. Huh. Well, okay, look. Just tell me exactly what you saw, and show me just exactly where you were when you saw it.” I thought that was being reasonable.
She took a deep breath. “All right.” With that, she stood, and walked over to the mirror. “I was standing right here,” she said. “Like this.” She demonstrated by turning her back to the mirror and looking over her shoulder at her reflection. “I turned my head like this,” she said, and looked over toward Byng and me. And also right at the window in question. “That's when I saw his face in the window.” She gave a very genuine shudder. Whatever else, I was certain that she believed she was telling the truth.
I walked over to her, and asked her to move a little, so I could stand in her place. I bent my knees, as I'm about six-four, and she was about five-eight, and tried to get my eye level on the same plane as hers. I looked toward the window. Clear view. No obstructions. And no reflections.
“These are the lights that were on?”
“No, the ceiling light was out.”
I motioned to Byng. “Get the ceiling light?” He did. Still no reflections. I straightened up. “You recognize him?”
“No.” She said it hesitantly. Either she was thinking really hard, or she found it difficult to lie.
“Can you describe him?” I asked.
“He was white,” she said.
That struck me as a bit odd. Nation County's population, while becoming a bit more diverse, was still about 99 percent white. It was unusual to have a witness describe anybody as “white.” It was just assumed.
“White?”
“Really white,” she said, and her voice trembled