Code 61 - Donald Harstad [8]
“Must have. Hey, did he look like he was dangling from a rope or anything?” I had to ask, because I could think of absolutely no other way for anyone to get up there without a ladder.
“No. I couldn't see his arms or hands. Just his face.”
“And you didn't recognize him?”
“No.”
“Did he,” I suggested, “remind you of anybody?”
She thought. “I don't know. Really. It's one of those things, you know? The more you think about it, the more he might. But I don't think that would be accurate.”
I had Byng take most of the rest of the information. After all, it was a Freiberg case, and I was just assisting. While he did, I stepped back out on that godforsaken little platform, and looked at the back for possible handholds. Four big bolts, which were common in these old buildings, protruded from the wall. They were several feet apart, in a straight line across the back, at about eight to ten feet from the ground. They probably ran under the flooring of the second story, and were simply reinforcement. No rings, no hooks, and, anyway, they were well below the windowsill. A couple of hollows where the red brick had decayed and flaked away. A few cracks where the mortar had crumbled out. But nothing else. And my original estimate had been about right. It was a good ten feet from the edge of the platform rail to the window where she'd seen the suspect.
I reentered her apartment. “Do you have somewhere you could go for tonight?”
“Yes. I guess.”
“We can either take you there, or follow you. I'd really suggest you go there, just so you can sleep.
” “You believe me?”
“Got to. I just can't figure out how he got where you saw him.”
“Do you think one of those rock climbers,” she asked, “could do it? You know, like the guys on TV who go right up a wall?”
“Possible. I don't do that sort of thing,” I said, grinning, “as you can probably tell. Do you know anybody who does?”
She shook her head. “But I'm a cocktail waitress on the boat. I'll ask around.”
By “the boat” she meant the gaming boat moored just down the street. It was called the General Beauregard. “Good. If you find anybody, tell Officer Byng, here, and we can bring him out back and see what he thinks.”
She nodded.
“Just check out his teeth first,” I said.
I went with Byng to take Alicia to a girlfriend's house. Not so much because she was an attractive female and he really should have a chaperone, but because it allowed me to leave the apartment by the front stairs. That mission accomplished, Byng took me back to where I'd left my car. We both got out, and looked over the area behind the stores. There was absolutely nothing that we could say was out of the ordinary in any way. Just some trash cans, a little housekeeping debris, bottled gas canisters, and the like. Nothing else at all, and no sign of a ladder.
“You look like you're bleedin' to death,” he said.
“What?”
“The rust from the ladder. It's all over you.”
I shined my light on my hands. Sure enough, they were orangeish red with rust. So was the front of my uniform shirt.
“Cute,” I said. I glanced at Byng, already aware that he'd climbed the same ladder, and I hadn't noticed anything reddish about him. I have a way of soaking up all the dirt and stains for everybody else.
“You must have rubbed your forehead, too. And your nose.”
I got a squirt bottle of Windex and a roll of paper toweling from the trunk of my squad car, and did my face and hands. The uniform would have to be washed.
“Think we have much of a case, Carl?”
I shrugged. “Not as it stands right now. You know who she described, don't you?”
“Yeah,” he snorted. “Fuckin' Bela Lugosi.”
I chuckled. Close enough. “The important part is that she didn't say that. Just described it.”
“So?”
“So she didn't have a name for the suspect she described. That's more credible, in a way. You ever know her to do any dope? Something along the lines of acid?”
“Never heard about her,” he said, “but I'll check. Think she's seein' things?”
“Don't know. Be kind of quiet about checking up on her. I really think maybe she saw something. I just don't think it