Hit List - Lawrence Block [117]
“He’s our guy,” he said, suddenly certain.
“He’s Roger?”
“No, he’s the guy we hired. Look at him, he’s looking to hail a cab.”
“Then he’d better walk to the corner. The only traffic on this street is the garbage truck, and it’s through for the night.”
“That’s the point, he doesn’t know the neighborhood. He picked her up, he came home with her, and he killed her. She’s dead and he’s on his way home. How am I going to follow him? He gave up on the cab, he’s walking away. If I miss him, and if Roger picks him up . . .”
“Harlan!”
He stopped in midsentence, even as the man outside stopped in midstride.
“She speaks up nicely for a dead girl,” Dot said. “I guess his name is Harlan.”
“You forgot this,” Maggie called down. Then something sailed through the air and landed at the fellow’s feet. He bent down and retrieved it.
“Thanks!” Harlan called out, and put it in his hip pocket.
“His wallet,” Dot said. “He forgot his wallet.”
“Why would he take it out of his pants in the first place?”
“Maybe it fell out,” she said, “when he took off his pants in a hurry. Or maybe there was something he needed up there, something a man might carry in his wallet.”
“Oh.”
“The whole thing,” she said, “was just what it looked like. She picked him up, brought him home, took him upstairs, and then sent him on his way. Go back to sleep.”
“I’m awake now.”
“What were you dreaming about, anyway?”
“My stamp collection.”
“You dream about it?”
“Evidently.”
“Well, maybe you can drift off counting stamps jumping off envelopes. She’s probably back in bed now, and he’s on his way home. Why didn’t she let him stay the night?”
“How do I know?”
“I was just making conversation, Keller. We’re the only two people in the world awake at this hour, I figured we could talk to each other. I thought—“
“We’re not the only two people awake.”
“You’re probably right, but—“ She broke off the sentence, looked where he was pointing. “You’re definitely right,” she said, “unless our friend learned to smoke in his sleep. There he is, puffing away.”
“Still up at this hour, and watching the street.”
“I think we should do the same,” she said. “I think something’s about to happen.”
The first thing that happened was that the man in the fourth-floor window finished his cigarette, or at least took it out of view. Then, a few minutes later, he stepped out of his front door. He was wearing the hat and the muffler, and it was hard to say whether or not he had the mustache.
“Gloves,” Dot noted. “And not because it’s cold.”
“He doesn’t want to leave prints.”
“If he was just going out for another hot dog,” she said, “he probably wouldn’t care. Here he comes.”
He crossed the street, walked their way, and entered the building.
“I got a look,” she said. “The mustache is gone.”
“I noticed.”
“I don’t hear the elevator.”
“He’s probably taking the stairs.”
“It’s the middle of the night. Will she let him in?”
“He’ll have a story.”
“Suppose she doesn’t buy it. What kind of locks has she got?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?”
“I was just there a few times,” he said, “and I didn’t think I was ever going to have to break in, so why should I pay attention to the locks on her door?”
“I wonder how long it’ll take him.”
“Not long.”
“He has to make it look like an accident.”
“That’s easy enough.”
“Will he leave right away? With the astrologer, I couldn’t seem to get out of the apartment.”
“You were searching the place.”
“I guess that was part of it.”
“All he has to do is set the stage and leave,” he said. “And he’s a pro, he’ll get out of there as quickly as he can. I don’t have time to waste.”
“Where are you going?”
“Outside,” he said. “I want to be out there waiting when he hits the street.”
“Roger’s probably watching the building. He’ll see you leave.”
“Can’t be helped. If he leaves first, how am I going to follow him?”
“Just be careful,” she said.
If Roger was out there, in his cap and windbreaker, Keller couldn’t spot him.