Part 8 (1/2)

But I shouldn't have done that! She's a good girl! She wouldn't squirt anybody!”

”Sure not, Mrs. Ebbermann. Does s.h.i.+rley have a key to your apartment?”

”Yes. I gave her her own key, a pretty one, with her initials on it, for her seventh birthday, so she wouldn't have to push the buzzer when she came home from school.”

”Where's your husband?” I asked taking a look at Ramirez' notebook to get her address.

”s.h.i.+rley's father? Somewhere in Boston. We've been separated for two years. But I wish he were here!”

”Would you give me the key to your apartment, Mrs. Ebbermann? We'd like to take a look around.”

She gave me a key. ”But she's not there. I told you, that's the first place I looked.”

”I know,” I said. ”We just want to look around. We won't disturb anything.”

Then His Grace and I got out of there as fast as we could.

I keyed open the front door of the apartment building, and we went inside. Neither of us said anything. There was no need to. We knew what must have happened, we could see it unfolding as plainly as if we'd watched it happen.

Nestor had seen s.h.i.+rley sneak off from her mother and had followed her. In order to get into the building, he must have come right in with her, right behind her when she unlocked the outer door. Then what?

The chances were a billion to one against his ever having been in the building before, so it stood to reason that all he would have been doing is watching for an opportunity and--the right place.

The foyer itself? No. Too much chance of being seen. The bas.e.m.e.nt?

Unlikely. He must have followed her into the elevator, and she would have pushed the b.u.t.ton for the seventh floor, where her apartment was, so there wouldn't be much likelihood of his getting a chance to see the bas.e.m.e.nt. Besides, there was a chance that he might run into the janitor.

The Duke and I went into the old-fas.h.i.+oned self-service elevator, and I pushed number seven. The doors slid shut, and the car started up.

The roof? No. Too much danger of being seen from other buildings higher than this one.

Where, then? I looked at the control panel of the elevator. The b.u.t.ton for the bas.e.m.e.nt was controlled by a key; only the employees were allowed in the bas.e.m.e.nt, so that place was ruled out absolutely.

I began to get the feeling that we were on a wild goose chase, after all. ”What do you think?” I asked His Grace.

”I can't imagine where he might have taken her. We may have to search the whole building.”

The car stopped at the seventh door, and we stepped out as the doors slid open. The hallways stretched to either side, but there were no apparent hiding places. I went over to the stairwell, which was right next to the elevator shaft and looked up and down. No place there, either.

Then it hit me.

Again, I could see Nestor, like a scene unfolding on a TV drama, still following little s.h.i.+rley. Had he spoken to her in the elevator? Maybe.

Maybe not. He was still undecided, so he followed her to the door of her apartment. Wait--very likely, he _had_ made friends with her on the elevator. He saw her push b.u.t.ton seven--

_Well, well! Do you live on the seventh floor?_

_Yes, I do._

_Then we're neighbors. I live on the seventh, too. I just moved in. Do you live with your mommie and daddy?_