Part 23 (1/2)
Officer O'Brien was thorough. After checking IDs, taking down our addresses and occupations, she sought out the most recent details first-our time of arrival, our reason for being at the murder scene, if we'd seen or heard anything, and finally, how we knew the victim.
Vida started to answer, but for once, I interrupted, and with a question of my own. ”Are you aware that another murder took place next door about three weeks ago?”
O'Brien nodded slowly. ”It wasn't on our s.h.i.+ft, but we know about it.”
”My cousin Ronnie Mallett was accused of the crime,” I said, going on to describe how I'd gotten involved. ”My colleague”- I gestured at Vida- ”and I have been doing some investigating of our own because we don't believe Ronnie's guilty. I think Ms. Altdorf's murder proves our point.”
O'Brien made no comment. Isaacs had now joined us, but didn't sit down. ”You say you only met the victim a few days ago?” he asked.
”Yes,” Vida replied, jumping in before I could say anything. ”This past weekend. I might point out-since Carol Stokes's murder wasn't on your s.h.i.+ft-that Henrietta wasn't home at the time of the slaying. She told us she'd been working that night at the hospital.”
Both Isaacs and O'Brien remained impa.s.sive. I a.s.sumed they understood her point, which was that if there was a connection between the two killings, it wasn't because Henrietta had been an eyewitness. At least not as far as we knew.
”Are you planning to leave town soon?” O'Brien asked.
”Yes,” Vida answered. ”We're returning to Alpine later this afternoon. I must say, the city is a very violent place. I can't imagine living here. I'd never feel safe.”
The remark didn't go down well. Isaacs scowled and O'Brien's eyes hardened. At least they owned a couple of expressions besides those of department-store dummies.
”You'll have to make a statement at the station,” Isaacs said. ”Do you know where the north precinct is?”
I did. It wasn't far from the Greenwood district, and just west of the Northgate shopping center.
”Can we do that now?” I asked.
”We'll go with you,” O'Brien said. I thought she seemed pleased by the idea. Maybe she was fantasizing about shackling Vida to a tree while we waited. ”The detectives are on their way, along with the ME and the photographer. Do you know if the victim had any family?”
”A son, in Puyallup,” Vida replied. ”His name might not be Altdorf. I believe Henrietta had been married more than once. You might try her address book. There's also a wife and grandchildren.”
Isaacs gave an abrupt nod just as the teakettle finally sang. It struck an odd note, a painfully happy death knell burbling Henrietta's demise.
”What about Mr. Rapp?” I asked. ”Does he have to come, too?”
O'Brien glanced out into the living room, where Mr. Rapp was still talking to the medics. ”Yes. He reached the scene first, didn't he?”
”We all discovered the body at the same time,” Vida said. ”Surely he can be left at home. He's quite old and frail.”
”We won't use a rubber hose on him,” O'Brien said, though there was no humor in her tone. ”Hey, Dave,” she said to her partner, ”here come the 'tecs.”
Tony Rojas and a burly fair-haired man in his late forties lumbered into the apartment. They were trailed by a young woman with photographic equipment and a much older man who carried a black satchel.
”Your turn,” Rojas called to the officers. ”You missed the first one.” He seemed inappropriately cheerful.
”Just when we were going to lunch, too,” Isaacs shot back. ”You owe us, Tony. Why not send for a pizza?”
”Oh!” Vida looked furious. ”Can you imagine?” she said to me in her usual stage whisper. ”Would Milo act like this? He has more sense.”
The police contingent ignored us and went about their business. I made tea, but wasn't allowed to enter the living room to offer Mr. Rapp a cup. Since the apartment was getting crowded, the firefighters stepped outside. Maybe, I thought as my nerves steadied and my temper frayed, they were going for a smoke.
Tony Rojas frowned when he finally saw me. ”I know you. What's your name?” he demanded. ”You some sort of ambulance chaser?”
”Emma Lord,” I replied. ”We met at your office. Are you going to arrest Ronnie Mallet for this murder, too?”
Rojas turned his back on me and went into the living room. O'Brien and Issacs joined the rest of the police contingent. There were more ribbings and chuckles. Vida looked fit to spit.
”This is dreadful,” she said. ”How can they make jokes when poor Henrietta is lying there dead?”
”It's how they survive,” I said. ”Would you want their job? They have to put distance between themselves and the cruelty they encounter every day.” It was true of journalists, too, which is why many reporters are considered hard-bitten and cynical.
Given Vida's career as House and Home editor, she couldn't quite empathize. ”Callous, that's what I call it,” she declared.
The kitchen was growing warm, oppressive. At last the detectives, the ME, and the photographer finished their tasks. Rojas returned to the kitchen.
”Okay, Emma Lord, how come you happened to show up just as another body hit the deck?”
Since Rojas was looming over me, I stood up. I'm a boss, I know how to use intimidating body language. I rarely do it, of course, because it wouldn't work with my small staff. Especially with Vida. She looms when she's sitting down.
”You may have given up trying to find Carol Stokes's real killer,” I said, ”but I haven't. If you ask me, whoever it was has struck again.” I jerked one hand in the direction of the living room, where ambulance attendants were removing the body even as we spoke.
”You didn't answer my question,” Rojas said, un-fazed. He still loomed, being a good eight inches taller. ”How did you end up with another corpse?”
”I was trying to explain that,” I said, keeping my voice even. ”I've been conducting my own investigation. Henrietta Altdorf had been very helpful, and we were meeting her here for lunch. I talked to her on the phone about eleven o'clock. She was fine, and heading for the grocery store with her neighbor, Aldo Rapp.” I nodded in the direction of the living room, where Mr. Rapp was now talking to Isaacs and O'Brien. ”We got here early and found Mr. Rapp at the door. Ms. Altdorf hadn't come to get him yet and he was worried.”
”How'd you get in?” Rojas asked.
”Mr. Rapp has a key. He and Ms. Altdorf each had a key to the other's apartment. I gather they sort of looked out for each other.”
Rojas glanced into the living room. Maybe he was a.s.sessing Mr. Rapp in terms of his fitness as a murderer.
The poor old guy didn't look like he could pick up a golf ball, let alone a bowling trophy.
”Did Mr. Rapp hear anything, see anything?” Rojas asked.
”Not that he mentioned,” I replied. ”Anyway, he's quite deaf.”
Vida had also risen. ”Could we move along now? It's almost two.”
”I can tell time,” Rojas retorted.
In her big plumed hat, Vida actually stood taller than Tony Rojas. ”Need I point out,” she said at her most caustic, ”that you might consider how these two murders in adjoining apartments could be linked.”
Rojas shot Vida a baleful look, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the kitchen.
”Really!” she exclaimed. ”The man has no manners. Why, if I thought my nephew Billy ever treated a witness so disrespectfully, I'd-”
”Vida,” I interrupted, ”don't make things worse. Do you want to get locked up for impeding an investigation?”
”Impeding?” Vida cried, her voice carrying not only into the living room, but possibly all the way to the Satellite Room down the street. ”We're solving it for them.” She yanked off her hat, sat back down, removed her gla.s.ses, and began punis.h.i.+ng her eyes. ”Oooh! I hate the city! It makes me cross!”
Fifteen minutes later Mr. Rapp was able to return to his apartment, where Vida insisted he call his daughter to let her know what was going on. We were then directed to head for the north precinct to write up our statements. Apparently Mr. Rapp had been allowed to give his verbally.