Read Online Ed McBain_87th Precinct 22 by Fuzz - Free Book Online Page B

outside a door with the brass numerals 31 on it, and fished into the pocket of her apron for a key. Down the hall, a door opened a crack and then closed again.
    “Who’s that?” Hawes asked.
    “Who’s who?” the landlady said.
    “Down the hall there. The door that just opened and closed.”
    “Musta been Polly,” the landlady said, and unlocked the door to 31.
    The room was small and cheerless. A three-quarter bed was against the wall opposite the door, covered with a white chenile bedspread. A framed print was over the bed. It showed a logging mill and a river and a sheepdog looking up at something in the sky A standing floor lamp was on the right of the bed The shade was yellow and soiled. A stains either whiskey or vomit, was on the corner of the bedspread where it was pulled up over the pillows. Opposite the bed, there was a single dresser with a mirror over it. The dresser had cigarette burns all the way around its top. The mirror was spotted and peeling. The sink alongside the dresser had a big rust ring near the drain.
    “How long was he living here?” Hawes asked.
    “Took the room three days ago.”
    “Did he pay by check or cash?”
    “Cash. In advance. Paid for a full week. I only rent by the week, I don’t like none of these one-night stands.”
    “Naturally not.” Hawes said.
    “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it ain’t such a fancy place, I shouldn’t be so fussy. Well, it may not be fancy,” the landlady said, “but it’s clean.”
    “Yes, I can see that.”
    “I mean it ain’t got no
bugs
, mister.”
    Hawes nodded and went to the window. The shade was torn and missing its pull cord. He grabbed the lower edge in his gloved hand, raised the shade and looked across the street.
    “You hear any shots last night?”
    “No.”
    He looked down at the floor. There were no spent cartridge cases anywhere in sight.
    “Who else lives on this floor?”
    “Polly down the hall, that’s all.”
    “Polly who?”
    “Malloy.”
    “Mind if I look through the dresser and the closet?”
    “Go right ahead. I got all the time in the world. The way I spend my day is I conduct guided tours through the building.”
    Hawes went to the dresser and opened each of the drawers. They were all empty, except for a cockroach nestling in the corner of the bottom drawer.
    “You missed one” Hawes said, and closed the drawer.
    “Huh?” the landlady said.
    Hawes went to the closet and opened it. There were seven wire hangers on the clothes bar. The closet was empty. He was about to close the door when something on the floor caught his eye. He stooped for a closer look, took a pen light from his pocket, and turned it on. The object on the floor was a dime.
    “If that’s money,” the landlady said, “it belongs to me.”
    “Here,” Hawes said, and handed her the dime. He did so knowing full well that even if the coin
had
belonged to the occupant of the room, it was as impossible to get latent prints from money as it was to get reimbursed by the city for gasoline used in one’s private car on police business.
    “Is there a john in here?” he asked.
    “Down the hall. Lock the door behind you.”
    “I only wanted to know if there was another room, that’s all.”
    “It’s clean, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”
    “I’m sure it’s spotless,” Hawes said. He took another look around. “So this is it, huh?”
    “This is it.”
    “I’ll be sending a man over to dust that sill,” Hawes said.
    “Why?” the landlady said. “It’s clean.”
    “I mean for fingerprints.”
    “Oh.” The landlady stared at him. “You think that big mucky-muck was shot from this room?”
    “It’s possible,” Hawes said.
    “Will that mean trouble for me?”
    “Not unless you shot him,” Hawes said, and smiled.
    “You got some sense of humor,” the landlady said.
    They went out of the apartment. The landlady locked the door behind her. “Will that be all,” she asked, “or did