![Muller, Marcia - [McCone 05] Leave a Message for Willie [v1.0] (htm)](/res/dh/book4.jpg)
Read Online Muller, Marcia - [McCone 05] Leave a Message for Willie [v1.0] (htm) - Free Book Online
Tags: Literature&Fiction
Ads: Link
to the garage; I always leave it closed."
"Maybe the wind blew it open."
"No, this is a tight latch." He came back down the hall,
then went into the room to my left.
The light he turned on came from a brass chandelier. It revealed
more red-flocked wallpaper and dark wainscoting. The room was full of
lumpy overstuffed furniture whose cushions had been tossed on the
floor. Drawers from two end tables had been pulled out and emptied.
Even the box of wood next to the fireplace had been dumped.
Willie whirled and went to the archway at the rear of the room. He
flicked on a light above a dining room table. The built-in cabinets
there had also been ransacked.
"You're right," he said angrily. "I should be more
careful about leaving notes."
I held up a hand for him to be quiet. The only sounds I heard were
traffic on the street and the faint murmur of a TV, probably in the
house next door. "Let's check upstairs."
"There's nothing up there but my bedroom. I closed off the
other rooms after my wife took all the furniture."
"Let's check anyway."
I led him up there cautiously, braced for an attack if the
intruder was still in the house. All was quiet. There were four
bedrooms, three completely empty. The other had been tossed like the
rooms below. I checked the bathroom, but found only a dripping faucet
and crumpled towels on the floor.
"How do you suppose he got in?" I said.
"The garage, since the door from there was open. He's
probably cleaned me out of my entire stock." Willie started for
the stairs.
"I doubt it. From the looks of this, he was after something
specific."
"What, though?"
"You would know better than I."
I followed him to the stairs leading to the garage. A light shone
somewhere below, toward the rear, where Willie had his office.
"You think he's still down there?" Willie said softly.
"No. We've been making too much noise; it would have scared
him off by now." Still, I started down slowly, listening. Willie
stayed close behind me.
The piles of cardboard cartons cast elongated shadows on the
cement walls. I reached the bottom of the stairs and skirted a stack
of old furniture, moving toward the office. A sudden rustling sound
came from the front. I stopped, and Willie bumped into me.
"It's the parrot," he said.
"Oh, good Lord." Realizing how silly our sneaking around
was, I stepped into the open and went toward the desk. It, too, had
been broken into, drawers standing open and chair overturned. The
rest of the garage was a shambles.
Clothing had been pulled from racks and dumped on the floor.
Cartons had been removed from the shelves and emptied. Toward the
front one of the pedestal sinks lay on its side, smashed—and
beyond it was a dark form.
Willie came up beside me. I put a hand on his arm.
"What is it?" he said.
I took a deep breath, conscious of the smell for the first time.
It was acrid, the way it always is when a gun has been fired in an
enclosed space. Acrid, yet sweet, the way it always is when blood has
been shed…
Letting go of Willie, I moved forward.
Beyond the smashed sink, Jerry Levin lay on his side. He lay
quiet, without breath. His
yarmulke
had fallen off,
revealing a bald spot almost the size of the cap. There was a bullet
hole in the back of his head.
7
While the Homicide men and Police Lab personnel took over the
garage below, Willie and I sat in his living room amid the disordered
furniture. A uniformed cop stood at the door, not exactly guarding
us, but giving us little freedom to move or to talk. Not that his
presence mattered anyway; Willie sat slumped in a cushionless corner
of the couch, arms folded across his chest, silent and withdrawn.
After a few minutes he motioned for me to move over next to him.
"I've been trying to figure out if everything's okay down
there—my business, you know," he said in a low voice. "So
far as I know, it is. It'll be pretty obvious to the cops what all
that stuff is, but they won't be able to prove it."
"They'll interrogate you, try
"Maybe the wind blew it open."
"No, this is a tight latch." He came back down the hall,
then went into the room to my left.
The light he turned on came from a brass chandelier. It revealed
more red-flocked wallpaper and dark wainscoting. The room was full of
lumpy overstuffed furniture whose cushions had been tossed on the
floor. Drawers from two end tables had been pulled out and emptied.
Even the box of wood next to the fireplace had been dumped.
Willie whirled and went to the archway at the rear of the room. He
flicked on a light above a dining room table. The built-in cabinets
there had also been ransacked.
"You're right," he said angrily. "I should be more
careful about leaving notes."
I held up a hand for him to be quiet. The only sounds I heard were
traffic on the street and the faint murmur of a TV, probably in the
house next door. "Let's check upstairs."
"There's nothing up there but my bedroom. I closed off the
other rooms after my wife took all the furniture."
"Let's check anyway."
I led him up there cautiously, braced for an attack if the
intruder was still in the house. All was quiet. There were four
bedrooms, three completely empty. The other had been tossed like the
rooms below. I checked the bathroom, but found only a dripping faucet
and crumpled towels on the floor.
"How do you suppose he got in?" I said.
"The garage, since the door from there was open. He's
probably cleaned me out of my entire stock." Willie started for
the stairs.
"I doubt it. From the looks of this, he was after something
specific."
"What, though?"
"You would know better than I."
I followed him to the stairs leading to the garage. A light shone
somewhere below, toward the rear, where Willie had his office.
"You think he's still down there?" Willie said softly.
"No. We've been making too much noise; it would have scared
him off by now." Still, I started down slowly, listening. Willie
stayed close behind me.
The piles of cardboard cartons cast elongated shadows on the
cement walls. I reached the bottom of the stairs and skirted a stack
of old furniture, moving toward the office. A sudden rustling sound
came from the front. I stopped, and Willie bumped into me.
"It's the parrot," he said.
"Oh, good Lord." Realizing how silly our sneaking around
was, I stepped into the open and went toward the desk. It, too, had
been broken into, drawers standing open and chair overturned. The
rest of the garage was a shambles.
Clothing had been pulled from racks and dumped on the floor.
Cartons had been removed from the shelves and emptied. Toward the
front one of the pedestal sinks lay on its side, smashed—and
beyond it was a dark form.
Willie came up beside me. I put a hand on his arm.
"What is it?" he said.
I took a deep breath, conscious of the smell for the first time.
It was acrid, the way it always is when a gun has been fired in an
enclosed space. Acrid, yet sweet, the way it always is when blood has
been shed…
Letting go of Willie, I moved forward.
Beyond the smashed sink, Jerry Levin lay on his side. He lay
quiet, without breath. His
yarmulke
had fallen off,
revealing a bald spot almost the size of the cap. There was a bullet
hole in the back of his head.
7
While the Homicide men and Police Lab personnel took over the
garage below, Willie and I sat in his living room amid the disordered
furniture. A uniformed cop stood at the door, not exactly guarding
us, but giving us little freedom to move or to talk. Not that his
presence mattered anyway; Willie sat slumped in a cushionless corner
of the couch, arms folded across his chest, silent and withdrawn.
After a few minutes he motioned for me to move over next to him.
"I've been trying to figure out if everything's okay down
there—my business, you know," he said in a low voice. "So
far as I know, it is. It'll be pretty obvious to the cops what all
that stuff is, but they won't be able to prove it."
"They'll interrogate you, try
Similar Books
