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Authors: Selma Eichler
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Which, I later found out, is exactly what did happen.’’ He looked at me anxiously.
‘‘You can see why it didn’t occur to me right away, can’t you? About the breakup, that is. I mean, it all worked out fine.’’
Well, it seems I’d finally learned something that made giving up my nine P.M. rendezvous with Ted Danson a lot easier to take. (He’s really too good-looking for my taste, anyway.)
I stood up then. We’d covered everything I could think of; also, I was anxious to talk to the doorman. But getting out of there wasn’t easy. I had to call upon all of my really pathetic willpower to decline a piece of the chocolate torte that, Chuck Springer pronounced, was one of his best recipes.
The doorman’s name was Harris. I don’t know if it was his first name or his last, because he just said, ‘‘Call me Harris.’’
‘‘I understand, Harris,’’ I put to him, ‘‘that you told the police the twins didn’t have any visitors Monday night.’’
‘‘That’s not what I said,’’ he responded emphatically.
‘‘What did you say?’’
MURDER CAN RUIN YOUR LOOKS
51
‘‘I said that nobody could have got up to that apartment while I was on duty. Not without my calling upstairs first.’’
‘‘Is there another way into the building?’’
‘‘Around the side, but you should get a load of the locks on that door. Anyhow, the police checked to make sure no
one broke in, and no one did.’’
‘‘Then how could this have happened? Do you think the killer may be someone living in the building?’’
‘‘Oh, I hope not!’’
‘‘Well, what do you think?’’
‘‘I think whoever it was did this snuck in during the shift before mine. Diaz—he’s on seven a.m. to three—walks around in a fog these days. I guess it’s because his wife’s expecting a baby, and it’s their first. Don’t get me wrong, Diaz is a good kid. But lately his body may be on West Fifteenth, but, most times, his head’s up on Mars.’’
I was skeptical. ‘‘If the murderer entered the building on Diaz’s shift, that would mean he had to hang around for hours.’’
‘‘That’s right. But he coulda hid out in the basement. Or a utility room, maybe. There are plenty of places to hide,’’
Harris said obstinately.
‘‘Was there anyone you saw leaving the building Monday night that you recognized as having visited the twins before?’’
‘‘Those two detectives already asked me that, and I told them no.’’
‘‘Isn’t it possible someone got by you?’’ I persisted.
‘‘After all, I don’t suppose it’s really crucial to screen peo
ple once they’ve already been upstairs. And if you’re busy with someone who’s on the way in . . .’’
Harris chewed that over for a couple of seconds before conceding reluctantly, ‘‘Well, I guess that’s possible. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, so there’s a chance I might’ve missed someone when they were leaving. Espe
cially if I was busy on the intercom or something. But one thing I’ll tell you for sure: Nobody got in without being announced; not on my shift.’’
I had this strong conviction that Harris was having a pretty hard time accepting the fact that the tragedy had occurred when he was on duty. Maybe he even felt that his job was on the line. At any rate, he’d managed to convince himself that poor Diaz was responsible for the killer’s hav
52
Selma Eichler
ing gained access to the building. Well, he hadn’t con
vinced me.
‘‘What if someone had had a lot of packages that night?’’
I asked. ‘‘Wouldn’t you have lent a hand?’’
‘‘Sure. But nobody did. Besides, I always take care to lock the doors if I’m going to help someone over to the elevator, even though it doesn’t take more than a minute or two.’’ Then, with a look that can best be described as a glare, he defined his position on the matter again. ‘‘Listen,’’
he said irritably,’’ I keep
‘‘You can see why it didn’t occur to me right away, can’t you? About the breakup, that is. I mean, it all worked out fine.’’
Well, it seems I’d finally learned something that made giving up my nine P.M. rendezvous with Ted Danson a lot easier to take. (He’s really too good-looking for my taste, anyway.)
I stood up then. We’d covered everything I could think of; also, I was anxious to talk to the doorman. But getting out of there wasn’t easy. I had to call upon all of my really pathetic willpower to decline a piece of the chocolate torte that, Chuck Springer pronounced, was one of his best recipes.
The doorman’s name was Harris. I don’t know if it was his first name or his last, because he just said, ‘‘Call me Harris.’’
‘‘I understand, Harris,’’ I put to him, ‘‘that you told the police the twins didn’t have any visitors Monday night.’’
‘‘That’s not what I said,’’ he responded emphatically.
‘‘What did you say?’’
MURDER CAN RUIN YOUR LOOKS
51
‘‘I said that nobody could have got up to that apartment while I was on duty. Not without my calling upstairs first.’’
‘‘Is there another way into the building?’’
‘‘Around the side, but you should get a load of the locks on that door. Anyhow, the police checked to make sure no
one broke in, and no one did.’’
‘‘Then how could this have happened? Do you think the killer may be someone living in the building?’’
‘‘Oh, I hope not!’’
‘‘Well, what do you think?’’
‘‘I think whoever it was did this snuck in during the shift before mine. Diaz—he’s on seven a.m. to three—walks around in a fog these days. I guess it’s because his wife’s expecting a baby, and it’s their first. Don’t get me wrong, Diaz is a good kid. But lately his body may be on West Fifteenth, but, most times, his head’s up on Mars.’’
I was skeptical. ‘‘If the murderer entered the building on Diaz’s shift, that would mean he had to hang around for hours.’’
‘‘That’s right. But he coulda hid out in the basement. Or a utility room, maybe. There are plenty of places to hide,’’
Harris said obstinately.
‘‘Was there anyone you saw leaving the building Monday night that you recognized as having visited the twins before?’’
‘‘Those two detectives already asked me that, and I told them no.’’
‘‘Isn’t it possible someone got by you?’’ I persisted.
‘‘After all, I don’t suppose it’s really crucial to screen peo
ple once they’ve already been upstairs. And if you’re busy with someone who’s on the way in . . .’’
Harris chewed that over for a couple of seconds before conceding reluctantly, ‘‘Well, I guess that’s possible. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, so there’s a chance I might’ve missed someone when they were leaving. Espe
cially if I was busy on the intercom or something. But one thing I’ll tell you for sure: Nobody got in without being announced; not on my shift.’’
I had this strong conviction that Harris was having a pretty hard time accepting the fact that the tragedy had occurred when he was on duty. Maybe he even felt that his job was on the line. At any rate, he’d managed to convince himself that poor Diaz was responsible for the killer’s hav
52
Selma Eichler
ing gained access to the building. Well, he hadn’t con
vinced me.
‘‘What if someone had had a lot of packages that night?’’
I asked. ‘‘Wouldn’t you have lent a hand?’’
‘‘Sure. But nobody did. Besides, I always take care to lock the doors if I’m going to help someone over to the elevator, even though it doesn’t take more than a minute or two.’’ Then, with a look that can best be described as a glare, he defined his position on the matter again. ‘‘Listen,’’
he said irritably,’’ I keep
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