asked Stan.
“Well, my dear, they always decline to press charges,” Stan said. “The two of ‘em always end up at the court house and the judge always asks ‘em, ‘Sir, are you afraid of her?’ and he always says no.’” And the judge asks her, “Ma’am, are you afraid of him?’ and she always says no. And the two of ‘em walk outta there down the aisle between the rows of seats, holding hands like a pair of goddamn newlyweds.”
“This time is different because she tried to impale Tom,” Claudia said. “Right?”
“Definitely,” Stan said.
“Do you think either of them were responsible for the murder in January?” she asked Stan. “She did have that glimmer in her eye. She looked like she could’ve killed Tom.”
He bit his lower lip and shook his head. “I’m not in charge of that investigation. I only assist.
“But h ave you ever seen them with the victim or know what reason they might have had for attacking him?” Stan asked.
“No,” Claudia said. “But Sara was at Steve Jackson’s funeral, so she knew him.”
“One other thing,” Stan said. “You ever meet a guy who goes by the name Angel?”
Tom and Claudia shook their heads.
“Hispanic male in his late 20s?”
“Who is he?” Claudia asked.
“A person of interest. Well, let me know if you hear anything,” Stan said. “But don’t do anything stupid. The community is our eyes and ears, but we don’t want you gettin’ stabbed in the eye.” He winked at Tom, and Tom crossed his arms.
Claudia followed Stan as he walked out to his car.
“Out of curiosity, who in my building has a criminal record?” she asked.
“Baby, you live in this city long enough you’re bound to know somebody who’s gotten into some kinda trouble,” Stan said, stepping into his squad and turning on the ignition. “Even your Tom’s got a record.”
“What do you mean my Tom has a record?” she asked.
“You mean you didn’t know? Why don’t you ask him?” Stan laughed. “But keep this in mind, just ‘cause someone’s got a record, don’t mean they’re a murderer.”
Claudia slammed the front door a little harder than she had meant to on her way back into the apartment. A stream of obscenities spilt out of her mouth as she walked back up the stairs.
But she didn’t ask Tom about his record right away when she got back into the living room. The thought made her nervous. She was going to ask him any minute. She knew she should just put it out there but here was the thing. He was still paying her goddamn rent. What difference did it really make? It must have been something small, insignificant. She would ask him later. It would be easier later after she had figured out how to ask, thought about the right words to use, right?
Chapter 9: Closed Doors
Claudia could feel the icy cold fingers. She could feel the ice-cold skin. She could see his dark and frosted eyes.
She woke up gasping. The thoughts were whirling through her head. The dead man’s frozen eyes had burned into her dreams.
She tried to squeeze them out by closing her eyes as tightly as she could. A few tears came out. She flipped onto her stomach and cradled the pillow in one arm, pulling it toward her damp face. Her mouth tasted dry and cottony. She got up for another glass of water. The bed groaned when she left it and groaned when she came back. The springs were shot.
She wondered if she should knock on Tom’s door, like a child seeking comfort from a nightmare. But that didn’t seem like a good idea. She was scared of his criminal record. She wanted to know, but she didn’t want to know. She wanted to ask but she didn’t want to ask. Would she think less of him? Would it matter? Why bother asking? After all, he was the one paying the rent lately and he was a good roommate. Would it really change anything?
She needed a job so bad. She wouldn’t need him so badly if she had a job. But she knew that was a lie too. She needed
“Well, my dear, they always decline to press charges,” Stan said. “The two of ‘em always end up at the court house and the judge always asks ‘em, ‘Sir, are you afraid of her?’ and he always says no.’” And the judge asks her, “Ma’am, are you afraid of him?’ and she always says no. And the two of ‘em walk outta there down the aisle between the rows of seats, holding hands like a pair of goddamn newlyweds.”
“This time is different because she tried to impale Tom,” Claudia said. “Right?”
“Definitely,” Stan said.
“Do you think either of them were responsible for the murder in January?” she asked Stan. “She did have that glimmer in her eye. She looked like she could’ve killed Tom.”
He bit his lower lip and shook his head. “I’m not in charge of that investigation. I only assist.
“But h ave you ever seen them with the victim or know what reason they might have had for attacking him?” Stan asked.
“No,” Claudia said. “But Sara was at Steve Jackson’s funeral, so she knew him.”
“One other thing,” Stan said. “You ever meet a guy who goes by the name Angel?”
Tom and Claudia shook their heads.
“Hispanic male in his late 20s?”
“Who is he?” Claudia asked.
“A person of interest. Well, let me know if you hear anything,” Stan said. “But don’t do anything stupid. The community is our eyes and ears, but we don’t want you gettin’ stabbed in the eye.” He winked at Tom, and Tom crossed his arms.
Claudia followed Stan as he walked out to his car.
“Out of curiosity, who in my building has a criminal record?” she asked.
“Baby, you live in this city long enough you’re bound to know somebody who’s gotten into some kinda trouble,” Stan said, stepping into his squad and turning on the ignition. “Even your Tom’s got a record.”
“What do you mean my Tom has a record?” she asked.
“You mean you didn’t know? Why don’t you ask him?” Stan laughed. “But keep this in mind, just ‘cause someone’s got a record, don’t mean they’re a murderer.”
Claudia slammed the front door a little harder than she had meant to on her way back into the apartment. A stream of obscenities spilt out of her mouth as she walked back up the stairs.
But she didn’t ask Tom about his record right away when she got back into the living room. The thought made her nervous. She was going to ask him any minute. She knew she should just put it out there but here was the thing. He was still paying her goddamn rent. What difference did it really make? It must have been something small, insignificant. She would ask him later. It would be easier later after she had figured out how to ask, thought about the right words to use, right?
Chapter 9: Closed Doors
Claudia could feel the icy cold fingers. She could feel the ice-cold skin. She could see his dark and frosted eyes.
She woke up gasping. The thoughts were whirling through her head. The dead man’s frozen eyes had burned into her dreams.
She tried to squeeze them out by closing her eyes as tightly as she could. A few tears came out. She flipped onto her stomach and cradled the pillow in one arm, pulling it toward her damp face. Her mouth tasted dry and cottony. She got up for another glass of water. The bed groaned when she left it and groaned when she came back. The springs were shot.
She wondered if she should knock on Tom’s door, like a child seeking comfort from a nightmare. But that didn’t seem like a good idea. She was scared of his criminal record. She wanted to know, but she didn’t want to know. She wanted to ask but she didn’t want to ask. Would she think less of him? Would it matter? Why bother asking? After all, he was the one paying the rent lately and he was a good roommate. Would it really change anything?
She needed a job so bad. She wouldn’t need him so badly if she had a job. But she knew that was a lie too. She needed
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