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cops think I screwed your daughter, then killed her. Would you mind if I poked through her things?”
    Shit.
    The parents’ arrival isn’t good news. Once they pick up her stuff, I’ll never get to see it.
    I raised my eyebrows, pleading. “I’d only need a few minutes. It’d be just between you and me.”
    Jim shook his head. “Sorry.”
    â€œWhat if I threw in a few spoons?”
    He smiled.
    I let out a little sigh. “Could I see her rental application?” I figured maybe I could find some info on her friends, employers—that kind of stuff.
    â€œThat’s also confidential. Look, you seem like a nice fella, but I gotta be careful here. You know, with the cops and all.”
    â€œWhat harm could it do?”
    â€œYou know how things are these days. Everybody suing everybody. I could lose my job.”
    We went on in that vein awhile. I got precisely nowhere.
    I said, “Well, thanks for your time.”
    â€œSure.” He walked me to the door of his apartment.
    I stepped into the hall and turned back. “I’ll check back, in case you think of anything.”
    Jim gave me another “Are you sure I don’t know you?” look.
    I started toward the front of the building, listening for the manager to close his door.
    When I heard the lock catch, I slowed down and glanced back.
    Empty hallway.
    I stood there a moment to make sure he wasn’t coming back out.
    When he didn’t appear, I walked down the dim hall and stopped in front of Sherry’s apartment.

 
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
    Â 
    As I reached for the handle of Sherry’s apartment door, I got another idea.
    I walked farther down the hall and knocked on the door of her next-door neighbor. No one home. Then I banged on the door directly across the hall from Sherry’s. Inside, I heard footsteps. A few seconds later, the door opened and I saw an elderly lady with disheveled hair, wearing a pink terrycloth bathrobe, even though it was almost two in the afternoon.
    The woman squinted at me. “Yes?” With an age-spotted hand, she pulled the lapels of the robe tight against her throat.
    I said, “I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Horace Kimbel, and I’m doing a private investigation into the unfortunate incident with Sherry Allen.”
    Her eyes softened. “That poor dear.”
    â€œYou knew her?”
    She squinted at me. “Who are you again?”
    â€œA private detective.”
    â€œCan’t you get this from the police? I talked to them for over an hour.”
    I nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry to ask again. It’s important for me to talk directly to the witnesses. How did you say you knew her?”
    She nodded. “I babysat Sherry’s son, Brandon, sometimes. Sweetest little boy. Do you know how he’s doing?”
    I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”
    She let go of the bathrobe lapels. “Ironic, isn’t it? Sherry had to leave her own child so she could help those autistic children? She wanted to go to medical school, you know. She was taking science classes at Northridge.”
    â€œDid Sherry get a lot of visitors?”
    Ms. Bathrobe sighed. “I’m afraid she was one of those trusting souls who went for a few too many men.”
    â€œDid anyone come more often than the others?”
    â€œThere was a young man with tattoos who seemed to be here a lot.”
    I took a step closer. “What kind of tattoos?”
    She shook her head. “They all look like scribbles to me.”
    I tried to keep my voice soft. “Did you remember anything else about him?”
    â€œSpiked hair. I told the police all about this.”
    I nodded. “Was there anything else you noticed about Sherry?”
    â€œShe had a little dog that barked a lot. It used to drive me crazy, but now I find myself listening for him.” She looked at me. “Is that crazy?”
    I spoke