"So we've got zilch again," Pearl said.
"Not quite," Fedderman said. "A neighbor down the hall seems to be the last one who saw Celandra alive, in the elevator about six o'clock yesterday evening."
"According to Nift, that's just about the time she was killed," Quinn said.
"This"-Fedderman consulted his notes again-"Mrs. Ida Altmont was going out to walk her dog and stepped out of the elevator at lobby level when Celandra was coming in. They exchanged a few friendly words, then Celandra got in the elevator. The thing is, when the Altmont woman's dog was finished doing its business, Mrs. Altmont went grocery shopping, then stopped at a Starbucks for a coffee. Got back home about eight o'clock and saw a man leaving the lobby carrying a white box. He had on a gray shirt and dark pants, and she thinks he mighta been a deliveryman of some sort. Not much help on the description. Average height and weight. Dark hair, she thinks, but he was wearing a baseball cap. She remembered him because her dog growled at him even though he was over a hundred feet away, and the man looked what she called furtive."
Quill sighed. "Furtive, huh?"
"You don't often hear a witness say furtive," Fedderman said.
"He was carrying a box," Pearl reminded them. "The Butcher's gotta have something to lug around his cutting tools and power saw."
"And maybe an apron or change of clothes in case he gets bloody," Fedderman added.
"Let's canvass the building," Quinn said. "Make sure nobody got a delivery or had a pickup around eight last night."
"We've also got Debrina Fluor," Fedderman said.
Quinn and Pearl looked at him.
"She's downstairs in the unmarked. She's a dancer and friend of the victim, the one who let herself in and discovered the body. Pretty little thing."
"You go down and get her statement," Quinn said. "I'll tell the paramedics they can remove the body soon as the techs are finished here. Then Pearl and I will see what Ida Altmont has to say."
44
The butcher shop stench came after them as they walked a short distance down the hall. Or maybe they carried it with them.
Pearl wondered with sudden irrational panic if maybe they always would.
The Altmont apartment was three doors down. Quinn knocked, and the door promptly opened.
A small, hairy brown dog ignored Quinn and acted as if it wanted to tear Pearl's leg off. The stocky redheaded woman who'd opened the door adroitly scooped up the dog and clasped it tightly to her breast, saying, "No, no, no, Edgemore. We say no, no, no to naughtiness."
Shouldn't we all, Pearl thought, wishing she could have kicked the hairy little bastard.
Quinn was smiling. "Edgemore," he said. "Nice name. Nice dog." He reached out and petted the dog, which became instantly quiet and licked his hand.
"It's sort of a family name," Ida Altmont said. Pearl noticed for the first time that the woman's face and eyes were puffy, as if she'd been crying. Though she seemed younger at a glance, he guessed her age as about sixty. "Such a horrible, horrible thing that happened to Celandra," she said. "And right down the hall. So horrible."
Naughtiness, thought Pearl.
Ida Altmont sat down in the corner of a graceful blue-patterned sofa with dainty mahogany legs. Pearl noticed there was brown dog hair on one of the throw pillows. She and Quinn remained standing, watching as the distraught woman drew a handkerchief from a pocket of her gray skirt. She didn't use the handkerchief, merely crumpled it and gripped it tightly in her right hand, keeping it in reserve in case grief or fear overcame her.
"Did Celandra Thorn seem her usual self when you and she talked at the elevator?" Quinn asked her.
"Oh, yes. Very friendly. Celandra was always friendly to everyone."
"You told Detective Fedderman about the man you saw leaving the building when you returned from walking Edgemore."
Ida Altmont beamed, obviously pleased that he'd remembered the dog's name. All in all pleased with Quinn, this mature, ruggedly handsome cop favoring her with his attentiveness. "That's right. Edgemore and I had gone grocery shopping for some salad vegetables, then we stopped for lattes at Starbucks before returning home."
"That would have been about eight o'clock?"
"As near as I can remember."
Under Quinn's seemingly casual questioning she recounted how she'd been approaching the building, and when she was almost there an average-size, average-looking man came out and bounded down the concrete steps to the sidewalk. She tightened her grip on the handkerchief and waved it in the general direction of her face. "He was carrying a large white box and looked…"
Quinn and Pearl waited patiently.
"Furtive," Ida Altmont said.
Pearl had been expecting average.
"What size was the box?" Quinn asked.
"Oh, I'm a poor judge of such things, but I'd say it was about as wide as it was high, maybe eight or ten inches, and quite long, maybe twenty-four inches. It looked like one of those white boxes florists use for long-stemmed flowers, only somehow heavier, sturdier."
"A very good description," Quinn said. "Are you a trained observer?"
Ida Altmont fidgeted about, made uneasy by the compliment. "Oh, no, no. It was still light out, and I do watch things when Edgemore and I go for our walks. We like to notice what's going on around us."
Quinn smiled at her. "If only Edgemore could talk."
Pearl was pretty sure what Edgemore would say, and didn't like it.
"Sometimes," Ida Almont said seriously, "it's almost as if he can."
"What would he say about the man you two saw?" Quinn asked.
Pearl was impressed. She'd thought he was simply buttering up the woman.
"Edgemore wouldn't have liked him," Ida Altmont said immediately. "He would have said the man was in too much of a hurry and looked furtive."
"Maybe he was running late and had more deliveries," Quinn suggested. "So why would Edgemore be suspicious?"
"Why, because he's a dog. They know things about people; they notice things we don't."
"Such as?"
Ida Altmont sat back, frowning, and her eyes widened. Then suddenly she smiled, as if memory clicking into place had tickled her. "Well, it didn't seem that he was from a nearby restaurant, making a takeout delivery on foot. It wasn't that kind of package, and he simply didn't look the type. And Edgemore and I thought it odd that a deliveryman would be dashing about so when he was leaving, and carrying a package he'd apparently failed to deliver. Also, we could see up and down the block and there was no delivery truck. Surely if the man we saw was there to make a delivery of such a large package, he would have parked his truck or van nearby. There were available spaces right in front of the building, I'm sure."
"My, my," Quinn said, "you're an excellent observer!"
Ida Altmont batted her false eyelashes at him. "We do try."
"What was parked on the block?"
"Oh, cars. Lots of cars."
"Do you remember which of them was closest to your apartment building?"
"A white one, I think. Large. With stickers plastered all over the bumpers advising us to vote for the wrong people. It belongs to Mr. Cammering downstairs. Why aren't those political stickers ever pasted on straight?"
"I don't know, dear. Were there any unfamiliar cars?"
"Many of them. I really can't remember much about them. But I am certain that Edgemore and I saw no delivery truck, yet there was a deliveryman." She said it as if they'd observed an impressive magic trick.
"Might the man have gotten into one of the cars?"
"No, no. When Edgemore and I entered the building, he was near the end of the block, still walking."