Slice and Dice (21 page)

“What… who… Sophie?”

“Does someone else know about your current chocolate doughnut addiction?”

He laughed. “Only you, babe. When I have guests, I always bring out those horrible gourmet biscotti, the kind of cookie that seems refined, European, and maybe even satisfying — if you’ve been living on lettuce leaves and Evian water for a few months. I have to maintain my image, you know. I am a man of the finest tastes.”

“Admit it. A1 Lundquist got you hooked on those grease bombs.”

“Are you suggesting that police officers spend their days eating doughnuts? That’s a professional slur. It might even be a felony.”

“A1 looks like he’s eaten a few in his day.”

“He’s thin as a rail.”

“With a potbelly.”

“It’s a vitamin deficiency.”

She snorted. “A bad case of bachelor malnutrition. But don’t worry, sweetheart. The secret of your true culinary leanings is safe with me.” She hoped the fact that he was being playful meant he’d forgiven her for yesterday. “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

“Let’s see.” He rustled some papers. “I have to check my engagement calendar. My dance card is usually filled.” He paused. “Say! You’re in luck. The governor canceled on me, so I’m free. Shall I pencil you in?”

“Do that.”

“The name again?”

“Finchley. Martha Finchley.”

“Ah, yes, Ms. Finchley. I believe your address and phone number are already recorded in my little black book.”

“You burned your little black book on our wedding night.”

“No, I think that was my Franklin Planner.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll be back from the paper by seven or so. I need about half an hour to take care of a few matters at the hotel and then I’ll meet you at the Zephyr Club for a night of dinner and dancing.” The Zephyr Club was the hotel’s fine dining restaurant on the top floor of the south wing. As the place where Bram had proposed, it always had a special meaning for both of them.

“I’ll polish my tennis shoes, scrub the ketchup stains off my T-shirt, and meet you at eight. Oh, should I call for reservations?”

“I’ll take care of that.”

“Good Then I can go back to eating my snack without further interruption.
Ciao bella,
baby. God, I’m so sophisticated. How can you resist me?”

“I can’t. See you tonight.”

Sophie spent the next few hours working in George’s office. She watered all his plants, thinking that perhaps his wife or one of his kids would want to come and clean out his personal belongings. It wouldn’t really feel like her space until all of the tomato seedlings were gone.

After arranging with a staff researcher to pull together die information she needed for the feature on George’s life, she spent a few minutes just sitting and looking out the window. As soon as her mind wasn’t occupied by the growing list of restaurants she wanted to review, or the local industry news she had to catch up on, her thoughts turned to Nathan. How was she going to tell him that she couldn’t see him again — ever? In many ways, it wasn’t even something she wanted. She wished they could be friends, but the chemistry between them was too volatile. It wasn’t just hard; it was deeply embarrassing to admit that she couldn’t trust herself around him, but the fact was, she couldn’t.

As she was switching off the computer, getting ready to leave, her thoughts returned to the moonlight walks she and Nathan used to take around Lake Harriet. Winter or summer, it didn’t matter, it was their special place.

Nathan knew a great deal about the natural world. Learning about trees and flowers from him was far more fun than learning about it in school. Sometimes they’d sit on a bench by the lake, holding hands and watching a muskrat play in the water or a bunch of baby ducks trail lazily behind their mama. In the summer there were sailboat regattas and band concerts at the Lake Harriet Bandshell. And in the fall, the coots, one of Sophie’s favorite birds, would return for a few weeks before heading south. She had so many memories of that time, all of them good. If her life had taken a different turn, perhaps she and Nathan would have gotten married. Had children together. Built a good life. She couldn’t help but wonder if his unresolved feelings for her hadn’t played some part in his lifelong inability to find the right person to love. Even though she knew she had no reason to feel guilty, she nevertheless did.

Outwardly, Nathan appeared to be successful and happy, a man on the go, but yesterday she’d detected in him a sense of resignation. He’d called his life a “frustrated system,” not that she entirely understood. If she cut off all ties with him now, she’d never understand.

Realizing she wasn’t getting anywhere with this trip down memory lane, she made a quick decision. It was a quarter to six. All day she’d been wanting to drive back to George’s apartment. If the police believed they had their man, it stood to reason that they’d called off any further investigation. And that meant they might have missed something important that could clear Harry. Sophie believed he was innocent. She knew her confidence might be misguided, but she couldn’t let the matter drop until she’d talked to George’s neighbors. One of them might have seen or heard something that didn’t fit the police theory.

Before leaving the Times Register Tower for the day, Sophie stuffed a copy of the day’s paper into her briefcase. She wanted to take a closer look at the article she’d written on Constance Buckridge’s visit to Kitchen Central last Saturday.

The rush-hour traffic was typically chaotic, but Sophie made it to the Lakeland Terrace in good time. She got lucky again, finding a parking spot directly across the street Walking up the steps, she realized she faced the same problem she’d had on Sunday night How was die supposed to get into a security building without a key? Thinking she had nothing to lose, she stood in the foyer pawing through die contents of her briefcase. She hoped someone would think she was looking for her key and simply let her in, just like the other night During the next few minutes, several people emerged, but no one held the door open for her. She silently berated herself for lacking the guts to grab the damn door and walk in. The next time someone came out that’s just what she was going to do. But nobody did for another ten minutes. She was getting sick of waiting when a young man suddenly came sailing through the front door juggling two overstuffed sacks of groceries. “You going in?” he asked, puffing to a stop.

“Yes, but —”

“Here, use my key. I’ve already got it out” It was dangling from his right hand. Without Sophie’s help, he wouldn’t be able to negotiate the lock unless he set everything down.

Once die door was open, the young man said, “Thanks. God, my wife’s going to kill me. We’ve got guests coming for dinner and I was supposed to be home with the food two hours ago. Wish me luck,” he shouted over his shoulder as he steamed up the half-flight of stairs to die elevators.

“Good luck,” said Sophie, giving a small wave.

She waited until he was gone, then made a mental note to suggest to Yale that he put someone on a story about security buildings — how secure are they really? Checking the time, she realized she had less than an hour before she was due back at the Maxfield, all dolled up and ready to dance the night away.

The fifth floor of the Lakewood Terrace was filled with the rich aroma of dinners cooking. Sophie thought she could detect a meat loaf, something decidedly Oriental, and a meal that required lots of garlic- — perhaps lasagna. It was a poor time to interrupt George’s neighbors, but at least they were home.

She approached one of the adjacent apartments and knocked a couple of times. It didn’t take long before a man wearing a bathrobe and slippers drew back the door. He looked as if he’d just gotten out of the shower.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Sophie began, “but I’d like to ask a couple of questions about George Gildemeister, your neighbor.”

“You with the police?” The guy seemed curious but also a bit suspicious.

“No, I’m working for Harry Hongisto, the man who’s been accused of his murder.”

“I see.” He nodded, sizing her up. “You a P.I.?”

“Men aren’t the only P.I.’s in the world, you know.”

He held up his hand. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Have the police talked to you?”

“Yeah, they came by on Sunday night. Asked a couple of questions. Nothing very extensive. They said they might want to talk to me again, but nobody’s called.” He paused, retying the belt on his robe. “What do you wanna know?”

He clearly had no intention of inviting her in, and that was fine with her. “On the night George died, last Sunday, were you home?”

“All evening. My girlfriend came over and we watched a movie, ordered a pizza.”

“Did you hear any shouting coming from George’s apartment?”

“Everyone on the floor heard it, lady, unless they were deaf. It got pretty loud a couple of times.”

“Do you remember any specific words or sentences?”

“Sorry. I didn’t pay that much attention.”

“What time did the argument take place?”

“Oh, about a quarter to seven, I guess. It was before my girlfriend arrived. I was watching a game show, so I just turned the volume up. I think I may have banged on the wall once — no, that was later. During the next round.”

“There was another round?”

“Yeah, it was about seven-thirty. I remember because that’s when my girlfriend got here.”

“Did you notice anyone out in the hallway?”

“Nope, it was empty.”

“Did you tell the police about the second argument?”

“Yeah, I think I mentioned it. They figured your friend Hongisto stayed longer than he let on.” He scratched his chest through his bathrobe. “Course, I couldn’t say for sure that George was arguing with the same man. Then again… eh, I don’t know. Maybe it was Hongisto again. But there was something about the voice. It wasn’t quite as deep. That Hongisto sounds like Henry Kissinger with a bad head cold.”

Sophie couldn’t help but smile. It was an accurate description. “So you think there’s a possibility it could have been a different person? Someone else visited George that night?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible, although I wouldn’t swear to it. If I’d thought George was about to get snuffed, I would have paid more attention.”

“You never looked out in the hall again?”

“Just when my girlfriend came. Like I said, nobody was around. Carol didn’t leave until the next morning.”

She nodded. “Thanks. You’ve been a big help.”

“No problem,” he said, wasting no time in shutting the door.

Next Sophie tried George’s neighbor on the other side. She knocked several times, glancing briefly at George’s door while she waited. Police tape stretched across it, designating it a crime scene. After another minute or so, she knocked again but finally gave up. It was only then that she noticed one of the doors across the hall was cracked open several inches. She was positive it hadn’t been like that a few minutes ago.

It hardly seemed like an invitation to talk, but someone was at least interested in what a stranger might be doing in the hallway. “Hello?” she said gently. “I wonder if I could talk to you for a minute.”

The door closed, but not all the way. “What do you want?” came an elderly voice. “Are you with the police?”

“No —”

“Good. Because if you were, I’d slam this door in your face. Those men put my nephew in jail for no reason.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You think you’d be able to trust them, but you can’t.”

“I understand. My name’s Sophie Greenway.”

“Ada Pearson.” The door opened another inch.

“I’m working for Harry Hongisto. He’s the man who’s been accused of the murder of your neighbor, George Gildemeister.”

“I know who my neighbors are. I’m not senile.”

Her tone was more ornery than unfriendly.

“Of course you’re not. Do you often stand by your door and watch what happens in the hall?”

“Sometimes.” The door opened another couple of inches.

Sophie could now see a frail old woman leaning on a cane. Unlike her neighbor across the hall, however, she was completely dressed: pearl earrings, pearl necklace, a light blue cotton dress, and a jaunty red scarf tied at her neck. Her white hair looked as if it had been styled recently at a beauty parlor. Also, it was her apartment that smelled so strongly and deliriously of meat loaf.

“Were you looking out in the hall the night George died?”

“Maybe.”

Sophie’s pulse quickened. “Did you hear the fight in George’s apartment?”

“I’m not deaf.”

“Do you remember what it was about?”

“I just heard shouting. No words.”

Sophie hesitated. “Did you see anyone enter or leave George’s apartment that night?”

“I might have.”