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tell you in which
unit, and which tenant is on the lease for that unit. It might have occurred to you at some point in our discussion that to
bring up your friendship with the deceased’s girlfriend might be a
good idea.”
    “It wasn’t exactly a friendly discussion,
and I honestly didn’t think it mattered.”
    A meaty finger flew straight at David’s
chest. He gasped sharply at the sting, stepping backwards while
trying not to tread on Johnson, who’d begun to growl. David gripped
the leash tightly.
    “It’s not your job to determine what matters
or doesn’t here,” Ormsby said, his words drenched in derision. “And
my sincerest apologies if you didn’t feel our talk was friendly. I
do my best to be a civil police detective, but on occasion I
actually have to perform my duties, which don’t always involve
being a Mr. Goody two-shoes. That undoubtedly works well in your
line of business, but not in mine. Now! Why did you choose to live
at the Rainbow Arms? An educated man like yourself, opting to live
down on Piston Avenue? I’m not seeing this clearly.”
    David’s breathing pattern was accelerating.
Johnson looked up at him, obviously concerned about the
interactions taking place above, never mind the words.
    “I needed a place to live,” snapped David.
“I found one. Beginning of story, end of story.”
    Another neighbor walked by, one of the
Martinez kids from 2A, heading out for the evening. A swift peek at
the two men, and then his head was down and he was out of
there.
    “How would you characterize your
relationship with Janice Templeton?”
    “We’re neighbors who are social. Friends
might be a bit strong. But if you want to call it that, it’s fine
with me.”
    “Do you spend a lot of time alone with
Janice?”
    “What? No!” David gave his head a shake,
trying to think clearly. “But yes, on occasion we have been alone
together.”
    “Well, which one? Yes? Or no?” Ormsby
demonstrated no visible pleasure at having caught his adversary in
a distortion.
    David drew a long breath. “We see each other
in the courtyard – the garden out back – reasonably often. We sit
and chat. About nothing. And everything. Stupid stuff, neighbor
stuff.”
    “Were you ever a visitor in her
apartment?”
    David hesitated, but then nodded. “Yes. We
had a Coke and crackers, or something like that. We talk, just like
in the courtyard.”
    “How often has this occurred?”
    “Which? Talking in the apartment or
outside?”
    “Inside. And how exactly did your neighborly
chats get upgraded to indoor status?”
    “The weather. If it was cold or rainy, we’d
talk inside.”
    “Do you have a regular appointment with her?
Is this an ongoing thing? And you didn’t answer my question about
the frequency of these cozy little confabs.”
    David closed his eyes for a few seconds,
wondering how the hell a single day could include such incredible
highs and lows. And then he faced Ormsby again. “We have no
appointment. If we run into each other, we talk. We’ve been
friendly for probably six months. I’ve been inside her apartment
perhaps seven or eight times.”
    “The last time being?”
    David thought. “A week ago. A few days
before it happened. The murder, that is.”
    “Janice didn’t do her dishes too often, did
she?”
    “How the hell would I know?”
    Ormsby’s smile was back. “We found a set of
your prints on a glass in her kitchen. You had a Coke. Straight.
Some nuts, too.”
    “My fingerprints? What is this? Am I a
suspect now?”
    The smile evaporated. “You always were,
Wilcott. We lifted your prints from your own front door, by the
way, so don’t get your panties all in a bunch.”
    “But…” David was entirely befuddled. “I read
in the paper today that Heck was killed probably because of some
drug connection! That the two guys – the two who came to the
building – ”
    “Deke and Thickman?”
    “Yeah, them. The drug guys! That they… they
had maybe killed him because of