and you say you’d like to make friends with that resident. Now that
we’ve got all that out of the way, what can I do for you?”
Kevin knew how to deal with smart alecks.
Pander, pander, he told himself. Aloud, he said:
“What number’s Mr. Fitzpeterson in?”
“I’ll ring him for you.” The porter reached for the house phone.
“Just a minute.” Kevin brought out his wallet and selected two notes.
“I’d like to surprise him.”
He winked, and laid the money on the counter.
The man took the money and said loudly: “Certainly, sir, as you’re his
brother. Five C.”
“Thanks.” Kevin crossed to the elevator and pressed the button. The
conspiratorial wink had done the trick more than the bribe, he guessed.
He got’ into the elevator, pressed the button for the fifth floor, then
held the doors open. The porter was reaching for the house phone.
Kevin said: “A surprise. Remember?” The porter picked up his book
without replying.
The elevator creaked upward. Kevin felt a familiar, physical sensation
of anticipation. He always did just before knocking on a door for a
story. The feeling was not unpleasant, but it was invariably mixed with
a trace of worry that he might not score.
The top-floor landing was graced with a. token square thin nylon carpet
and a few fading watercolors, tasteless but inoffensive. There were four
flats, each with a bell, a letter-box, and a peephole. Kevin found 5C,
took a deep breath, and rang the bell.
There was no answer. After a while he rang again, then put his ear to
the door to listen. He could hear, nothing. The tension drained out of
him, leaving him a little depressed.
Wondering what to do, he walked across the landing to the tiny window
and looked out. There was a school across the road. A class of girls
played net ball in the playground. From where he was, Kevin could not
tell whether they were old enough for him to lust after.
He went back to Fitzpeterson’s door and leaned on the bell. The noise of
the elevator arriving startled him. If it was a neighbor, maybe he could
ask. The sight of a tall young policeman emerging from the elevator
shocked him. He felt guilty.
But, to his surprise, the constable saluted “You must be the gentleman’s
brother,” the policeman said.
Kevin thought fast. “Who told you that?” he said.
“The porter.”
Kevin came at him fast with another question.
“And why are you here?”
“Just checking he’s all right. He didn’t turn up for a meeting this
morning, and his phone’s off the hook. They ought to have bodyguards,
you know, but they won’t, these Ministers.” He looked at the door. “No
answer?”
“Any reason you know of he might have been well, ill? Upset? Called
away?”
Kevin said: “Well, he rang me up this morning and sounded distressed.
That’s why I came.” It was a very dangerous game he was playing, he
knew; but he had not lied yet, and anyway it was too late to back out.
The policeman said: “Perhaps we should get the key from the porter.”
Kevin did not want that. He said: “I wonder if we should break the door
down. My God, if he’s ill in there …”
The policeman was young and inexperienced, and the prospect of breaking
a door down seemed to appeal to him. He said: “It could be as bad as
that, you think?”
“Who knows? For the sake of a door … the Fitzpetersons are not a poor
family.”
“No, sir.” He needed no more encouragement.
He put his shoulder to the door experimentally.
“One good shove Kevin stood close to him, and the two men hit the door
simultaneously.
They made more noise than impact. Kevin said: “It’s not like this in the
movies,” then bit his tongue–the remark was inappropriately flippant.
The policeman seemed not to notice. He said:
“Once more.”
This time they both put all their weight into it.
The doorpost splintered and the female half of the lock came free,
falling to the floor as the door flew open.
Kevin let the policeman go in first. As he followed him into the hall,