“I need to talk to you,” I said. His eyes moved to the clock. “I got an appointment in five minutes. Can it wait?”
“I’ll walk you over. We can talk on the way.” He picked up his package and we moved out to the street. The fading afternoon sun seemed bright after the darkness of the arcade. Even so, the fog was rolling in, November twilight beginning to descend. I punched the button at the crosswalk and we waited for the light to change. “Last Friday … the night Daggett died, do you remember where your uncle was?” “Sure. Milwaukee, on a business trip.” “Are you on medication for the migraines?” “Well, yeah. Tylenol with codeine. Compazine if I’m throwing up. How come?”
“Is it possible your aunt went out while you slept?”
“No. I don’t know. I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” he said.
I thought he was stalling, but I kept my mouth shut. We’d reached the Granger Building and Tony moved into the lobby ahead of me.
The elevator that had been out of order was now in operation, but the other one was immobilized, doors open, the housing visible, two sawhorses in front of the opening with a warning sign.
Tony was watching me warily. “Did she say she went out?”
“She claims she was home with you.”
“So?”
“Come on, Tony. You’re the only alibi she has. If you were zonked on medication, how do you know where she was?”
He pressed the elevator button.
The doors opened and we got on. The doors closed without incident and we went up to six. I checked his face as we stepped into the hallway. He was clearly conflicted, but I didn’t want to press just yet. We headed down the corridor toward the suite his psychiatrist apparently occupied.
“Is there anything you want to talk about?” I asked.
“No,” he said, his voice breaking with indignation. “You’re crazy if you think she had anything to do with it.”
“Maybe you can explain that to Feldman. He’s in charge of the case.”
“I’m not talking to the cops about her,” Tony said. He tried the office door and found it locked. “Shit, he’s not here.”
There was a note taped to the door. He reached up to snatch the piece of paper, turning the movement into an abrupt shove. Next thing I knew, I was on my hands and knees and he’d taken off. He banged on the elevator
button and then veered right. I was up and running when I heard the door leading to the stairway slam back against the wall. I ran, banging into the stairwell only seconds after he did. He was already heading up.
“Tony! Come on. Don’t do this.”
He was moving fast, his footsteps scratching on the concrete stairs. His labored breathing echoed against the walls as he went up. I don’t keep fit for nothin’, folks. He had youth on me, but I was in good shape. I flung my bag aside and grabbed the rail, starting up after him, mounting the steps two at a time. I peered upward as I ran, trying to catch sight of him. He reached the seventh floor and kept on going. How many floors did this building have?
“Tony. Goddamn it! Wait up! What are you doing?”
I heard another door bang up there. I stepped up my pace.
I reached the landing at the top. The elevator repairman had apparently left the door to the attic unlocked and Tony had shot through the gap, slamming the door behind him. I snatched the handle, half expecting to find it locked. The door flew open and I pushed through, pausing on the threshold. The space was dim and hot and dry, largely empty except for a small door opening off to my right where the elevator brake, sheave, and drive motors were located. I ducked my head into the cramped space briefly, but it appeared to be empty. I pulled out and peered around. The roof was another twenty feet up, the rafters steeply pitched, timbers forming a ninety-degree angle where they met.
Silence. I could see a square of light on the floor and I looked up. A wooden ladder was affixed to the wall to my right. At the top, a trap door was open and waning daylight filtered down. I scanned the attic. There was an electrical panel sitting on some boxes. It looked like some kind of old light board from the theater on the ground floor. For some reason, there was a massive papier-mache bird standing to one side … a blue jay, wearing a painted business suit. Wooden chairs were stacked, seat to seat, to my left.
“Tony?”
I put a hand on one of the ladder rungs. He might well be hiding somewhere, waiting for me to head up to the roof so he could ease out and down the steps again. I started up, climbing maybe ten feet so I could survey the attic from a better vantage point. There was no movement, no sound of breathing. I looked up again and started climbing cautiously. I’m not afraid of heights, but I’m not fond of them either. Still, the ladder seemed secure and I couldn’t figure out where else he might be.
When I got to the top, I pulled myself into a sitting position and peered around. The trap came out in a small alcove, hidden behind an ornamental pediment, with a matching pediment halfway down the length of the roof. From the ground, the two of them had always looked strictly decorative, but I could see now that one disguised a brace of air vents. There was only a very narrow walkway around the perimeter of the roof, protected by a short parapet. The steep pitch of the roof would make navigating hazardous.
I peered down into the attic, hoping to see Tony dart out of hiding and into the stairwell. There was no sign of him up here, unless he’d eased around to the far side. Gingerly, I got to my feet, positioning myself between the nearly vertical roofline on my left and the ankle-high parapet on my right. I was actually walking in a metal rain gutter that popped and creaked under my weight. I didn’t like the sound. It suggested that any minute now the metal would buckle, toppling me off the side.
I glanced down eight floors to the street, which didn’t seem that far away. The buildings across from me were two stories high and lent a comforting illusion of proximity, but pedestrians still seemed dwarfed by the
height. The streetlights had come on, and the traffic below was thinning. To my right, half a block away, the bell tower at the Axminster Theater was lighted from within, the arches bathed in tawny gold and warm blue. The drop had to be eighty feet. I tried to remember the velocity of a falling object. Something-something per foot per second was as close as I could come, but I knew the end result would be an incredible splat. I paused where I was and raised my voice. “Tony!”
I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye and my heart flew into my throat. The plastic bag he’d been carrying was eddying downward, floating lazily. Coming from where? I peered over the parapet. I could see one of the niches that cut into the wall just below the cornice molding. The frieze that banded the building had always looked like marble from the street, but I could see now that it was molded plaster, the niche itself down about four feet and to the left. A half shell extended out maybe fifteen inches at the bottom edge and it held what was probably meant to be some sort of lamp with a torch flame, all molded plaster like the frieze. Tony was sitting there, his face turned up to mine. He’d climbed over the edge and he was now perched in the shallow ornamental niche, his arm locked around the torch, legs dangling. He’d taken a wig out of the bag he carried, donning it, looking up at me with a curious light in his eyes.
I was looking at the blonde who’d killed Daggett.
For a moment, we stared at each other, saying nothing. He had the cocky look of a ten-year-old defying his mom, but under the bravado I sensed a kid who was hoping someone would step in and save him from himself.
I put a hand on the pediment to steady myself. “You coming up or shall I come down?” I kept my tone matter-of-fact, but my mouth was dry.
“I’ll be going down in a minute.”
“Maybe we could talk about that,” I said.
“It’s too late,” he said, smiling impishly. “I’m poised for flight.”
“Will you wait there until I reach you?”
“No grabbing,” he warned.
“I won’t grab.”