“Is he home?” Frank asked.
No one knew.
At Building Four, Tony and Frank climbed the stairs to the second floor. An open-air balcony ran the length of the building and served the four apartments that faced onto the courtyard. Along the railing, opposite the first three doors, pots of ivy and other climbing plants had been set out to give the second level a pleasant green look like that enjoyed by ground-floor residents; but there were no plants in front of the end apartment. The door was ajar.
Tony’s eyes met Frank’s. A worried look passed between them.
Why was the door ajar?
Did Bobby know they were coming?
They flanked the entrance. Waited. Listened.
The only sound came from the happy trio in the courtyard whirlpool.
Frank raised his eyebrows questioningly.
Tony pointed to the doorbell.
After a brief hesitation, Frank pressed it.
Inside, the chimes rang softly. Bong-bing-bong.
They waited for a response, eyes on the door.
Suddenly the air seemed perfectly still and oppressively heavy. Humid. Thick. Syrupy. Tony had trouble breathing it; he felt as if he were drawing a fluid into his lungs.
No one answered the bell.
Frank rang it again.
When there was still no response, Tony reached under his jacket and slipped his revolver from its shoulder holster. He felt weak. His stomach was bubbling acidly.
Frank took out his revolver, listened closely for sounds of movement inside, then finally pushed the door all the way open.
The foyer was deserted.
Tony leaned sideways to get a better look inside. The living room, of which he could see only a small part, was shadowy and still. The drapes were shut, and there were no lights burning.
Tony shouted, “Police!”
His voice echoed under the balcony roof.
A bird chirruped in an olive tree.
“Come out with your hands raised, Bobby!”
On the street, a car horn sounded.
In another apartment a phone rang, muffled but audible.
“Bobby!” Frank shouted. “You hear what he said? We’re the police. It’s all over now. So just come out of there. Come on! Right now!”
Down in the courtyard, the whirlpool bathers had grown very quiet.
Tony had the crazy notion that he could hear people in a dozen apartments as they crept stealthily to their windows.
Frank raised his voice even further: “We don’t want to hurt you, Bobby!”
“Listen to him!” Tony shouted into the apartment. “Don’t force us to hurt you. Come on out peacefully.”
Bobby didn’t respond.
“If he was in there,” Frank said, “he’d at least tell us to go fuck ourselves.”
“So what now?” Tony asked.
“I guess we go in.”
“Jesus, I hate shit like this. Maybe we should call a backup team.”
“He’s probably not armed,” Frank said.
“You’re kidding.”
“He doesn’t have any prior arrests for carrying a gun. Except when he’s after a woman, he’s a sniveling little creep.”
“He’s a killer.”
“Women. He’s only dangerous to women.”
Tony shouted again: “Bobby, this is your last chance! Now, dammit, come out of there nice and slow!”
Silence.
Tony’s heart was hammering furiously.
“Okay,” Frank said. “Let’s get this over with.”
“If memory serves me right, you went in first the last time we had to do something like this.”
“Yeah. The Wilkie-Pomeroy case.”
“Then I guess it’s my turn,” Tony said.
“I know you’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Oh, yes.”
“With all your heart.”
“Which is now in my throat.”
“Go get him, tiger.”
“Cover me.”
“The foyer’s too narrow for me to give you good cover. I won’t be able to see past you once you go in.”
“I’ll stay as low as possible,” Tony said.
“Make like a duck. I’ll try to look over you.”
“Just do the best you can.”
Tony’s stomach was cramping up on him. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm down. That trick had no effect other than to make his heart pound harder and faster than it had been doing. At last, he crouched and launched himself through the open door, the revolver held out in front of him. He scuttled across the slippery tile floor of the foyer and stopped at the brink of the living room, searching the shadows for movement, expecting to take a bullet right between the eyes.