Doug Allyn - v108 n03-04_1996-09-10

“Omaha,” Skovich grinned after a moment’s thought. “Jet me off to Omaha.”

Hacker had to laugh. “Sorry, can’t do that. Hank Skovich let loose in his Bermuda shorts and long black socks. That would offend Omaha.”

And with that vision shimmering in their minds, the partners went back to work.

Lorena Miner had lived on the second floor of an ageing four-story building. She was a widow with no children and no close family. Her income had been adequate but not plentiful. Everyone who knew her liked her, a quiet elderly lady with simple tastes. She had been friendly but not careless; all her acquaintances assured the authorities that she would never permit a stranger to enter her apartment. Yet there had been no signs of forced entry when her body was found. The front door, however, was unlocked.

The detectives were sure it was a case of interrupted burglary. Jewelry and small items were missing from the apartment. Also cash from her purse, although her two credit cards were left untouched. Mrs. Miner was wearing a coat and had been strangled with her muffler.

“Came back from walking the dog,” Skovich speculated, “and surprised the guy inside.”

Hacker agreed. “Why else would the dog still be trailing his leash?”

“A lot of lowlifes around preying on older women living alone.”

“Yeah, but how did he manage to get inside?”

Rich and Tina Caputo had been Mrs. Miner’s next-door neighbors. They were graduate students at the local university and were absent when the first round of police interviews were done. Rich Caputo buzzed the detectives into the small barren lobby and opened the door to 2C when they knocked. He was a tall, earnest-looking young man with shaggy hair and glasses. His wife was in class, he said.

“Just checking the neighbors again to see if we can come up with something,” Skovich told him. “I understand you were gone when the police came around before.”

Caputo wore the frazzled expression of a stressed student, but he looked Skovich directly in the eye. “We were out of town all that week. My wife’s father died, and we went home for the funeral. You can check that out.” He shrugged at Skovich’s quizzical look. “I assume everyone’s a suspect until the guy is caught.” He and his wife had lived in the building just under a year and knew Mrs. Miner only slightly. “We’re on campus most of the time so we didn’t see her that much. She seemed nice, very quiet, hardly knew she was there.” He had been inside her apartment twice, both times to carry groceries for her when they met coming into the building.

“She have many visitors?”

“Like I said, we’re gone most of the time. Have you talked to Mrs. Halloran? She’s on the first floor somewhere and they were pretty good friends, I think, so she could probably tell you more than I can.”

The detectives asked about the security in the building. Caputo said it was okay for its age. “You need a key to get into the lobby. There are two back doors in the basement, but the management’s pretty good about keeping them locked. You can get outside if you need to but no one can get in.”

“Unless they’ve been buzzed in from the lobby,” Hacker reminded him.

“Yeah, that’s true. Once you’re inside you’ve got the run of the place.”

“That happen often? You get people going door to door?” Skovich was thinking of Mickey Wise, whose specialty was foisting nonexistent insurance policies on the elderly and gullible. Every time they put him away he popped back out again and took up where he left off. Mickey was out now, he recalled.

But Caputo said, “Not to my door. Mostly students and older people live here because of the low rents. Nobody’s got much money, and we’re all pretty careful. We know everyone in the place, at least by sight. It’s nice and quiet. Don’t have much traffic going in and out.”

“How about parties, Rich? You let off steam now and then when the pressure gets too high?”

Caputo allowed himself a small smile. “We’ve had a few friends over, sure, but no time or money for parties, man.”

“Mind giving me a list of these friends?”

With the list in hand, the detectives thanked him and left, passing the yellow police tape across the door of 2B.

“Anything?” Skovich asked.

Hacker said, “Don’t think so. How about you?”

“No. Alibi’s too good. But it might pay us to look into the friends.”

Mae Halloran opened the door with one hand firmly gripping a cane and a fierce-faced white cat cuddled in her other arm. She gazed up at them from under fluffy gray bangs and said, “Oh, I didn’t expect you to be so big!”

She ushered them into a small overstuffed living room and planted them side by side on a sofa, lowering herself into a facing chair and transferring the cat to her lap. The cat glared at Skovich and hissed.

“Stop that, Lovey,” Mrs. Halloran admonished. “You’ll have to excuse her, I’m afraid. She doesn’t make friends.”

She wasn’t sure how much she could help them. She had already told the first officers everything she knew.

“I found her, you know. We were supposed to watch a certain television program together, and when she didn’t come down I called her, but she didn’t answer.” She sighed. “At our age you never know what will happen, so I took the elevator up to see if she was all right. When I found the door unlocked I knew something was wrong. Lorena never left her door open. So I just peeked in a little and... well, I saw her lying there. I didn’t go all the way in. I couldn’t. I came right back here and called the police.” Her eyes filled. “Poor Lorena. She was such a good friend. For twelve years. I’m sure going to miss her.”

“I know you’ve been asked this before,” Hacker said gently, “but can you think of anyone who might have done this?”

“No sir, I can’t. Most of us older folks here don’t socialize much except with each other. Lorena was more independent. She tried to get out and about as much as she could. I went with her sometimes, but she was more able than me, you see.” She thumped her cane hard on the floor as if to punish it. The cat spat at Skovich again. He gave it a baleful look and got one in return. Hacker grinned.

The old woman reinforced Rich Caputo’s contention that people off the street were not a problem in the building. One time, years ago, a man came through pretending to be a repairman, but no one let him in. She heard later that he’d been arrested and put in jail.

“We’re not that old or foolish. No one would let a stranger into their apartment. And Lorena most certainly wouldn’t have. She was very careful, Lorena was.” Her eyes moistened again.

“Maybe it was someone she knew,” Skovich suggested. The white cat seemed to sneer.

“The thing is, she didn’t know that many people outside this building. All her family was gone, you know. That’s why she and I kind of took care of one another. I have a son but he doesn’t live close-by, so we made up our own little family. Lorena ran errands for me when she was out — that’s if my leg wasn’t up to going with her. And when she was in the hospital a few days last year getting some tests I took care of Butch for her. Went up and fed him, played with him to keep him from getting lonesome. I would have brought him down here but he and Lovey don’t get along.” She smoothed the white cat’s fur. “It wasn’t Butch’s fault, it was Lovey’s. She didn’t take to Butch at all.”

Meeting the cat’s cold green eyes, Skovich wasn’t at all surprised.

“They took Butch to the pound,” Mrs. Halloran said with a catch in her voice. “I expect he got a good home, don’t you?”

“I’m sure he did,” Hacker said quickly, before Skovich could open his honest mouth.