Sue Grafton - T Is For Trespass

“Don’t think so. She was out with Gus running an errand of some kind. Come to think of it, why wasn’t the orderly there to help when she had to get Gus out of the shower?”

“Maybe he’d already come and gone. She said he’s paid by the hour so he probably isn’t there for long.”

“If you see him over there again, let me know. Melanie never said a word about Solana hiring help.”

I went back to my place at 7:00 with a buzz on. A happy consequence of my anxiety was my appetite was gone. In the absence of food, I was turning into a drunk. I glanced at my desk and saw the message light blinking on my answering machine. I crossed the room and pressed the Play button.

“Hey, Kinsey. Richard Compton here. Could you give me a call?”

What was this about? I’d done a couple of jobs for the man in the previous week, so maybe he had more. I was willing to do just about anything to keep myself out of my own neighborhood. I dialed the number he left and when he picked up, I identified myself.

“Thanks for returning my call. Look, I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday night, but I need a favor.”

“Sure.”

“I have to fly up to San Francisco tomorrow at six A.M. I thought I’d better catch you now instead of calling from the airport.”

“Good plan. So what’s the favor?”

“I got a message from the fellow in the apartment above the Guffeys’ place. He thinks they’re getting ready to decamp.”

“So the unlawful detainer did the trick?”

“Looks that way.”

“That’s a blessing.”

“A big one. Problem is, I’m gone until Friday and I won’t have a chance to do the final inspection and pick up the keys.”

“You’ll be changing the locks anyway, so why sweat the keys?”

“True, but I made them pay a twenty-dollar key deposit, plus a hundred-dollar cleaning deposit. If someone doesn’t go out there, they’ll swear up and down the place was immaculate and they left the keys in plain sight. Then they’ll turn around and want both deposits back in full. Obviously, you don’t have to do it right this minute. Any time before noon on Monday would be fine.”

“I can go tomorrow if you like.”

“No sense inconveniencing yourself. I’ll give ’em a call and tell them you’ll be there Monday. You want to give me a time?”

“Eleven fifteen? That way I can take care of it before I break for lunch.”

“Good. I’ll let them know. I’ll be staying at the Hyatt on Union Square if you should need to reach me.”

He gave me the phone number of his hotel and I jotted it down. “Look, Richard, I’m happy to help you out, but I’m not in the property management business. You should really hire a professional to handle things like this.”

“I could, kiddo, but you’re much cheaper. A management company would take ten percent of the gross.”

I might have responded, but he’d hung up.

When I left my apartment Monday morning, I found myself scanning the street and the front of Gus’s house, hoping to avoid an encounter with Solana. I didn’t trust myself to have a civil conversation with her. I started my car and pulled away from the curb in haste, unable to resist the urge to crane my neck for some sign of her. I thought I caught movement at the window, but it was probably a fresh surge of paranoia kicking in.

I reached the office and let myself in. I gathered the mail from Saturday that had been shoved through the slot and now lay in a wide lake on the rug in my reception area. My answering machine was winking merrily. I separated the junk mail and tossed it in the wastebasket while I punched the Play button. The message was from Geneva Burt, in Lowell Effinger’s office. She sounded harried, but her Mondays were probably like that. I dialed the law firm while I was in the process of opening the bills, the phone pressed between my right ear and my shoulder in a hands-free hunched position. When Geneva picked up on her end I identified myself and said, “What’s up?”

“Oh hi, Kinsey. Thanks for returning my call. I’m having a devil of a time connecting with Mr. Downs.”

“He’s supposed to call you. That’s why I gave him your number in the first place. He doesn’t have a phone so he gets his messages through his landlady. It seemed simpler all around to have him make the contact since he’s so difficult to reach.”

“I understand and I passed along your comment about how antsy he is. Mr. Effinger’s anxious to take his deposition so he asked me to go ahead and call and get something on the books. I’ve tried three times this morning and I can’t get anyone to pick up. I hate to do this to you, but he’s leaning on me so I gotta turn around and lean on you.”

“Let me see what I can do. I don’t think he works Mondays so I may be able to catch him at home. You have a date and time set? If so, I’ll make sure he puts it on his calendar.”

“Not yet. We’ll accommodate his schedule once we know what’s good for him.”

“Great. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve talked to him. If he’s at all resistant, I’ll put him in my car and drive him over there myself.”

“Thanks.”

I got in my car and looped back up Santa Teresa Street and covered the eight blocks, making the two left turns that put me on Dave Levine. The residence hotel came into view, and for once there was a decent parking place out front. I left my car at the curb and took the porch steps two at a time. I pushed open the door and walked down the hall to Mrs. Von’s office in the rear. On the counter there was an old-fashioned punch bell and I gave it a ringy-ding.

A young woman came out of the dining room with a feather duster in one hand. She was in her twenties, her hair skinned back and held in place with blue plastic combs. She wore a T-shirt and jeans, and she had a dust rag caught in a belt loop, like a sous-chef. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Mrs. Von.”

“She’s out running errands.”

The phone on the desk behind her began to ring. And ring. And ring. She glanced at it, ignoring the obvious solution, which was to answer it. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The ringing stopped.

“Possibly,” I said. “Do you know if Mr. Downs is in?”

“He’s gone.”

“The man’s always gone. Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“He moved out. I’m supposed to clean the place, but I haven’t gotten to it yet. Mrs. Von’s putting a notice in the paper that the room’s for rent. That’s partly what she’s doing while she’s out.”

“You can’t be serious. I talked to him on Saturday and he never said a word. When did he give notice?”

“He didn’t. He just packed up and left. Whatever you said to him, you must have scared him away,” she said with a laugh.

I stood rooted in place. What in the world would I tell Lowell Effinger? Melvin Downs’s statement was crucial to his case and now the guy had cut and run.

“Can I take a look at his room?”

“Mrs. Von wouldn’t like that.”

“Ten minutes. Please. That’s all I ask. She doesn’t have to know.”

She thought about that and seemed to shrug. “Door’s unlocked so you can walk around if you want. Not that there’s anything to see. I peeked in first thing to see if he’d left a mess behind. It’s clean as a whistle as far as I can tell.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. And I mean that. I’m busy cleaning the kitchen. I don’t know nuthin’ about nuthin’ if she catches you.”

I took the back stairs this time, worried I’d run into the returning Mrs. Von if I used the main staircase. From below I could hear the ringing of the phone start up again. Maybe the cleaning woman was on orders not to answer it. Maybe Cleaning Personnel Union #409 forbade her taking on duties that weren’t specified by contract.