by Kyra Davis
“What have you gotten us into?” I muttered.
“I got myself into this,” he countered as we followed Maria up three flights of stairs. “I take no responsibility for your decision to come.”
When we reached the top floor of the four-story building, we paused. From the look of it there were only two apartments on this floor, and, as promised, the music of Gabrieli could be heard coming out of one of them. Maria went up to that door and pressed her hand against the wood. “Now what?” she whispered. I started to raise my finger to my lips, but then realized that the volume of the music would allow us to whisper without the fear of being overheard.
“Do you expect me to break through the chain lock for you?” Maria went on.
Instead of answering, Anatoly reached into his pocket and took out a small black object that looked like the kind of magnifying-glass used by jewelers. “What’s that for?” I asked.
“See for yourself.” He gestured for Maria to step aside and then put the object against the peephole. Silently, he invited me to look through it. Upon doing so I discovered that the device reversed the optics of a peephole, making it possible to look into the condo in the same way someone inside would have looked out into the hall. Little gizmos like that always delighted me. It was so very 007.
Anatoly smiled at my obvious pleasure and then took a turn looking through it.
“Well?” Maria asked in the same whispered hiss she had used before. “What do you see?”
“A parrot.”
Maria squeezed her eyes shut in an expression of disgust. “I hate that damn bird. Enrico’s trained it to torment me, you know. He used to instruct it to steal my soy nuts.”
I did a quick double take. “You’re not serious.”
“This would be a good time to open the door,” Anatoly said, locking eyes with Maria.
“I told you, the chain lock is on.”
“It was on,” Anatoly corrected. “There’s no reason to assume that’s still the case, unless you know something you’re not telling us.”
Maria’s glare became a little more venomous. In one swift movement she stuck her key in the lock and pushed the door open…or at least she opened it as much as possible, considering that the chain really was on.
“See?” she said with an I-told-you-so smirk. Anatoly shrugged and reached into the pocket of his jacket again. This time he took out a thin rectangular mirror that was roughly as long as his palm. He leaned against the doorjamb and stuck the mirror through the slit in the door.
“Can you see anything beyond the bird?” I asked.
“Not much—a sofa, the television. I can see the doorway leading to the kitchen and…uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?” Maria and I said at the same time. We were no longer whispering.
Anatoly withdrew the mirror and stood up. “Does Enrico usually take naps on the kitchen floor?”
“Of course not!” Maria replied. “Why do…My God, is he lying on the floor of the kitchen?”
Without waiting for Anatoly to answer she began to pound on the door. “Enrico! Enrico, answer me! This isn’t funny anymore. Open this door!” Then, she pursed her lips and whistled. “Giovanni, sweetie, open door. Open door, Giovanni.”
I looked at Anatoly. “Is she talking to the parrot?”
Anatoly didn’t answer. Instead he pushed Maria out of the way, took three steps back and in a rush of motion broke the chain on his first try.
Maria rushed past him to the kitchen where, from the front door you could see the loafered feet of a man lying on his back. For a split second I hoped that maybe Enrico was just passed out in a drunken stupor, but Maria’s scream put an end to my optimism. Anatoly went to her and when I heard him swear loudly in Russian I knew we had trouble.
Maria let out another penetrating scream and a man from the condo next door stepped out into the hall. “What’s going on?” he asked. A wet mat of gray hair clung to his scalp as he tightened the belt of his terry-cloth robe.
“Nothing good,” I said quietly. I reluctantly stepped in and, passing the impassive parrot, walked into the kitchen. Maria was hysterical and Anatoly was trying to drag her away from what was on the floor.
It was a body, presumably the body of Enrico. There was little question that he was dead. No one could lose that much blood and live. And the way that it caked on his throat, bringing grim attention to the gash that had been made there—it was too sick. And there was the murder weapon, lying beside him caked in the blood it had spilled. Not a knife, but an honest-to-God scythe. The kind that you would expect someone to carry while dressed up like the grim reaper on Halloween, except this blade wasn’t plastic. Above the globs of crusted red blood there was the unmistakable gleam of real steel.
“Maria, we have to call the police,” Anatoly was saying as he struggled not to slip in the pool of body fluids on the floor. “We don’t want to disturb the crime scene any more than we already have.” His hands were around her waist and, considering his significantly bigger size, he should have been able to pull her away easily. But Maria was flailing like a panicked swimmer on the verge of drowning. She was knocking things off the counter, a large bowl of washed arugola, a plate of half-made hors d’oeuvres, it all fell into the blood as she clamored to get free. I stepped around Enrico and grabbed one of her arms just as she reached back in an attempt to claw at Anatoly’s face.
“Let me go!” she cried. “I have to help him!”
“You can’t,” Anatoly breathed as he finally got a firmer hold of her and together we dragged her out of the room. “All you can do is calm down and call the police.”
She tried to claw at him again, but he managed to pin her to the floor. “Call the police, Sophie.”
“I think someone else may have already done that.” I gestured to the staircase and now, in addition to the little man still standing in his bathrobe, there was a small collection of people standing in the stairwell, looking aghast. “Did any of you call the police?” I asked.
It was a moment before anyone spoke, but eventually an elderly woman who couldn’t have weighed more than ninety-five pounds, stepped forward with her hands on her hips. “Why is your friend assaulting that poor woman?” she asked.
“I’m not assaulting her,” Anatoly yelled back. “I’m trying to keep her from messing up the crime scene. Now, if it hasn’t been done already, call the damn police!” But he clipped the last word short and his head immediately jerked up and he stared across the apartment.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Sophie, when you came in, did you see any open windows?”
“No. My guess is that if there was an open window the bird would have found it long before us.”
“But the bird didn’t find it,” Anatoly muttered. “And the chain lock was on the door.”
Maria wasn’t yelling or struggling anymore, and when Anatoly carefully released her she curled up in a little ball and began to sob.
“Do you think he’s still in there?” I asked.
“Who’s still in there?” screeched the old lady from the stairwell. “Was somebody robbed? We all didn’t haul ourselves out of bed for nothing, we want to know what’s going on!”
“Should we go in and check it out?” I asked. I was praying that the answer was no. I liked investigating crimes, but I didn’t like confronting murderers. It had been my experience that they weren’t very friendly people.
“That depends,” Anatoly said. “Has anyone called the police?”
“I have.” I turned to see a tall, heavyset man with small wire-rimmed glasses push his way past the other people. With effort, he managed to sit on the ground by Maria’s side. “Maria, they should be here soon. Are you all right?”
“Toby?” she croaked.
He let out a gentle laugh. “You lived here for years and never remembered my name. Now you’ve been out of the building for two months and it rolls off your tongue.”
“Can anyone tell me if there’s any other way out of th
is condo other than this door?” Anatoly called out.
“Just the door,” bathrobe man confirmed.
“Good, and I can see the fire escape from that window so no one can get on it without my noticing.” Anatoly pointed to the window at the other end of the hall. “If the killer’s in there he’s trapped. We’ll wait for the authorities to arrive. They’ll handle it.”
The word killer was echoed in a series of whispers throughout the stairwell.
“They murdered Enrico,” Maria whimpered. She was still in the fetal position and Toby was rubbing her back. “Someone…someone took my beloved amore from me!”
“So that’s it then?” Toby asked, looking up at us, “Enrico’s really dead?”
Anatoly nodded just as we heard the sounds of sirens in the distance. I silently prayed that the murderer was still around, hiding in the dark corners of Enrico’s condo. As creepy as it was to think that someone so violent could be so close, I was also aware of how all this was going to look to the police if they didn’t immediately catch the killer. If the fact that I had discovered two dead bodies in a short period of time bothered me, it was sure to bother the police even more.
“You fucking bitch.”
I jumped and then peered into Enrico’s apartment from where the voice came…not a human voice, but the voice of that seemingly mild-mannered bird now perched on top of the sofa. He stared at me with his sharp avian eyes and repeated, “You fucking bitch.”
The bird went out of focus as did everything else. For a moment all I could see was blurred colors and the vague forms of the things and people around me as I was transported back hours earlier to that phone call. “Anatoly,” I finally managed. “I heard it.”
“Heard what?” he asked.
“The murder. I heard Enrico die.”
6
People frequently claim to be going insane, but I’ve never heard anyone say they were going sane. Perhaps it’s because sanity isn’t a desirable destination.
—The Lighter Side of Death
THE KILLER WASN’T THERE. THE POLICE RUSHED INTO THE APARTMENT AND searched every room and examined the windows, all of which were locked from the inside. The police questioned me, Anatoly and Maria separately, grilling us about every detail of our discovery. I knew they considered us to be suspects, how could they not? But no one was arrested or even detained down at the station. Maybe it was because all of our stories were consistent, or maybe it was because none of us looked stupid enough to make up a story that involved a chained locked door when we didn’t have to. After all, it would have been easier to say that the chain lock had been broken before we showed up.
In the end they let us go with the promise of more questions in the near future. Toby offered to let Maria stay at his place since she was “clearly unfit to drive,” but she refused and opted to take a cab home instead. She didn’t want to be in the same building in which her husband had been killed. We all walked out together and waited on the sidewalk for the taxi that Toby had called.
For several minutes we stood there in silence, the other neighbors now back in their own apartments, with furniture barricading their doorways, no doubt. There were plenty of police cars double parked along the street, but most of the officers were inside dusting for prints.
It was Maria who eventually broke the silence. “I know who did it,” she whispered.
I let out a little noise of surprise, and Anatoly snapped his head in her direction.
“It was Jasper Windsor.”
“Who’s Jasper Windsor?” Anatoly asked.
“He’s the owner of that scythe.”
Impulsively, I reached out and grabbed her arm. “You did tell the police that, right?”
“Yes, but they didn’t take me seriously.”
“Why the hell not?” I asked. “If he was the owner of the murder weapon I’d say that’s pretty damn serious!”
“You’re right,” Maria agreed. She had become so pale that her skin seemed to actually glow. “It’s very serious…. Even more serious, considering he’s dead.”
Anatoly and I exchanged looks. “Maria,” Anatoly said gently, as if he were speaking to a panicked child, “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. When you say he’s dead, are you referring to Enrico?”
“No.” Maria’s eyes seemed to be focused on an invisible object before her. “I’m referring to the man who took Enrico’s life. Jasper Windsor is dead. He’s been dead for over three hundred years.”
Anatoly and I both gave her silence as a reply. The cab came, and in less than a minute she was gone.
“Do you think she’s crazy?” I asked quietly.
“She’s not sane.”
I agreed. I had to I agree because disagreeing would require me to change my entire outlook on life and death. I watched the steam of Anatoly’s breath float into the night. I was losing my bearings. I needed to get back to my own turf, where I could feel safe. “Take me home, Anatoly.”
He draped his arm over my shoulders. “We’re going. I’ll be by your side all night long.”
I pretended to sleep until I was sure Anatoly was dead to the world, then I allowed my eyes to pop open and laid there, staring at the ceiling. Mr. Katz had planted himself on my stomach as usual, but like me, he seemed to be holding on to at least some semblance of consciousness. His yellow eyes blinked at me and I could feel the gentle vibrations of his body as he purred. He hadn’t had any problems adjusting to his new home. I hadn’t, either, not really. Yes, I was having a little difficulty resigning myself to the fact that I was going to have to spend time with Venus twice a month for a year, but even after that disastrous séance I still thought it was a fair price to pay for the house.
This evening I had seen something truly horrible, gruesome and undeniably frightening. I had expected to carry that fear with me into the morning hours. Hell, I had expected to carry it well into next week, but the minute I had walked into the doors of my home it had dissipated. This place was my haven. And yet my sense of security was mixed with an odd sense of agitation. There was something I was supposed to do…but what?
Say goodbye, Sophie.
I froze, literally unable to move. It had been that voice again…or at least it had been the words, because, as before, I couldn’t actually identify a voice. It was like the words had been pushed inside my brain, but they weren’t exactly my thoughts. I knew that…but then…I couldn’t know that because that wasn’t possible.
Anatoly was still fast asleep. I glanced at Mr. Katz. He wasn’t purring anymore. In fact, his hair was sticking straight up and his eyes were wide with alarm. He had heard it, too. Me and my cat.
My eyes slid from side to side. No one was in the room, and there was no evidence that there had been anyone in the room other than me and Anatoly. Except for that scent…what was that? Strawberry air freshener? No, it was way too faint for that…it was more like…like flavored lip gloss, the kind little girls wear when they’re trying to look grown-up. Strawberry lip gloss.
But I didn’t have any strawberry lip gloss.
Without warning, Mr. Katz jumped off of my stomach onto an unpacked suitcase and then onto the floor. In the bedroom doorway he paused, looked back at me and then continued on his way out. Careful not to wake Anatoly, I climbed out of bed and followed him. I don’t know why I did that, but it seemed like the right thing to do. No, more than that. It felt like the thing I was supposed to do. Mr. Katz was now standing at the top of the stairs. When he saw me he started his descent into the living room. Carefully, quietly, I followed him, the odd fragrance hovering around me making me calm but alert. He walked through the living room and then stopped—right in front of the picture of me and my father.
I was beginning to feel a little unsteady on my feet. I actually pinched myself because the only way that any of this made sense was if I was dreaming. But I wasn’t. I was awake and seriously confused. I squatted down next to my pet and studied him carefully. “Mr. Katz, what’s going on?”
>
I talk to my cat all the time, but this was the first time I had ever spoken to him half expecting a verbal response. But if there was a response it wasn’t from him. It was from the upstairs floorboards where I heard a very distinctive thump.
All sense of safety left me. The fragrance was gone, if it had ever really been there at all. Suddenly being down in the living room alone didn’t seem like such a good idea.
There was another thump, in a different place this time.
It was pretty obvious that Mr. Katz had heard these noises, too, but this time he reacted by fleeing under the coffee table.
A third thump in yet another place on the ceiling above me.
“Sophie?” Anatoly called from upstairs, his voice groggy and puzzled.
I brought my hand to my cheek as if checking to make sure I still had a head. Of course it was Anatoly. What was I expecting? “I’m down here,” I called up.
A minute later Anatoly was slowly making his way down the stairs wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and mussed hair. As he got closer I could see that his eyes were slightly red with exhaustion and somewhat bewildered. “You are down here.”
“What, you thought I was lying?”
“No, but I thought I heard…” His voice trailed off and he lifted his eyes up to the ceiling. “Never mind, I must have been dreaming.”
“What did you think you heard?” I tried to keep my voice calm, but I was getting worried again.
“I thought I heard you walking around upstairs,” he said, nonchalantly. “But now that I’ve found you…” He reached to pull me toward him, but I stepped away.
“You thought you heard me upstairs?”
“Yes, but clearly I was mistaken. Sophie, what’s gotten into you?”
“I thought I heard you walking around upstairs.”
“I did walk from the bedroom to the staircase so…”
“I think someone’s in the house.”
