“How long a lease you want?”
“Three years would be good.”
“You wait here; I’ll be right back.” The man left and came back ten minutes later. “Bacchetti says you’re okay; give me a check for a month’s rent and a security deposit, and the place is yours.”
Cantor wrote him a check.
“My name’s Jim O’Brian.” He stuck out his hand.
Cantor shook it. “Back to this guy Dryer; tell me about him.”
“He kept to himself, didn’t make any noise. I only saw him coming and going, or when he paid the rent. Always paid in cash, which was okay with me.”
“How long was he here?”
“Eight months.”
“Anybody room with him?”
“A long string of girls, one night at a time.”
“Any guys visiting him?”
“He was straight, believe me.”
“I mean friends staying over a few days, that sort of thing.”
“Not that I recall.”
“When he rented the place, did you take an application from him?”
“No, I don’t bother with written applications if the renter looks okay. I never got burned until now.”
“What did Dryer do for a living?”
“Said he was a filmmaker.”
“You ever see any evidence of that?”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Cameras, film equipment?”
“The only equipment Dryer had here was a computer, a copy machine, and a fax machine. Pretty neat computer, though – Pentium, fast laser printer, big monitor.”
“Did Dryer apply for his own phone service?”
“Nah, the phone’s on my bill. Shit! I forgot about the phone bill. That’s more money out of my pocket.”
“Did he make many long distance calls?”
“Yeah, quite a few.”
“Could I have a look at your phone bills? I’d like to know who he was calling.”
“I’ve got to go upstairs and get you a lease form; I’ll dig them out for you.”
“One more thing; did Dryer leave anything here?”