Survivor in Death (In Death 20)

“So you saw them around the

neighborhood.”

“Sure. Coyle mostly. They didn’t let the little girl run around as much. He’d volunteer to run to the market, or walk with me there. Or I’d see him out boarding with some friends, and wave, or go out to talk.”

“Did you ever see him with somebody you didn’t recognize from around the neighborhood?”

“Not really. He was a good kid. Old-fashioned, at least from the way I was raised. Really polite, a little shy, at least with me. Way into sports.”

“How about the comings and goings? Writers notice things, don’t they?”

“It’s important to observe stuff, file it away. You never know.” Hildy twirled a hunk of her colorful hair around her finger. “And I did think of something I didn’t remember before, when the other cops came by to ask stuff. It’s just—I couldn’t keep anything in my head when I heard about it. You know?”

“Sure. What do you remember now?”

“I don’t know if it’s anything, but I started thinking about it this morning. That night . . .” She shifted, gave Eve a weak smile. “Listen, if I tell you something I did that’s not a hundred percent legal, am I going to get in trouble?”

“We’re not here to hassle you, Hildy. We’re here about five people who were murdered in their beds.”

“Okay.” She drew a long breath. “Okay. Sometimes, if I’m up writing late, or if Mrs. Grentz has been a particular pain—I mean, you got a load right? She’s funny, but sometimes she wears.”

“All right.”

“Sometimes, I go up on the roof.” She pointed a finger at the ceiling. “There’s a nice little spot up there, and it’s a place to hang out, look around, sit and think. Sometimes I go up there to, you know, smoke a little Zoner. I can’t do that in here. If Mrs. Grentz was to come down—and she does sometimes—and smell it—she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—she’d wig. So if I’m in the mood for a toke, not like every night or anything . . .”

“We’re not Illegals, and we’re not concerned if you had a little recreational Zoner.”

“Right. So I was up there. It was late because the book had been chugging. I was just hanging up there, about ready to go down, because the long night plus the Zoner made me sleepy. I just sort of looked around, like you do, and I see these two guys. Nice builds—that’s what I thought, you know. Prime meat. I didn’t think anything much of it, even when the cops came by and I heard about the Swishers, but I was thinking back, and I remembered.”

“Did you see what they looked like?”

“Not so much. Except they were white guys, both of them. I could see their hands, and a little bit of their faces, and they were white. I didn’t really see faces, couldn’t from the angle up there. But I remembered how I thought, ‘Look at the beef,’ and how they walked, side-by-side, almost like they were marching. Not talking or anything, like you do if you’re out walking with a pal late at night. Just one, two, three, four, all the way to the corner.”

“Which corner?”

“Um, west, toward Riverside.”

“What were they wearing?”

“Okay, I’ve thought about this, really hard. Black, top to toe, with—what do they call those wooly hats you pull down on your head?”

“Watch cap?”

“Yeah, yeah! Like that. And they each had a bag, long strap, cross-body. I like to watch people, especially if they don’t know. And they really were built.”

“How old were they?”

“I don’t know. Honest. I didn’t see their faces. They had those caps pulled down, and hell, I was checking the bods. But the other thing I thought later? I never heard them. I mean, they didn’t just not talk, I didn’t hear their footsteps. If I hadn’t gone over to the rail just as they were passing below, I’d never have known they were down there.”

“Let’s go up to the roof, Hildy.” Eve got to her feet. “Take us through it again.”

It’s a break,” Peabody said when they were out on the sidewalk again. Eve was staring up at the roof. “Not much of one, but a break.”

“It’s details. And details count.” She walked back down to the Swisher house, looked up toward the roof where they’d recently stood with Hildy. “Probably would have seen her, if they’d looked. Seen her standing up there, or the silhouette of her, when they got closer. But they were done, confident. Maybe scanned the street, yet careful to keep out of the brightest beams of the security lights. Walked—marched. No hurry, but disciplined—to the corner of Riverside. Had a ride somewhere, you bet they did. Legally parked, street or lot. Street’s better, no paperwork of any kind if you snag a street spot, but you can’t count on finding a space, so maybe a lot.”

“Stolen ride?” Peabody suggested.

“Be stupid. Stupid because it leaves a trail. You steal something, the owner gets pissy and reports it. Maybe take a vehicle out of long-term somewhere, put it back. But why? You’ve got all this equipment, expensive equipment. You’ve got money or backing. You’ve got a ride of your own. It won’t be anything flashy.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “Nothing that catches the eye, and the driver obeys all traffic regs.”