When I reached the office Friday morning, I headed directly for Maurice's office.
"Good morning," he said without enthusiasm.
"It's Friday," I pointed out.
"Thank God for that. It's been a long week."
"No, Maurice, I mean it's Friday."
He stared at me "I don't get it."
"The NetScanners matter."
His face brightened up. "Oh! You mean he'll be...occupied."
"Exactly. Tonight we can find out what's inside that apartment."
"Oh?" He shifted uneasily in his chair. "And just how are we going to do that?"
"Simple. First off, I need two suitcases, both of them brand new and very expensive looking. Put them on the law firm credit card."
"Suitcases? Why do you need--"
"Just get them and fill them with something. It doesn't matter what. They just need to be fairly heavy, as though they're packed with all sorts of clothes."
"There's a luggage store in the Tabor Center. I'll go down and pick something up right away."
"Good," I told him. "Second, you need to go back and take another look at that building. Take Ann. She's your fiancée. She really wants to see the building because you've told her what a great place it would be to live."
"But--"
"Just do it. What did you say the address of that building is?"
He made a gesture of surrender. "Ten-fifty-four Logan. It's a ten story high rise on the east side of the street. You can't miss it."
"Okay. I've got some errands I need to run. I'll be out of the office most of the day. Meet me on Ninth and Grant, around the corner from the building, at exactly seven o'clock. Bring the suitcases. I'll be in the Van."
He asked uneasily, "What are you planning to do?"
"Nothing illegal." I pulled up a chair and sat down across from his desk. "Look, we know that our suspect rented the apartment under an assumed name, right?"
"Maybe you do," Maurice asserted peevishly. "I have no idea."
"Trust me, Maurice, he did."
He shrugged. "If you say so."
"I do. And so far, we know two things about him. First, he won't be at the apartment tonight, at least not if he follows his normal routine. Second, since he only comes here under an assumed name, we can assume he maintains a very low profile. Meaning he has as little contact as possible with the resident manager."
Maurice stared disbelievingly at me. "You're going to try masquerading as him? That would be--"
"Foolish. I agree. No, I have something else in mind. If it works, it will get me inside that apartment."
"Yeah? And what happens once you get inside?"
"That depends on what I find. You're going to be my lookout. Make sure you have your cell phone with you. We'll probably have to improvise."
He shook his head in disgust. "You must be nuts. Or a genius. Hell, you're probably both."
* * * *
We met at seven o'clock, as planned. Maurice parked his car at the curb and waited while I strolled around the corner and went inside the building, which was called The Logan Apartments. A light snow was falling, which was perfect for what I had in mind. I pressed the buzzer for apartment 410. There was no response. Just to be safe, I pressed it again.
Nothing.
So far, so good.
I stabbed at the button marked, "Frank Cunningham, Manager."
There was no response.
I cursed inwardly. If the manager wasn't home, we'd have to wait at least another week. Maybe longer. After waiting a minute or two, I reached up and pressed the button again.
"Yeah?" a belligerent voice demanded over the speaker.
"Is this Mr. Cunningham?"
"It's after six. I'm off duty."
"Sorry to bother you, but I'm supposed to pick up a key from you. My name is Carson." I had deliberately picked a name that sounded like mine. If necessary, I could claim he misunderstood me. I added, "The key is for apartment 410."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Donald--you know, in 410?--he's an old college buddy of mine. I'm going to be staying with him for a few days. He said he'd leave a key with you."
"Well, he didn't leave me no key."
"He didn't?" I asked in a plaintive voice. "He must have forgotten. I've already let the cab go, Mr. Cunningham. It's snowing like crazy outside. Could you at least let me in? I have no idea where I could find a hotel around here, especially this late in the day."
There was a long pause. "Oh, all right. Hold on. Let me put on some clothes." Thirty seconds later, the buzzer sounded and I slipped through the security door. I could hear a door opening down the hall. As I dragged my suitcases inside and set them on the carpet, a potbellied man with rumpled hair came limping toward me. He was wearing a bathrobe and slippers.
He ran his hand through his disheveled hair. "Now what's all this?"
I noticed a strong odor of alcohol. I looked as downhearted as I could. "Evidently there's been some sort of misunderstanding. I was supposed to pick up a key from you. You are Frank Cunningham, aren't you?"
"Yeah, but no one left no key."
I shook my head indulgently. "It's just like him to forget something like this. He was supposed to come down and set it up with you this afternoon. It would have been around four o'clock, because--"
A look of comprehension came over his face. "Oh! He would have missed me, then. I was showing an apartment to someone."
I nodded earnestly. I knew, of course, it had actually been two someones, namely Maurice and Ann. What an unlikely couple they must have made. I said, "That would explain it. Although it's possible that Donald put the key in an envelope and left you a note or something."
He shook his head. "He didn't leave nothing like that. I haven't seen or heard from him in months." He added pointedly, "He's the kind of tenant I like around here. He pays his rent and he doesn't bother me. I never hear a peep out of him."
I nodded. "He's a great guy, all right." Looking through the glass toward the frigid night outside, I said, "He's the only person I know in Denver. I don't know what I'm going to do!"
The manager studied me from head to toe. My blue business suit was visible beneath my Burberry overcoat. My black dress shoes were buffed to a bright shine.
His eyes landed on the pair of aluminum suitcases. "Those things must have cost you a pretty penny."
"They did," I assured him, which was no lie. Maurice spent over four hundred dollars of my money on them. "But it's only money, right?"
He took another look at me and made his decision. "I guess you look okay. Let me get my keys. I'll take you upstairs."
"Thank you," I said. "I can't tell you how grateful I am."
Three minutes later, we were standing in front of apartment 410. Cunningham knocked on the door. There was no response, of course. He knocked again, with the same outcome. Then he inserted one of his keys into the lock and opened the door.
"When's he coming home?" he asked idly.
"Either late tonight or sometime tomorrow morning. It depends on the weather."
"Well, tell him as soon as he gets home he needs to come downstairs and tell me it was okay to let you in. Okay?"
"I will. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Mr. Cunningham." I took out my wallet and handed him a twenty dollar bill. "I hope it's all right if I do that. I wouldn't want to get you into any trouble or anything."
He folded the bill and stuck it in his pocket. "No trouble at all." He turned and limped down the hall.
I made a show of lugging the suitcases into the apartment before I shut the door behind me. When I heard the sound of the elevator doors closing, I looked through the peephole in the door, making sure he was really gone. With that, I reached down and locked the deadbolt. It took me less than a minute to make sure that I was alone in the apartment.
Then I reached for my cell phone.