Harry crouched outside Marian Turner’s apartment. He jimmied the door, snapped on latex gloves, and, holding a penlight in his mouth to free both hands, started searching, lifting cushions, feeling along the underside of easy chairs, opening drawers, shaking books, palpating throw pillows.…
In the kitchen, Harry checked inside the refrigerator, in the bread box, inside coffee cans, cereal boxes—
The front door opened and closed.
Harry froze, his hand in a box of Cheerios. The oaty cereal smell made him hungry.
Cotton and a woman appeared in the kitchen doorway.
The woman was dressed in a beige suit, a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar. The sheen on her panty hose reflected the beam from Harry’s penlight.
“Who are you,” the woman asked, “and what are you doing in my apartment?”
Taking the penlight from his mouth, Harry glanced down at the Cheerios.
“Checking to see if you have enough for breakfast?” Harry said.