On my way down from Evergreen, I mulled over the case. Three buyers had been interested in the Madison house: Garrett Owens, Dominic Saunders, and now a new couple, who were actually buying the house. A house that Edna Mills said needed some work, but not huge structural changes that Owens had asked for. I needed to see the inside of the house, and since all my attempts at getting in had so far been rebuffed, I thought it might be time to do something different.
I turned onto 1st Street and was soon driving down Madison Avenue, slowing as I passed 210. Dusk had set in, creating long shadows from the tall trees growing on either side of the street. I didn’t see the neighbor across from 210, but his rose bushes and rhododendrons bloomed with gusto. I continued to the end of the block and parked around the corner, behind a white van.
I got out of the 4-Runner, snatched the realty file off the passenger seat and locked the car. I sauntered down the alley, scanning the backsides of the houses until I reached 210 Madison. The one story home was easy to peg among all the newer, bigger homes. I glanced around and saw no one, so I tried the alley-access gate. Since it wasn’t latched, I darted through and shut the gate behind me. I crossed the lawn to the back door of the house. Locked. I expected as much.
I stood there for a moment, thinking. I wondered if there was a lock-box on the front door. I slipped around the side of the house, through a gate and into the front. I quickly strode to the porch. Bingo. A little box dangled from the doorknob.
If I could somehow get the code, I’d be in. But how would I get the code? The new realtor had most likely changed the combination, but what if he or she hadn’t? If Ned had it written down somewhere, I could at least try the combination and see if it worked. I quickly checked the file, but didn’t see anything that looked like a combination. I made a mental note to go back to Ned’s other files and check for any lock-box information that he might have written down. I made another mental note to ask Jack for a key to Ned’s house so I wouldn’t have to bother him again.
I hurried around to the back again and examined the lock and the deadbolt on the back door. Just in case I couldn’t find the lock box code. I had very little experience in breaking-and-entering – okay, none – so I didn’t have a clue as to how easy or difficult it would be to pick the lock. Mental note number three: ask Cal what he knows about this. Or more accurately, see how I could bribe him into coming down to Denver to help me, if it came to that. I was sure he knew how to pick a lock – he knew everything. Except how to leave his house on a normal basis.
To the left of the door was a large square window facing the back lawn. Dusk had given way to darkness, and I couldn’t see into the house. I planted my face against the window, cupping my hands to the glass to shut out the glare. A face stared right back at me.
I yelped in surprise and fell against the side of the house, my heart pounding in my chest.
The back door opened. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I stared at the face of the same inspector I ran into the other day.
“Didn’t I tell you the house sold?” the inspector snarled.
I nodded mutely.
“Well?”
I found my voice. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d get another look.”
“I told you before, you can’t. Have you ever heard of trespassing?”
“Hey.” I held up a hand. “There’s no need to threaten me. I’m going.”
But if I could find a key, I’d be back.
“Wait, I’ll walk you to your car.”
“No need for that.” I started to back off the porch, but he disappeared in the house, emerging a moment later with a small box and a long tube, one that might hold pictures, posters, or anything else you might want to roll up instead of fold. Like architectural plans.
“Are those plans for the house?” I pointed at the tube.
“Huh?” He fumbled with the door before pulling it shut behind him. “Yeah, for the inspection.”
“Can I see them? That would give me an idea of the layout of the house.”
“No.” With that abrupt response, he jerked his head at me, indicating I should get moving. We walked through the back gate and out into the moonlit alley.
“Where are you parked?” he grunted at me.
“Over there.” I gestured down the alley, hoping that would be enough, but he followed me all the way back to my car and watched as I got in and drove off. As I turned the corner I could see him in the glow of a streetlight, still staring at my car.
“Curses. Foiled again,” I said aloud as I turned on the CD player. The Smiths, one of my favorite 80’s bands, sang tongue-in-cheek about being miserable as I drove around the block. I kept my eyes open for the inspector, but I didn’t see him. He was long gone. That left me miserable with Morrissey and The Smiths.
It was almost nine o’clock, but I swung by the office. I wanted to check the Wilson file, the one where the sellers ended up not selling. In my experience, it seems that people tended to use the same passwords or locker combination numbers more than once – it cut down on having to memorize too many. If I could find a combination to the lock-box, which I hoped might be written in that file, I could go back to 210 Madison right now, when I knew the inspector wasn’t there. Not ideal to go in the dark, but it would work.
I pulled out my after-hours pass key and slid it over the magnetic detector, waited until the light turned green, and yanked the door open. I passed the elevators and took the stairs up to the second floor. It was deathly quiet and dark as I walked down the hall and into my office. The windows near the elevator let in a haze of moonlight, making the ficus plants in the hallway appear to jump out at me. As I unlocked my office door, I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eyes. “Bogie wasn’t scared of the dark,” I whispered to myself. Ignoring the shivers that ran down my back, I flipped on the lights and grabbed the mail on my way into the inner office.
I tossed the envelopes on the desk and opened the Wilson file. I checked every piece of paper in it, front and back, and all the sticky notes tacked to various pages, searching for the combination to the lock box. Nothing. I wondered again if I might find something at Ned’s house, somewhere in the real estate records where he might have jotted down a combination. The thought of reading through his files a third time nearly gave me a headache. And would it be worth it? If a new realtor had changed the combination, I couldn’t get in anyway.
I glanced at my watch. 9:15. I was fresh out of ideas, so it was time to call it a night. I locked up and drove home.
*****
As I started to climb the steps up to my condo, I noticed Willie drive up and park across the street. I hopped off the stairs and sauntered over.
“Just getting home?” she asked me as I waited for her to get out of the car.
“Working hard,” I said. “Wanna help?” I smiled, trying to gauge her mood.
“With what?” Curiosity was a good sign.
“You could spy on a house for me,” I said as we strolled up her front porch steps. I’d been pondering how to get into 210 Madison, but I’d also need to know when people were coming and going. I could do it myself, but surveillance was the most boring part of detective work.
“No way,” Willie said as she unlocked her front door. “That’s the most boring part of detective work.”
I had to give her that. “What if we did it together?” I leaned on the doorjamb and cocked an eyebrow at her.
“You are incorrigible,” she said, pulling me into the living room. “Besides, I have a job.”
“It was just a thought.”
“Come on in. I could use a beer.” She headed toward the kitchen. “Want one too?”
Hmm. Go home alone, or spend some time with Willie and a beer?
I stepped into the room and closed the door.