Chapter 10

I won’t say I’ve never seen a dead person before, but then it had only been at funerals. In those circumstances, not only is seeing the deceased to be expected, but pains have been taken to present him (or her) looking their very best—well scrubbed, dignified dress, the works. That is not what Donny Martin looked like, sprawled face down on the floor of his apartment, blood covering most of his back and a good part of what once passed for carpet. The last time I’d seen him, his most noticeable features were his red hair and beard. Red was still the dominant color, but this time it created a hideous clash between the electric blue shirt he was wearing and the ugly patch of blood on his back. The flashy dresser in him would never have approved.

The first thing I did was sit down heavily on the nearest chair. This was no time to be either sick or panicky, no matter how I was feeling.

The violin. That was what I’d come for. Was it here?

I looked up and surveyed the apartment, avoiding looking in the direction of the deceased. The room I was in seemed to be a combination living room and kitchen. The former was a misnomer, as the tenant wasn’t living. And while there was a small sink and appliances in one corner, the entire area was so piled with what appeared to be pizza boxes and empty beer bottles, I doubt anything had been cooked there since Martin moved in.

There were no pictures on the walls, and what passed for carpets were threadbare. The overriding atmosphere, wholly apart from the corpse in front of me, was gloom, and I wanted out of there ASAP. I could see that the only window in the room was wide open, probably because whoever shot Martin had exited that way. I was sorely tempted to do the same. Nevertheless, I dutifully arose and walked around, giving Donny a wide berth, checking every shelf and opening every door, looking for the violin. One door led to a bedroom, with an unmade bed and the acrid aroma of unwashed linens. I held my breath and checked under the bed and in the closet. No violin.

Hadn’t I gone through this once before, quite recently, in a very different kind of apartment?

Back in the living room, I made one more look around, but still no violin.

So was it the violin that was behind the murder? Had Donny Martin gambled he could squeeze more money out of Sanders for the violin he stole from Aaron? If so, someone was playing for much higher stakes.

****

Obviously, there was no longer a need for a lookout, and I immediately took out my cell phone and called Aaron. Before he could get beyond “Hello,” I blurted out, “Get here as fast as you can. Pick me up in back. Don’t ask questions.” That last was because he was about to say something, and conversation I didn’t need right then.

Just as I hit “end call” on my phone, someone began knocking on the apartment door—knocking very loudly, followed by the words “police” and “open up.” Caught by surprise and in a situation I’d never been in before, I did what any red-blooded American lady burglar would do: I panicked.

I rushed for the open window—there had to be a fire escape under it, right?—but in my haste I dropped my phone near Martin’s body. I reversed course and retrieved it. When I bent down, I saw lying next to the phone what appeared to be a man’s ring. For some reason I picked it up. It was quite heavy and had the initials “BJD” on it. Obviously not Donny Martin’s. I wiped the blood off it, getting some on my hands, and put it in my pocket.

By that time, two men in blue had burst through the unlocked door and there I was, literally caught red-handed.

I surrendered without a fight.

****

I’m usually pretty good at coming up with innocent explanations for guilty circumstances, right from when my mother would catch me with my hand in the cookie jar. (“Just putting back the cookie I found on the counter, Mom.”) But I admit this one had me at a total loss. All I could think to say was, “I didn’t do it.”

Apparently that wasn’t a sufficient explanation for the officer who seemed to be in charge. While his partner checked to confirm Martin was indeed deceased and phoned in a request for medical backup, he wanted a few more details. Such as:

Him: “What the hell’s going on here?”

Me: “This man seems to have been shot, officer.”

Him: “I can see that. Who are you?”

Me: “Well, I’m a…a friend. No, not exactly a friend, more like a stranger.”

Him: “What’re you doing here?”

Me: “I wish I knew. I guess the door was open and I just walked in and . . .”

Needless to say, I was not making a very good impression. After several minutes, as the officers waited for their backup and I waited to be executed, Aaron appeared outside the open door. He’d come back for me and, not finding me waiting in the alley, he’d come upstairs to look for me. Fortunately, when he saw through the open door the body in dappled red, the police in blue, and the idiot in black, he quickly figured out that was no place for him, and he kept on walking down the corridor.

I was glad to see him go.

I figured he’d be back.

****

Having regained just a bit of my wits, there was something I just had to know. So I asked the officer in charge how they happened to be on the scene so quickly.

“I mean, I’m really glad you showed up—I was just about to call you—but it turned out I didn’t have to. How come?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” he said with a rueful smile. “Lady in the next apartment apparently heard raised voices coming from this place and then what sounded like a gunshot, which unfortunately ain’t that uncommon in this neighborhood. Worried about it for a while and finally phoned 911. We were the closest car to the scene, so we showed up. Like I said, just lucky.”

Some luck. But that explained it.

Timing is everything.

I won’t bore you with the sordid details of my trip “downtown” and the first booking of my career. Let’s just say it was both scary and humiliating and leave it at that.

Fortunately, I was not charged with murder, at least not yet. The police knew they had a weak case, as there was no murder weapon to be found—and believe me, they made a thorough search inside and outside the apartment. But I was the best suspect they had, and besides, given my black ninja outfit and the lock picks and other paraphernalia they found on me, they figured I was up to something illegal. They booked me on suspicion of burglary, although I think they really suspected I had somehow murdered Martin and disposed of the gun. Swallowed it, I suppose.

I was going to use my “one phone call” (assuming a person really gets one and that’s not just something they say in the movies) to call Aaron, but I didn’t have to bother. Almost as soon as I arrived at the police station, Aaron, who obviously had been watching developments and following the police car I was in, walked in and inquired how I might be released. Given the relatively minor nature of the charge, despite what they might actually suspect, and my clean record, despite all the burglaries they were thankfully unaware of, bail was set according to a standard schedule rather than my having to wait to see a judge the next day.

I didn’t know how much it cost Aaron to bail me out, but of course whatever it was, he could well afford it; and besides, he owed it to me. After all, I was really just his employee, and surely posting bail is a standard employee benefit.

When all the necessary papers had been signed and funds transferred, Aaron and I walked out into the sunshine that I’d been afraid I wouldn’t be seeing for quite a while.

On the way to Aaron’s car, I gave him a hug and a little kiss on the cheek and thanked him for extricating me from the pokey and doing it so quickly. He looked a bit embarrassed by that, but he cleared his throat and said in his best businesslike manner:

“Okay, so why’d you shoot him, and where’d you put the violin?”