Camel drove to a pay phone and called in an anonymous tip to the Arlington police, telling the dispatcher what could be found in the washer and dryer in the Raineys’ basement and also in the closet upstairs. At another pay phone he called the Nefferings but got the answering machine … Mary and Eddie must’ve already left to take Annie to The Ground Floor for lunch.
Camel got back into the Fairlane and checked Kenneth Norton’s address, he could swing by on the way back to The Ground Floor. Except maybe that wasn’t smart. The safe thing to do would be go have lunch with Eddie, Mary, and Annie. Camel started the engine and listened to the sound of the exhaust, underwater rumbling. He pulled away from the curb wondering if he’d ever learn to do the smart, safe thing.
Camel was getting accustomed to the heavy old Ford with its oversized steering wheel, and although he liked the car’s afterburner acceleration he drove carefully in deference to how much the Fairlane meant to Eddie.
Knowing the general area around Norton’s address, Camel still couldn’t find Lee Street so he stopped at a convenience store where the long-haired pimply young clerk offered a heavy-lidded bored look over the top of an illustrated swimsuit catalog … until Camel asked, “Isn’t Lee Street around here?”
The clerk put the catalog down and stood up behind the counter like a soldier coming to attention. “One block up, take a left, Lee Street’s two blocks over.”
Camel told him thanks and the clerk responded with a crisp, “You’re welcome sir.”
He drove to the apartment complex, found the building, went up to Norton’s apartment, and knocked on the door. Camel waited, didn’t get an answer. The smart thing, just leave. He shouldn’t be getting involved in any of this, not when he’s out on bail for a manslaughter charge … but ever since Annie showed up, since he started working on this case, Camel felt more alive, more juiced, hungrier and hornier than he had in years. He wasn’t going to leave until he had a look in Norton’s apartment.
Camel went downstairs to see the building manager, a man in his late sixties, dressed in a blue shirt and tan slacks, smelling of cologne, obviously proud of his long white hair which he had combed with a sort of double wave all along one side. Camel flashed his license but put it away before the guy had time to memorize his name.
“I wondered if someone would be by to check on Mr. Norton,” the manager said after he stepped back into his apartment to get a set of keys, the masters.
“Why’s that?”
“I had two noise complaints filed against Mr. Norton.”
“When?”
“When was the noise or when were the complaints filed?”
“The noise.”
“Last night around eight. Mr. Norton is normally such a good tenant, never a complaint against him since he moved in. That’s why I was wondering if there had been … foul play.” Using the term embarrassed him.
At the door to Norton’s apartment the manager knocked and called Norton’s name. “We never go into a tenant’s residence unless we have a compelling reason.”
“This is compelling believe me.”
The manager unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “Mr. Norton! Oh Mr. Norton!”
Camel pushed the door the rest of the way open … first thing he and the manager saw were red stains streaked in a path across the white carpet.
“Oh my … Mr. Norton had this carpet installed at his own expense, I can’t imagine—”
Camel interrupted him with an arm across the manager’s chest, easing him back out into the hallway as Camel went into the apartment. A naked man presumably Norton was tied to a chair in the kitchen, his back to Camel. From the dining alcove it looked as if Norton’s head must’ve been hanging forward, that’s why Camel couldn’t see it. Then he stepped into the kitchen and saw Norton looking up at him from the floor.
Camel went through the apartment before returning to the hallway.
“Everything okay?” the manager asked hopefully.
Camel told him everything wasn’t okay, the apartment needed to be locked up again and the police needed to be called.
“Is Mr. Norton in there?”
Yeah in two pieces. “Call nine-one-one and report a homicide.”
“Oh my.”
“Don’t let anyone in this apartment until the police arrive.”
“No I won’t. Where are you going … I mean in case the other officers ask.”
“I’m officially out of my jurisdiction here, I need authorization before I can start processing the crime scene.”
The manager nodded his head so vigorously at this gibberish that the waves in his white hair shook … but did not dislodge. “What’s your name again, I didn’t quite catch it on your badge.”
“Parker Gray … state police.”
“Oh yeah I remember now.”