Plot It Yourself

“This is just too goddam pat,” he said. He sounded a little hoarse. He whirled to Shirt-sleeves, who was in the doorway. Take a look at this man. Have you seen him hanging around?”

“No, Sergeant, I haven’t.” The building superintendent looked a little sick. “I never saw him before. Excuse me, I’ve got to-”

“Don’t touch anything in there!”

“Then I’ve got to-” He dashed to the stairs and was gone.

“I wish I had been hanging around,” I said. “I might have seen the murderer enter or leave, or both. How long has Rennert been dead?”

“How do you know he’s dead?”

“Now come. Not only you here and the mood you’re in, but also him looking for somewhere to puke. Was it today? Was he stabbed like the others?”

He advanced a step, to arm’s length. “I want to know exactly why you came here at exactly this time.” He was hoarser. “I had been at that Jacobs place five minutes, and there you came. I’ve been here three minutes, and here you come. You didn’t come to see Rennert. You’d ring his number first to see if he was here. You knew damn well it wasn’t him that asked you who it is. You knew it was me. You’re good on voices. And you’re good at lies, and I’ve had enough of ’em. You puke. Puke a little truth.”

“You would too,” I said.

“I would too what?”

“Ring his number first. And when you ring a number and get no answer, do you always assume that the ringee is dead and go to see? I should hope not. Why did you come here at exactly this time?”

His jaw worked. “Okay, I’ll tell you. The janitor got a phone call Friday from the people where Rennert was supposed to go for the weekend, and another one yesterday. He thought Rennert had just decided to go somewhere else, and he didn’t want to enter the apartment, but he phoned the Missing Persons Bureau. They thought it was just another false alarm, but this morning someone at the bureau remembered he had seen Rennert’s name on a report and called us. Now it’s your turn, and by God, I want it straight! And fast!”

I was frowning thoughtfully. “It’s too bad,” I said, “that I always seem to rub you the wrong way. As sore as you are, the best thing you could do would be to take me down and book me, but I don’t know what for. It’s not even a misdemeanor to ring a man’s doorbell. What I would like to do is help, since I’m here. If you’ve only been here three minutes you haven’t had time to try all the tests, and maybe he’s not dead. I’d be glad to-”

“Get going!” His hands were fists, and a muscle at the side of his neck was working. “Get!”