The landlady came in. She seemed to be about sixty years of age. Her eyes were reddened from crying, and she clutched a damp handkerchief in her hands.
"Thank you for your patience, Mrs. Roberts," the older Lieutenant said. "Now, suppose you tell us everything that you know about this sad affair. To begin with, could you confirm that the man we arrested, Nathan White, was the tenant who rented this apartment?"
"Yes, sir, he was."
"Did he live here alone?"
"Yes."
"Of your own knowledge, was Miss Street acquainted with Mr. White?" Mr. Burger put in.
"They were."
"Could you tell us more about their relationship?" the District Attorney pressed.
"Well, Mr. White was always a peculiar fellow. Until his recent retirement, he worked as a chemist at local pharmacy, and was always bringing home strange-looking bottles and old books. Anyhow, he lived here for about ten years, and was always quiet and kept to himself. I don't think he spoke to any of his neighbors at all until Miss Street moved in about two years ago. She was such a pleasant, friendly girl – she made it a point to wish him, and everyone else in the building, a good morning or good evening whenever they passed each other in the hall. Over time, she and Mr. White started to exchange small pleasantries about the weather, and one day, I almost fell over in shock when I heard Mr. White accept an invitation to her apartment for dessert and coffee."
"In your opinion, were they good friends?" Lieutenant Tragg asked.
"I would not go so far as to say that. I would say that they were friendly neighbors."
"Could you tell us more about what happened today, when you discovered the body?"
Mrs. Roberts wrung the handkerchief in her hands and repressed a sob.
"Yes, of course, sir." She took a deep breath. "About a week ago, Mr. White informed me that his doorbell was not working properly. I have an inspector coming here within the next few days, so I decided that it would be prudent to repair it today. So, I knocked on Mr. White's door and he answered, but as soon as I explained that I would need to briefly enter his apartment he started to make excuses, asked me to come back after the weekend, and just seemed extremely nervous. I told him that the inspector could be here first thing Tuesday morning, and I basically talked my way into his apartment. It was then that I noticed Miss Street lying on the sofa. I thought it was odd – I mean, I knew they had been having polite chats over coffee, but I did not think they were close enough for her to be casually sleeping on his sofa in the middle of the day, especially with her own apartment right across the hall. He noticed me looking at her, and quickly said that she had been very tired and had grown drowsy during their visit and was just taking a nap."
"But, clearly, you did not believe him," Hamilton Burger rejoined.
"Not fully, but not knowing what else to do, I just went about replacing the doorbell. It started working, and was so loud when activated that my own ears were ringing. I tested it several times, and noticed that despite the horrific noise, Miss Street did not so much as stir. That made me even more suspicious. I then walked to the middle of the room, and stood right in front of the couch and pretended to fiddle with the old doorbell I had just removed, as if I were trying to figure out what had been wrong with it; in reality, I was observing Miss Street carefully. It was then that I noticed that she was very, very pale, and was not breathing."
"What did you do then?" the District Attorney asked.
"I panicked. I realized that Mr. White must have killed her, and I had no desire to remain a moment longer in the room with a corpse and a murderer. There was clearly nothing that could be done for Miss Street at that point, so I just thanked him for letting me replace the doorbell on a Saturday and got out of here as quickly as I could. I went directly to my office and called the police from there. That is all I know."
"Thank you, Mrs. Roberts, you have been most helpful," Lieutenant Tragg said. "You may go now. We may contact you again if we need more details."
The woman nodded, drearily wished them a good night, and left. A moment after the door closed behind her, it opened again, to admit a couple of policemen pushing a stretcher. They parked it next to the couch, and in painful silence, the two Lieutenants and the District Attorney watched them transfer Della's body to it. They gently draped the sheet over her again, and took her out of the room.
"Should…should we go and pay Mr. Mason a visit now?" Lieutenant Anderson asked nervously.
Hamilton Burger looked at his watch.
"It is well past midnight," he muttered. "Tragg…how certain are you that you can keep the lid on your department until tomorrow morning?"
"No one will breathe a word. They know that if they do, they will have to answer to me. And I will personally make sure that they will never be a police officer again, not in the United States."
"In that case…we can put off our visit to Perry until tomorrow morning. Let us give him one more night of peace and blissful ignorance."
"I second the motion, Mr. Burger," Lieutenant Tragg replied. "To be honest, I am going to need a few hours to get my bearings before facing Mason with this news. And it may be wise to call on Paul Drake and fill him in before we tell the Counselor that his secretary won't be coming back to work after the holiday weekend. Perry will likely appreciate the support of his best friend at such a time."
The other two men nodded. Putting on their hats, they filed out of the apartment, each lost in his thoughts.
Poor Perry! This will be a hard piece of news to bear, to say the least!
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