he gone on his own, or had someone forced him?
Green’s eyes fell on the dog dishes on the kitchen floor. A big bugger, the super had said, surely capable of making any intruder think twice about breaking in, and capable of making enough racket to rouse the dead if he did.
When the super came huffing back into the room with his toolbox under his arm, Green turned to him. “Have you heard the dog barking any time in the past few days?”
The super wheezed as he bent over to paw through his toolbox. He seemed to be thinking, and Green gave him time. Finally the man shook his head.
“But I’m way down in the basement. I don’t hear much that goes on up here.”
Especially with your television on full blast, Green added silently. “How long has Mr. Fraser lived here?”
The man found a hammer and straightened up, his face dangerously red from the exertion. Sweat poured down his temples and disappeared into the folds of his chins. He squinted as if that would help him muster his thoughts.
“Three, four years?”
“What does he do for a living?”
On this the super was no help. He knew nothing of the man’s private life beyond that he rarely went out except to shop or walk the dog, and he had no visitors.
“None at all?”
The super started to shake his head, then paused, sweat flying. “Recently, yeah. There was a lady come yesterday—I seen her hanging around before. Outside, like. And I think someone else came last week. I didn’t see much, just heard them go up to the third floor, and they didn’t go to Crystal’s place. Crystal probably seen them, though.”
“Crystal?”
The super fidgeted, his pig-eyes squinting almost shut. “The woman next door. She’s the only other tenant on the third floor.”
Green made a note to get to her later. Since she lived next door, she might have some useful information about Fraser’s habits or recent visitors.
The super swept away the cobwebs and pried all the windows open, billowing humid air into the already stifling room. Looking eager to get away, he asked Green if he were still needed. When Green declined, the super handed over the key with relief.
“Lock up when you’re done,” he tossed over his shoulder as he hustled out the door.
Green stood in the living room, trying to soak up Fraser’s presence. From what he could see, the man lived an existence entirely without comforts. No television, no CD player, not even a comfortable arm chair. Just a computer, a desk with utilitarian chair, and a hard vinyl couch whose main purpose seemed to be for spreading out papers. There were endless shelves of articles and text books on law and psychology, but not an action thriller or hobby book among the lot. Nothing that might engender joy.
As if the man were doing penance. Perhaps he was.
Once Green’s eyes grew accustomed to the bizarre character of the room, he realized the incongruity between the various rooms. The kitchen and the bedroom, apart from the rotting food and the dog mess, seemed meticulously ordered, indicating that the man kept a neat house. Even the organization and labelling of each shelf attested to a fastidious mind. Yet in the living room everything had been turned upside down; books and papers had been pulled out and impatiently cast aside.
Janice Tanner had made much of the rotting food and the abandoned dog, but had not mentioned a ransacked living room. Surely this would not have escaped her notice. Could someone have been here since yesterday? Fraser? In Green’s house, it was not uncommon for him to turn the place upside down for something he’d misplaced, but Fraser seemed as if he’d know where every slip of paper was. Had someone else been here? Whoever they were, whatever they were looking for, they’d been in a hell of a hurry. Or a hell of a temper.
Intrigued, Green examined the books that lay on the floor. The Child and Family Services Act, which detailed the law governing child abuse, as well as its predecessor. There was a heavy tome called Child Witnesses, and another with the lurid title of Breaking the Silence. The latter looked well thumbed, with pages dog-eared and passages underlined. Green began to read.
“Fuck! What stinks!” The querulous shriek came from the hallway, and Green glanced up just as a young woman stumbled into Fraser’s doorway, shielding her eyes from the daylight and clutching a man’s extra large cotton shirt over her scrawny frame. She recoiled slightly at the sight of Green, and glanced down as if to ensure the shirt covered her crotch.
“What the fuck is that stink?” she repeated.
Green took a guess. “Crystal?”
Her eyes slitted warily. “Who the fuck are you?”
Extensive vocabulary, Green thought. Matches the super’s. He introduced himself and steeled himself for hostility. She looked like the type whose encounters with police might have been less than amicable. When the hostility came, however, it was not directed at him.
“What’s he done? What’s the pervert done?”
“Disappeared,” Green replied. “When did you last see him?”
“He gives me the creeps. Always sneaking around with that freaky dog of his, locking himself in with six locks like he’s got the crown jewels in there. Won’t even say hi, but I know who he is anyway and don’t want him anywheres near my daughter, so I stay away from him.”
Green shifted gears quickly. “Has he ever acted suspiciously around your daughter?”
Crystal held her hand under her nose with a grimace. “What the fuck stinks? I thought I smelled something weird, but I figured it was just lazy Laslo not bothering to throw out the garbage. Smells like shit.”
With a sigh, Green decided he might never get a straight answer to his questions. Her mind was as jumpy as a spooked cat, and she looked as if she were in dire need of her next dose. He steered her back into the hall and shut the door on the offending odours.
“When did you last see Mr. Fraser?”
She chewed at her fingernails. “What day is it? Monday?”
“Tuesday.”
“Tuesday.” She frowned, as if with the effort of rallying her wits. “I don’t think I seen him since last week. Wednesday, maybe? He was going out, all dressed up.”
“You mean—”
“For the office. Grey suit, tie, briefcase.”
“He didn’t usually dress that way?”
She snorted. “He wore the baggiest, ugliest pants and sweatshirts you could find. Even the Sally Ann has nicer clothes. He couldn’t look dumber if he tried! I mean, he wouldn’t be a bad-looking guy. He’s got wide shoulders and a nice tight—” she paused and twisted her thin lips into a smirk, “butt on him, still got all his hair, even if he wears it like a dork. Way long in the back.”
“What time did you see him leave in the suit?”
“I don’t know. Lunchtime?
