“One minute,” said Sigrid. “Lowry, you and Albee go talk to this Mrs. Wall. See if Lundigren had a personnel file. You know what to look for.”
They nodded and stepped into the elevator. Sidney looked at the remaining three dubiously as he pulled the brass accordion gate closed. “What about you? You can’t get to the stairs without a key.”
Hentz jingled the key ring they’d taken off Lundigren’s body. “We’ll manage.”
Followed by Dinah Urbanska, he and Sigrid walked across the Arts and Crafts ceramic tile floor and turned a corner into a short hall that led to two doors. One was for the fire stairs. After three tries, Hentz found the key that unlocked it. Inside the stairwell was the service elevator. While one could exit from the stairwell without a key, the door could not be left unlocked for access from the lobby side. The elevator here was larger and more modern than the one out in the lobby and it appeared to be self-service when they rang for it. The doors opened automatically without a key. Like the stairwell, the floor of the car was spotless and even gave off a strong smell of a pine- scented cleaner. The elevator walls were hung with quilted plastic pads, and there was the usual panel with a button for each floor.
Urbanska looked at Hentz and stated the obvious. “So once someone’s on an upper floor, they can get down and out, but if you don’t have a key, the only way to get up is on the front elevator that’s manned twenty- four/seven?”
“So it would appear,” he said.
They stepped back into the hall and Hentz unlocked the door to the Lundigren apartment. They were met by a white Persian cat that mewed loudly upon seeing them.
Urbanska immediately stooped and crooned reassurances, her hand stretched out to the animal. Cautiously, the cat sniffed her fingers, then rubbed against her knee and accepted her strokes. When Urbanska stood up, the cat walked to the archway that led deeper into the apartment, looked back at the young woman, and gave a soft cry.
“He’s probably hungry,” she said. “Okay if I look for his food?”
Sigrid, who had never owned a pet and was not particularly fond of cats, nodded.
Urbanska glanced around the little jewel box of a living room. “Pretty room,” she said.
“Doesn’t look as if it gets much use, though, does it?” asked Sigrid.
The small space was indeed pretty, but as impersonal as a doctor’s waiting room. No family photos, no magazines or newspapers, nothing out of alignment. Behind the gauzy white curtains, a window overlooked a narrow alley that probably led to the street. Although sparkling clean on the inside, the window was dirty on the outside and was not only barred, but painted shut as well. Hentz noted that there was a ramp up from the basement and that someone had swept it clean within the past hour, for there was only a light dusting of snow.
“Seems to be letting up,” he said as he dropped the curtain.
Beyond the formal living room lay the kitchen, bedroom, bath, and a den that had probably begun life as a dining room. Everything was neat and tidy, but the den was clearly where the Lundigrens had done their living. A large plush recliner faced the plasma screen, and the remote lay on a table beside the chair along with a copy of
All very masculine, thought Sigrid.
The couch was probably Denise Lundigren’s usual seat. It was upholstered in a bright floral print and several ruffled cushions picked up those colors and formed a cozy nest at one end. A half dozen shelter magazines were neatly stacked on the shelf of the nearest end table. Here, too, were the photographs that had been missing in the living room, but all seemed to be of Denise. Denise as a pretty little girl in a ruffled dress and patent leather Mary Janes. Denise in a high school cap and gown. Denise in a polka-dot dress on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Denise curled up on this very couch with that white cat in her arms.
But none of Phil. And none of anyone else.
Out in the kitchen, they watched Urbanska spoon a small tin of cat food into a delicate china saucer that sat on the floor beside a matching bowl of water. Here, white tiles, white cabinets, and white appliances were brightened by floral dishtowels and pot holders. The magnets on the refrigerator were enameled cats and flowers, and the magnetized shopping list—
“She must wash those things every day,” Urbanska marveled. She rinsed out the tin and put it in a waste can under the sink. “My aunt collects crystal figurines and they’re always dusty.”
The bedroom was clearly decorated by and for Denise. A floral perfume lingered on the air here. The white furniture featured curlicues and piecrust and was stenciled in thin gold lines. The king-size bed was outfitted with ruffled pillow shams and matching dust ruffle, floral comforter, and pale blue sheets. The comforter had been turned back but only one side of the bed was rumpled. A biography of Eleanor Roosevelt sat on the nightstand next to the unrumpled side.
“Looks like she went to bed alone while her husband—” Urbanska caught herself and looked at Sigrid in confusion.
“Husband’s fine for now,” Hentz told her. “Keep thinking of our victim as a man and you won’t slip up when you’re questioning the others.”
Sigrid said nothing, but doubted if Urbanska could stop herself from turning red every time she was reminded of the victim’s true sex.
Urbanska doggedly continued. “So she went to bed and he went up to check on the noise. Why would he go into a different apartment?”
“The night man said that he hadn’t seen Lundigren all evening, so he probably took the stairs or the service elevator,” said Hentz. “Did we check to see whether 6-A’s service door opens onto the main hall or a back hall?”
