He took the knob, pushed. 'It's stuck, then.'
'Oh, come on. Give a real try.'
'Okay,' he said, 'okay okay,' with to-hell-with-it abandon. He drew back and slammed his shoulders against the door full-force. It flew open almost dragging him with it. He stumbled across the high threshold onto the tarred deck. 'Okay, Evvie,' he said sullenly, straightening himself, holding the door wide, 'come look at your gorgeous moon.'
'Sourpuss,' Ellen said, the light tone of her voice stripping his bitterness of significance. She stepped over the ledge and breezed a few steps past Powell, advancing from the shadow of the staircase housing out onto the expanse of roof like a cold-legged skater pretending not to worry about thin ice. She heard the door closing behind her, and then Powell came up on her left.
'Sorry,' he said, 'it's just that I almost broke my shoulder on the damn door, that's all.'-He managed a starchy smile.
They were facing the KBRI tower; skeletal, black against the blue-black star-spattered sky; at the very top of it a slowly flashing red light whose steady pulsing flushed the roof with intermittent rose. Between the red throbs there was the soft light of the quarter moon overhead.
Ellen glanced at Powell's upturned tense-jawed profile; first dim white, then bathed with red, then white again. Beyond him she saw the wall that rimmed the airshaft, its white stone top distinct in the night. She remembered a diagram that had appeared in one of the newspapers; the X at the south side of the square-the side nearest them. Suddenly she was caught by a crazy desire to go there, look over, see where Dorothy... A sick wave swept over her. The focus of her vision realigned on Powell's wideedged profile and involuntarily she drew away.
It's all right, she told herself, I'm safe-safer than pushing conversation in some cocktail lounge. I'm all right, I'm Evelyn Kittredge...
He became conscious of her gaze. 'I thought you wanted to look at the sky,' he said, not lowering his own skyward face. She looked up and the sudden lifting of her head heightened the dizziness. The stars wheeled...
She broke away, went to the right, to the outer edge of the roof. Abrading her hands against the roughness of the coping, she gasped lungfuls of the cold night air... This is where he killed her. He's bound to betray himself- enough to go to the police. I'm safe... Finally her head cleared. She looked at the panorama below, the myriad lights glittering off into blackness. 'Dwight, come look.'
He turned and walked towards the parapet, but he stopped a few feet away.
'Isn't it beautiful?' She spoke without looking back.
'Yes,' he said.
He looked for a moment, while a breeze plucked softly at the tower cables, and then he turned slowly around until he was facing the airshaft. He stared at the parapet. Then his right foot extended itself and his legs began to walk. They carried him forward with silent relentless efficiency, like the legs of a reformed alcoholic carrying him to the bar for just one little drink. They carried him straight up to the air-shaft parapet and his hands rose and set themselves flat on the cool stone. He leaned over and looked down.
Ellen felt his absence. She turned around and probed the quarter-moon obscurity. Then the tower light flashed on, its crimson glow showing him at the wall of the airshaft, and her heart jumped chokingly.
The red glow vanished, but knowing where he was she could still distinguish him in the wan moonlight. She began moving forward, her steps noiseless on the resilient tar.
He looked down. A few yellow beams from lighted windows criss-crossed the square funnel of the shaft One light was far below, at the very bottom, illuminating the small gray concrete square that was the focus of the converging walls. 'I thought heights made you dizzy.' He whirled.
There were sweat beads on his brow and above his moustache. A nervous smile shot to his lips. 'They do,' he said, 'but I can't help looking. Self-torture...' The smile faded. 'That's my specialty.' He took a deep breath. 'You ready to go now?' he asked.
'We just got here,' Ellen protested lightly. She turned and walked towards the eastern rim of the roof, threading her way between the gaunt shapes of ventilator pipes. Powell followed reluctantly. Reaching the edge, Ellen stood with her back to the parapet and gazed up at the rearing red-limned tower beside them. 'It's nice up here,' she said. Powell, looking out over the city, his hands folded on the parapet, said nothing. 'Have you ever been here at night?' Ellen asked.
'No,' he said. 'I've never been here before at all.' She turned to the parapet and leaned over, looking down at the shelf of the setback two stories below. She frowned thoughtfully. 'Last year,' she said slowly, 'I think I read about some girl falling from here...' A ventilator cap creaked. 'Yes,' Powell said. His voice was dry. 'A suicide. She didn't fall.'
'Oh.' Ellen kept looking at the setback. 'I don't see how she could have gotten killed,' she said. 'It's only two stories.'
He lifted a hand, we thumb pointing back over his shoulder. 'Over there. . . the shaft.'
'Oh, that's right.' She straightened up. 'I remember now. The Des Moines newspapers gave it a very big write-up.' She put her purse on the ledge and held it squarely with both hands, as though testing the rigidity of its frame. 'She was a Stoddard girl, wasn't she?'
'Yes,' he said. He pointed far out towards the horizon. 'You see that roundish building there, with the lights on it? That's the Stoddard Observatory. Had to go out there for a Physical Science project once. They have a-'
'Did you know her?'
The red light stained his face. 'Why do you ask?' he said.
'I just thought you might have known her. That's a natural thing to think, both going to Stoddard...'
'Yes,' he said sharply, 'I knew her and she was a very nice girl. Now let's talk about something else.'
'The only reason the story stuck in my mind,' she said, 'was because of the hat.'
Powell gave an exasperate sigh. Wearily he said, 'What hat?'
'She was wearing a red hat with a bow on it and I had just bought a red hat with a bow on it the day that it happened.'
'Who said she was wearing a red hat?' Powell asked.
'Wasn't she? The Des Moines papers said.. '... Tell me they were wrong, she prayed, tell me it was green...
There was silence for a moment. 'The Clarion never mentioned a red hat,' Powell said. 'I read the articles carefully, knowing her...'
'Just because the Blue River paper never mentioned it doesn't mean that it wasn't so,' Ellen said.
He didn't say anything. She looked and saw mm squinting at his wristwatch. 'Look,' he said brusquely, 'it's twenty-five to nine. I've had enough of this magnificent view.' He turned away abruptly, heading for the staircase housing.
Ellen hurried after him. 'We can't go yet,' she wheedled, catching his arm just outside the slant-roofed shed.
'Why not?'
Behind a smile her mind raced. 'I... I want a cigarette.'
'Oh for...' His hand jerked towards a pocket, then stopped short. 'I don't have any. Come on, we'll get some downstairs.'
'I have some,' she said quickly, flashing her purse. She backed away, the position of the airshaft behind her as clear in her mind as if she were looking at the newspaper diagram. X marks the spot. Turning slightly, she sidled back towards it, opening the purse, smiling at Powell, saying inanely 'It'll be nice to smoke a cigarette up here.' The parapet reared against her hip. X. She fumbled in her purse. 'You want one?'
He came towards her with resignation and compressed-lip anger. She shook the crumpled pack of cigarettes until one white cylinder protruded, thinking -it has to be tonight, because he won't ask Evelyn Kittredge for another date. 'Here,' she offered. He snatched the cigarette grimly.
Her fingertips dug for another one, and as they did her eyes roved and apparently became aware of the airshaft for the first time. She turned towards it slightly. 'Is this where...?' She turned back to him.
His eyes were narrowed, his jaw tightened by the last threads of a fast-raveling patience. 'Listen, Evvie,' he said, 'I asked you not to talk about it Now will you just do me that one favor? Will you please?' He jabbed the cigarette between his lips.
