Ranger shrugged. “People don’t notice. Especially in a building like this. No sense of community. And there’s another possible reason for no one to have seen him.”
“Jackie might have been wrong.”
“She’s not the most reliable witness.”
We walked up a flight and started moving down the hall, knocking on doors, showing Mo’s picture. Third door down I got a hit.
The woman was older than most in the building. Sixties, I guessed. Nicely dressed.
“I’ve seen this man,” she said. She studied the photo. “I just don’t know…Maybe Stanley Larkin. Yes, I think I must have seen him with Stanley.”
“Is Larkin’s apartment on this floor?” I asked.
“Two doors down on this side. Number five-eleven.” Two little frown lines creased her forehead. “You said you were apprehension agents. What does that mean?”
I gave her the minor charge, the missed-a-court-appearance line, and she seemed relieved.
Ranger knocked on Larkin’s door, and we both flattened ourselves against the wall so Larkin couldn’t see us through the security peephole.
A moment later, Larkin opened the door. “Yes?”
Ranger badged him. “Bond enforcement. May we step inside to ask you a few questions?”
“I don’t know,” Larkin said. “I don’t think so. I mean, what is this all about?”
Larkin was in his late sixties. About five feet, ten inches. Ruddy complexion. Sandy hair, thin on the top.
“It will only take a moment,” Ranger said, his hand on Larkin’s elbow, gently guiding him back a few steps.
I used the opportunity to step inside and look around. It was a small apartment packed with furniture. Avocado green wall-to-wall carpet. Harvest gold drapes straight from the seventies. I could see the kitchen from where I stood. One juice glass and one cereal bowl in the dish drain. A coffee mug and newspaper on the kitchen table.
Ranger was showing Larkin the picture, asking him about Mo. Larkin was shaking his head.
“No,” Larkin said. “I don’t know him. Mrs. Greer must have been confused. I have some older men friends. Maybe from a distance one of them might look like this man.”
I quietly stepped to the bedroom door. Queen-size bed in the bedroom. Perfectly made with a dark green paisley spread. A few pictures on the dresser in an assortment of silver frames. Night table at bedside with a clock radio.
Ranger handed Stanley Larkin a card. “Just in case,” Ranger said. “If you see him, we’d appreciate a call.”
“Of course,” Stanley said.
“What do you think?” I asked when we were alone in the hall.
“I think we need to finish the building. If no one else places Mo with Larkin, my inclination is to put it on hold. Larkin didn’t feel like he had secrets.”
CHAPTER 8
Ranger and I went back to the Bronco and stared at the apartment building.
“False alarm,” I said. No one else had recognized Mo.
Ranger was silent.
“Sorry about your car.”
“It’s only a car, babe. I can get a new one.”
It occurred to me that it might be significant Ranger had said he could
“You think we should stake out the building?” I asked.
Ranger looked the length of the street. “We could hang around for a while.”
We slouched down, arms crossed over our chests, seat pushed back to give more leg room. Ranger never said anything when we waited like this. Ranger had a conversational potential only slightly greater than Rex’s. That was fine by me because I had my own thoughts.
I was bothered that Mo had gone back to the store. Even if the store was the most important thing in my life I’m not sure I’d have risked a visit. Mo was carrying a plastic bag, which could have been filled with anything from underwear to ice cream cones. He also hadn’t smelled all that good. He’d smelled musty. And he’d smelled like sweat and dirt. Either he’d been working hard in the garden, or else he was living on the street.
I was still speculating on these possibilities when at twelve o’clock Ranger got us drinks and sandwiches from Sal’s.
My sandwich looked like brown bread and grass. “What is this?” I asked.
“Mixed sprouts, shredded carrot, cucumber and raisins.”
Raisins! Thank God. I was afraid someone had scooped my sandwich out of the rabbit cage.
