“Way cool. And you would be?”
“Bernie.”
Bernie was scrupulously adhering to his interpretation of gangsta chic. Low-slung jeans with knee-level crotch, shirt unbuttoned over a grungy T. He was way too skinny to make the look work. Everyone was.
“I’m Detective Ryan. This is Dr. Brennan.”
Bernie’s eyes slid to me. They were small and dark and overset by brows that met in the middle. Bernie’d probably bought his share of Clearasil.
“We’re looking for Hershel Kaplan.”
“He’s not here.”
“Is Mr. Kaplan often away?”
Bernie raised one shoulder and cocked his head.
“Do you know where the gentleman is today?”
Bernie shrugged both shoulders.
“Are these questions too tough for you, Bernie?”
Bernie scraped hair from his forehead.
“Shall I start over?” Ryan’s voice could have frozen margaritas.
“Don’t bust my ass, man. I just work for the guy.”
A puppy began yapping. It wanted out.
“Listen carefully. Has Mr. Kaplan been here today?”
“I opened up.”
“Has he called?”
“No.”
“Is Mr. Kaplan upstairs?”
“He’s on vacation, aw’right?” Bernie shifted weight from one leg to the other. There wasn’t much to shift.
“It would have been helpful if you’d said that at the outset, Bernie.”
Bernie looked at the floor.
“Do you know where Mr. Kaplan has gone?”
Bernie shook his head.
“When he’ll be back?”
The head shake continued.
“There’s something wrong here, Bernie. I’m getting the feeling you don’t want to talk to me.”
Bernie kept eyeing the mud on his sneakers.
“This going to mess up that bonus Kaplan promised?”
“Look, I don’t know.” Bernie’s head came up. “Kaplan told me to keep the place running and not talk it up that he’d split.”
“When was that?”
“Maybe a week ago.”
“Do you have a key to Mr. Kaplan’s apartment?”
Bernie didn’t respond to that.
“You still live at home, Bernie?”
“Yeah.” Wary.
“We could swing by, ask Mom to help clear this up.”
“Man.” Whiny.
“Bernie?”
“His key might be on the ring.”
Ryan turned to me.
“Do you smell gas?”
“Maybe.” I sniffed. I smelled many things. “Yes, you could be right.”
“How about you, Bernie? You smell gas?”
“That’s the ferret.”
“Smells like gas to me.” Ryan moved a few feet to his left, then to his right, nose working the air. “Yeah. Gas. Dangerous stuff.”
Ryan turned to Bernie.
“Would you like us to check it out?”
Bernie looked skeptical.
“Wouldn’t want to guess wrong with all these creatures depending on you,” Ryan said, the essence of reasonableness.
“Yeah. Sure, man.”
Bernie crossed to the counter and pulled keys from below the register.
Ryan took the keys and turned to me.
“Citizen asked us to check out a gas leak.”
I gave a shrug that would have made Bernie proud.
Ryan and I exited the glass door, hooked a left, and reentered the building through the wooden door. A narrow staircase rose steeply to a second-floor landing.
We clumped up.
Ryan knocked. There was no answer. Ryan knocked again, harder.
“Police, Mr. Kaplan.”
No answer.
“We’re coming in.”
Ryan inserted key after key. The fourth worked.
Kaplan’s apartment had a small kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, a bath with black-and-white tile and a freestanding tub. Venetian blinds covered the windows, and genuinely awful mass-market landscapes decorated the walls.
Some concessions had been made to evolving technology. The tub had been jerry-rigged with a handheld shower. A microwave had been placed on a kitchen counter. An answering machine had been connected to a bedroom phone. Otherwise, the place looked as if it had been ripped from a low-budget thirties movie.
“Elegant,” Ryan said.
“Understated,” I agreed.
“I hate it when decorators get carried away.”
“Lose all appreciation for linoleum.”
We moved to the bedroom.
A folding table held phone books, ledgers, and stacks of papers. I crossed to it and began poking around. Behind me Ryan opened and closed dresser drawers. Several minutes passed.
“Find anything?” I asked.
“A lot of bad shirts.”
Ryan shifted to the nightstand.
He made his discovery as I made mine.
15
IPICKED UP THE LETTER ASRYANPRESSED THE BUTTON ON THEanswering machine.
I read while listening to the sugary voice: This message is for Hershel Kaplan. Your reservation for Saturday, February twenty-sixth, has been confirmed on Air Canada flight nine-five-eight-zero, operated by El Al, departing Toronto Pearson International Airport at eleven-fiftyP. M. Please be advised that, due to heightened security, El Al requires passenger check-in at least three hours prior to departure. Have a pleasant flight.
“Kaplan’s gone to Israel,” Ryan said.
“Kaplan may have known Miriam Ferris better than we thought,” I said. “Look at this.”
