He wiggled the screwdriver again. This time, it felt as if a corner of the blade had caught in a notch. He hammered again, as hard as he could. The screwdriver sank in an inch.
He pulled sideways on the handle, levering the tongue of the lock back out of the socket. To his profound relief, the door opened inward.
The damage to the frame was too slight to be seen from the street.
He stepped quickly inside and closed the door behind him.
When Rosemary Sims finished dialing the number, she looked out the window again, but the stranger had vanished.
That was quick.
The police answered. Feeling confused, she hung up the phone without speaking.
Why had he suddenly stopped knocking on doors? Where had he gone? Who was he?
She smiled. She had something to occupy her thoughts all day.
It was the home of a young couple. The place was furnished with a mixture of wedding presents and junk- shop purchases. They had a new couch arid a big TV set in the living room, but they were still using orange crates for storage in the kitchen. An unopened letter on the hall radiator was addressed to Mr. G. Bonetti.
There was no evidence of children. Most probably, Mr. and Mrs. Bonetti both had jobs and would be out all day. But he could not count on it He went quickly upstairs. There were three bedrooms, only one of which was furnished. He threw the suitcase on the neatly made bed. Inside it he found a carefully folded blue chalk-stripe suit, a white shirt and a conservative striped tie. There were dark socks, clean underwear, and a pair of polished black wingtips that looked only about half a size too big.
He stripped off his filthy clothes and kicked them into a corner. It gave him a spooky feeling, to be naked in the home of strangers. He thought of skipping the shower, but he smelled bad, even to himself.
He crossed the tiny landing to the bathroom. It felt great to stand under the hot water and soap himself all over. When he got out, he stood still and listened carefully. The house was silent He dried himself with one of Mrs. Bonetti's pink bath towels - another wedding present, he guessed -and put on undershorts, pants, socks and shoes from the stolen bag. Being at least half dressed would speed his getaway if something went wrong while he was shaving.
Mr. Bonetti used an electric shaver, but Luke preferred a blade. In the suitcase he found a safety razor and a shaving brush. He lathered his face and shaved quickly.
Mr. Bonetti did not have any cologne, but maybe there was some in the suitcase. After stinking like a pig all morning, Luke liked the idea of smelling sweet. He found a neat leather toiletry case and unzipped it. There was no cologne inside - but there was a hundred dollars in twenties, neatly folded: emergency money. He pocketed the cash, resolving to pay the man back one day.
After all, the guy was not a collaborator.
And what the heck did that mean?
Another mystery. He put on the shirt, tie and jacket. They fitted well: he had been careful to choose a victim his own size and build. The clothes were of good quality. The luggage tag gave an address on Central Park South, New York. Luke guessed the owner was a corporate big shot who had come to Washington for a couple of days of meetings.
There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door. He had not looked at his reflection since early this morning, in the men's room at Union Station, when he had been so shocked to see a filthy hobo staring back at him.
He stepped to the mirror, bracing himself.
He saw a tall, fit-looking man in his middle thirties, with black hair and blue eyes; a normal person, looking harassed. A weary sense of relief swept over him.
Take a guy like that, he thought What would you say he does for a living?
His hands were soft, and now that they were clean they did not look like those of a manual worker. He had a smooth indoor face, one that had not spent much time out in bad weather. His hair was well cut. The guy in the mirror looked comfortable in the clothes of a corporate executive.
He was not a cop, definitely.
There was no hat or coat in the bag. Luke knew he would be conspicuous without either, on a cold January day. He wondered if he might find them in the house. It was worth taking a few extra seconds to look.
He opened the closet. There was not much inside. Mrs. Bonetti had three dresses. Her husband had a sport coat for weekends and a black suit he probably wore to church. There was no topcoat - Mr. Bonetti must be wearing one, and he could not afford two -but there was a light raincoat Luke took it off the hanger. It would be better than nothing.' He put it on. It was a size small, but wearable.
There was 'no hat in the closet, but there was a tweed cap that Bonetti probably wore with the sport coat on Saturday. Luke tried it on. It was too small. He would have to buy a hat with some of the money from the sponge bag. But the cap would serve for an hour or so-
He heard a noise downstairs. He froze, listening.
A young woman's voice said: 'What happened to my front door?'
Another voice, similar, replied: 'Looks like someone tried to break in!'
Luke cursed under his breath. He had stayed too long.
'Jeepers, I think you're right!'
'Maybe you should call the cops.'
Mrs. Bonetti had not gone to work, after all. Probably she had gone shopping. She had met a friend at the store and invited her home for coffee.
'I don't know ... looks like the thieves didn't get in.'
'How do you know? Better check if anything's been stolen.'
Luke realized he had to get out of there fast.
'What's to steal? The family jewels?'
'What about the TV?'
Luke opened the bedroom window and looked out on to the front yard. There was no convenient tree or drainpipe down which he could climb. .
'Nothing's been moved,' he heard Mrs. Bonetti say. 'I don't believe they got in.'
'What about upstairs?'
Moving silently, Luke crossed the landing to the bathroom. At the back of the house there was nothing but a leg-breaking drop to a paved patio.
'I'm going to look.'
'Aren't you scared?'
There was a nervous giggle. But what else can we do? We'll look pretty silly if we call the cops and there's no one here.'
Luke heard footsteps on the stairs. He stood behind the bathroom door.
The footsteps mounted the staircase, crossed the landing and entered the bedroom. Mrs. Bonetti gave a little scream.
Her-friend's voice said: 'Whose bag is that?'
'I've never seen it before!'
Luke slipped silently out of the bathroom. He could see the open bedroom door, but not the women. He tiptoed down the stairs, grateful for the carpet 'What kind of burglar brings luggage?'
'I'm calling the cops right now. This is spooky.'
Luke opened the front door and stepped outside.
He smiled. He had done it He closed the door quietly and walked quickly away.
Sims frowned, mystified. The man leaving the Bonetti house had on Mr. Bonetti's black raincoat and the grey tweed cap he wore to watch the Redskins, but he was larger than Mr. Bonetti, and the clothes did not quite fit She watched him walk down the street and turn the corner. He would have to come back: it was a dead end. A minute later the blue-and-white car she had noticed earlier came around the corner, going too fast. She realized then that the man who had left the house was the beggar she had been watching. He must have broken in and stolen Mr. Bonetti's clothes!
As the car passed her window, she read the license plate and memorized the number.
