We walked silently in our soft-soled shoesand saw no one on the streets. At the murder house minutes later,Watson unlocked the door at street level, and, after we noiselesslyclimbed the stairs, he unlocked the door to the empty apartment.Once inside, my skin began to crawl, as if some unseen enemywatched us. I shivered. The silence went unbroken, even by a cardriving by on the street below. I clutched Doc’s sleeve, glad forhis company.
We went immediately to the far wall, andWatson shone the flashlight inside and around the fireplace,including the hearth and its marble fender. I had told Doc earlierthat we’d save the chore of sifting through ashes for last, inhopes we’d find the bullet we sought without having to do that.Nevertheless, we both wore gardening gloves just in case it becamenecessary.
Starting at the lower left corner of the wallsurrounding the fireplace, Watson made a slow sweep with theflashlight’s beam of light. Nothing. He next focused above thefireplace, and then down the right side. Still nothing. Since thecircle of light remained relatively small, he started a secondsweep of the wall six inches farther away from the actualfireplace. About halfway up, he stopped. I crept closer and staredat the dark spot he pointed to. I’d never seen a bullet hole in awall before, but I decided that might be what I saw.
“Is the bullet still in there?” I asked.
“No. It looks like the police have alreadydug it out.”
“Even if they hadn’t, I suppose we shouldn’ttamper with evidence. It’s enough to know that it had been thereand not in Andrews’s body.”
“You’re right, but now that the police havethe bullet, and the newspaper reported the medical examiner saidAndrews died from a fall and a broken neck, why do they keep sayinghe was shot?”
Watson shrugged. “I don’t know. Unless therewere actually two gunshots instead of one.”
“You think the newspaper got it wrong?”
“Very possible. Newspapers are strugglingthese days and cut reporters’ salaries, so the good ones probablyleft. Or have bigger fish to fry.”
Doc turned off the flashlight, and the roomturned black.
“Wait! I can’t see. Keep the light on atleast until we get down the stairs.”
Watson put his hand over my mouth andwhispered in my ear. “We’re not alone. Someone’s in the hall,trying to open the door.”
Chapter 8
A feeling like ants crawled up my arm, and mythroat tightened so I couldn’t say a word. Which would beinadvisable anyway.
I clutched Doc’s arm and pressed myself intohis broad back. With my body partly attached to his, he backed upinto the room toward a dark corner. I could hear myself breathingtoo loudly but didn’t think it wise to stop altogether.
After a few more scratching sounds, the dooropened and a dark figure entered. By peering around Doc’s shoulder,and with the faint light coming from the uncurtained window facingthe street, I managed to see enough to learn a tall man had comein. He closed the door behind him and slowly advanced toward thefireplace. I thought he held a flashlight in his outstretched hand,although not turned on, but when he passed us, I decided he held agun of some kind. Perhaps—assuming the person in the room with uswas Parton—the very one he used to fire the shot at Andrews a fewdays before.
I expected, now that Parton had passed ourhiding place and couldn’t see us, Doc would maneuver us to the doorfor our escape. Instead, he shook off my hand, followed theintruder and lunged at him from behind.
Immediately both men dropped to the floorgrappling, grunting and swearing. My contribution, I think, wasscreaming, until I remembered the upstairs tenant had heard thegunshot Friday night and might call the police. Although I firstthought I didn’t want the police to come and find us, I thenconsidered the possibility the police would arrest Parton and thecase would soon be solved.
I didn’t have long to think about thatalternative, because the two men had regained their footing andstruggled for possession of the gun. I seemed to block them. Theirthrashing around resulted in my being struck by flying fists andelbows and the next thing I knew, I hit the floor with a thud andfelt pain in more joints than I knew I had. I also tasted blood,because my face, especially my lips and teeth, made touchdownfirst.
As soon as I could, I rose to my knees andcrawled to a neutral corner. The men continued to fight, but itdidn’t take me long to realize Doc got the worst of it. I decided,due to watching his moves, that Parton had had either Asian martialarts or some sort of military training. He moved with both speedand agility and soon had Doc on his back, panting and groaning,near where I lay.
Finally Doc reached out to the other man,grabbed his ankle and sent him sprawling too. The gun flew acrossthe room, and Doc scrambled to his feet and dove for it. Parton dida swan dive of his own, landing on Doc’s back, but by then I’dmanaged to get to my feet and sprang toward them. I missed and oncemore struck the hard floor, this time knees first.
Parton, apparently surprised to discover hehad two of us to battle, seemed to lose focus. Then with a quickglance at each of us in turn, he whirled around, sprinted to thedoor and crashed out of the room.
I thought Doc would follow him immediately,but he didn’t. Instead he came to my side and helped me up.
“He’s getting away,” I squeaked.
“It’s okay. Are you all right?” He held metightly in his arms, and his tool belt squashed my midriff.Nevertheless, I managed to squirm away.
“Did you recognize him?” Doc asked. “Is hesame guy who took the cell phone away from you the othernight?”
My brain felt fuzzy, and I blinked andstammered. “I think so, but I never saw him. I had my back to him,and he had a gun.” I suddenly remembered. “What about the gun?”
“I hoped you had it.” He held
