I nodded and motioned for him to enter. Ogre O’Malley stood and turned to him. “Her name's Patricia Byrne. She found the stiff next door. Seems pretty shaken up about it.”
With a sigh, I shut my eyes for a brief moment. They talked about me as if I wasn't in the room, and my frustration grew.
“Thanks. I'll take it from here,” the guy in the trench coat said, then patted Officer O'Malley on the shoulder as he took the notebook. He smiled, then filled the cushion on the couch O'Malley had just left.
“I'm Detective Peterson,” he said, removing his hat and setting it on the coffee table. “I'm truly sorry you had to see that horrible sight next door.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, grateful that he appeared to be a little nicer than the hardened O'Malley.
Pleasant Peterson.
“Can you tell me how long you've known the deceased?”
“We moved in about six months ago,” I said. “He was very friendly and quickly fell in love with old Ringo here. He was aware we traveled a lot, so he asked if he could keep Ringo company while we were out of town. It worked out great for all of us. Ringo didn't get angry at being left alone and Charles had a friend.”
“Just curious... how do you know Ringo doesn't like to be left alone?”
I met his stare, the color of his eyes reminding me of chocolate milk. “He tears apart clothing or pees everywhere when he's mad. We came home to destroyed garments quite a few times before Charles offered to help us out.” When I glanced around the apartment, I realized my bras and nylons were still strung all over. My cheeks heated in embarrassment. How many strange men would be casting their gaze on them?
The detective chuckled and shook his head. “I'm glad you found a solution to that issue.”
“Me too.”
“I know this is hard, but what can you tell me about your neighbor?”
Over his shoulder, more police milled about in the hall. For the first time, tears welled in my eyes, and gossip or not, I had to help find justice for Charles.
“He was a veteran,” I said, wiping the tears tracking down my cheeks. “He served in Vietnam and he told us he had some mental issues because of it.”
Detective Peterson reached into his coat pocket and handed me a kerchief. I unfolded it and dabbed my face. If I didn't get my emotions under control, my eyes would be puffy tomorrow, which the airline frowned upon, regardless of the reasons.
“Did he say what those were?” he asked, his voice soft. His kindness only brought more emotion.
“I'm sorry,” I whispered, the tears streaming down my cheeks.
“There's nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “You've been through quite a trauma. We can sit here until you're ready to talk.”
It took a few moments for me to regain my composure while I listened to the hustle out in the hallway. Finally, I could meet his gaze again. “I think I'm ready.”
“Excellent,” he said with a smile. “Tell me about Mr. Bernard's mental issues.”
“He really didn't go into a lot of detail, but he did tell me he didn't like loud noises. He also said he didn't sleep well.”
“Did he seem strange? Or dangerous?”
“Not at all. He was a lovely neighbor.”
The detective scribbled notes down on the pad. “Did he have a lot of friends?”
“I've seen a few come and go,” I replied as I rubbed Ringo's ear. “There was one man I saw more frequently than the others, but I don't know his name. Charles was also seeing a woman... Karen.”
“What's Karen's last name?”
I shrugged and shook my head. “I'm sorry. I have no idea.”
“What about people he didn't get along with? Did you ever witness him arguing with anyone?”
“Oh, yes,” I replied. “A man in this building... I believe he lives on the second floor. He's been terrible to Charles and they've exchanged some pretty heated words.”
“What about?”
“The war,” I said, sighing. “The man downstairs is a huge war protestor. Charles is... was a veteran who believed in the war and was honorably discharged. That neighbor called him awful names.”
“Like what?”
“He told Charles he was a baby-killer, that he had the blood of women and children on his hands, that the war was un-American. Things like that.”
“And what did Charles say?”
“That he was fighting for the country he loved and doing his duty. It got pretty heated a few times, and they almost came to blows.”
“Wow. What's the man's name?”
I couldn’t remember my nickname for him. “I'm not sure. Donna and I usually tried to make ourselves scarce whenever we saw them arguing. I think he lives in 2C.”
He flipped back through his notes. “Donna being your roommate?”
“Yes.”
“And where is she?”
“She's working,” I replied, dabbing my eyes once again. “I'm not sure when she'll be back.”
“What about your other neighbors on the other side? Have you seen them today?”
“No.”
“And their names?”
“Dusk and Rainbow.”
Detective Peterson stared at me a moment, then asked, “Are they hippies?”
I nodded. “They’re nice people, but yes, they’re members of the so-called counter-culture.”
As he scribbled more notes, I studied the action in the hallway over his shoulder. So many police had arrived for Charles' death.
“I was told there was an anti-war protest outside this building today. Is that accurate?”
“Yes. And then the pro-war people showed up, and then the police.”
“Do you think it's possible that someone came into the building and killed Mr. Bernard?”
“I... I don't know. When I got home, the super said they'd lit a trashcan on fire in the lobby.”
“Protesting the war?”
“I guess. He was grumbling about the anti-war demonstrators, so I assume that's who he meant.”
“Interesting,” the detective said. “How does your super feel about the Vietnam conflict?”
“Well, we've never discussed it, but based on
