Cold City Streets by LH Thomson Page A

the blood, although maybe that’s what was tipping them… the fact that someone would drop the body of their own victim off in front of their own house. Because that’s what that suggests, if the police were right the first time. Why would Mr. Sidney have killed someone, then driven them back here and dropped them in front of his own house?”
    The older man scrunched up his face, puzzled. “That does sound weird, doesn’t it? Then again, the man is a drug dealer, and the few times I saw him around he looked pretty high to me. And I taught for twenty-three years, so I know high.”
    “Did anyone else hear the police talking that you know of?”
    “Maybe the Ellands, next door. I know they were up, because their light came on pretty shortly after ours. Mark is the father, and his wife is Carly.”
    “You know each other pretty well?”
    “Well enough, I guess. They’ve lived here quite a while, too, and are a few years older than us. Over the years you meet each other occasionally. Their daughter Abby went to the same school as our son Dean. He passed away.”
    “My condolences.”
    “Oh, it’s all right. It’s been a decade. You never get over it, but we have wonderful memories of him. Mr. Tate, do you have many more questions? I’m just thinking that if this is going to take much longer perhaps I should put that pot of coffee on?”
     
     
     
    The woman who answered next door was in her forties, Cobi figured, with bleached blonde roots, her hair slightly frizzed and mussed. He couldn’t tell if she had a nice figure because she already had a winter jacket on, ready to leave. But the look on her faced was pinched, annoyed.
    “We’re not buying anything,” she said sharply.
    “I’m sorry… is this the Ellands’ residence?” Cobi wondered for a moment if he had the wrong side, the wrong neighbor.
    “Yeah. What do you want?”
    “You must be Abby…”
    She sighed a little. “I don’t know you, do I?”
    “No. I was just talking to Mr. Martin and he said your parents…”
    “They’re in the living room,” she said. “Look, I was on my way out, so just… I dunno, be nice or whatever; they can’t afford to buy shit.”
    And then she pushed past him, out onto the sidewalk, leaving Cobi standing there with the door wide open.
    A shaky voice from the other room called, “Hello?”
    Cobi closed the door and took his shoes off, then walked around the corner and gave a little wave, feeling uncomfortable. “Hi, Mrs. Elland. Your daughter let me in…”
    The Ellands were very elderly. Mrs. Elland looked wizened, with an impish smile and watery blue eyes. She occupied a seat on the small sofa, while her husband Mark sat in his armchair, long tubes stretching from his nose, across his blue dress shirt, to an oxygen bottle beside his chair.
    “Mark doesn’t talk much, dear, on account of his oxygen. How can I help you?”
    She reminded Cobi of Mrs. Guardiola, the homeroom teacher at his high school, years earlier. “I’m investigating the Paul Sidney case. I was hoping…”
    “Sorry, dear, you’ll have to speak up,” she half-yelled. “We’re both a little hard of hearing.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Cobi  projected loudly. “I understand you were here on the night the body was found out in the middle of the road.”
    “Oh yes, dear. Very disturbing! Right in our own neighborhood.”
    “Your neighbors said they heard the police talking about the case…”
    “Yes, Mr. Martin said something about that. But of course, we both have poor hearing, you see? I went out onto the porch when it was going on, just to get a quick look, even though Mark said I shouldn’t.”
    “Did anything catch your attention, anything that seemed perhaps a bit strange or out of the ordinary?”
    The senior thought hard but ultimately shook her head. “I’m afraid not; I was only out there for a few moments before Abby came out and told me to come inside, out of the cold.”
    “Do you think she might have seen