waste can under the sink. “My aunt collects crystal figurines and they’re always dusty.”
The bedroom was clearly decorated by and for Denise. A floral perfume lingered on the air here. The white furniture featured curlicues and piecrust and was stenciled in thin gold lines. The king-size bed was outfitted with ruffled pillow shams and matching dust ruffle, floral comforter, and pale blue sheets. The comforter had been turned back but only one side of the bed was rumpled. A biography of Eleanor Roosevelt sat on the nightstand next to the unrumpled side.
“Looks like she went to bed alone while her husband—” Urbanska caught herself and looked at Sigrid in confusion.
“Husband’s fine for now,” Hentz told her. “Keep thinking of our victim as a man and you won’t slip up when you’re questioning the others.”
Sigrid said nothing, but doubted if Urbanska could stop herself from turning red every time she was reminded of the victim’s true sex.
Urbanska doggedly continued. “So she went to bed and he went up to check on the noise. Why would he go into a different apartment?”
“The night man said that he hadn’t seen Lundigren all evening, so he probably took the stairs or the service elevator,” said Hentz. “Did we check to see whether 6-A’s service door opens onto the main hall or a back hall?”
“I saw a service door in the kitchen,” Sigrid said, “but I couldn’t say where it went.”
As they returned to the search, the white cat came in and wound himself around Urbanska’s legs. She gave him an absentminded stroke and he jumped up on the bed to begin washing himself.
A dainty dressing table held little bottles of creams and lotions, additional fragile perfume bottles, and a chrome makeup mirror that was framed in lights. Opening a side drawer, Sigrid found a tangle of costume jewelry and a blue velvet jeweler’s box. Inside that was an elaborate crystal necklace and a handwritten gift card: Happy anniversary, xoxo, Phil.
One drawer of the tall dresser held masculine socks and underwear, the other four drawers were filled with lingerie and feminine sweaters.
Ditto the two closets. Denise’s was stuffed to overflowing with the usual women’s apparel. Phil’s held three brown coveralls in plastic dry cleaners’ bags, a brown suit, several shirts and ties, a sports jacket, and four pairs of slacks.
In the bathroom’s medicine cabinet were over-the-counter painkillers, vitamins and calcium supplements, first aid remedies, Band-Aids, and three prescription bottles. One was an antidepressant in Denise’s name. Another, also in her name, held mild sleeping pills. The third, in Phil’s name, contained pills to control high blood pressure.
Once they had walked through the apartment, they spread out to search more intensively. On the floor at the back of Denise’s closet, underneath three rows of shoeboxes, Urbanska found a cardboard box with dividers that had originally kept jars of mustard from bumping against each other. Each compartment was now stuffed with even more shiny knickknacks. She saw a crystal long-stemmed rose, a pretty cloisonné pillbox, a kitten of frosted gray glass, a porcelain shepherdess figurine, a pink glass perfume bottle, and a silver Santa Claus bell that tinkled when she picked it up.
“What’s that?” Sigrid asked.
“Looks like her overflow collection. She probably switches them out with each other. That’s what my aunt does, anyhow.” Urbanska paused and almost to herself murmured, “My aunt doesn’t have any children either.”
At the end of another ten minutes, they had found nothing with writing on it except for that one card and the shopping list.
“Everybody has papers,” Sigrid said. “Bills, bank statements, insurance policies. Where are theirs?”
The cat followed them back through the apartment.
“I guess he’ll be okay,” Urbanska said with a concerned look on her face. “I put out some dry food, too. And fresh water.
The bedroom was clearly decorated by and for Denise. A floral perfume lingered on the air here. The white furniture featured curlicues and piecrust and was stenciled in thin gold lines. The king-size bed was outfitted with ruffled pillow shams and matching dust ruffle, floral comforter, and pale blue sheets. The comforter had been turned back but only one side of the bed was rumpled. A biography of Eleanor Roosevelt sat on the nightstand next to the unrumpled side.
“Looks like she went to bed alone while her husband—” Urbanska caught herself and looked at Sigrid in confusion.
“Husband’s fine for now,” Hentz told her. “Keep thinking of our victim as a man and you won’t slip up when you’re questioning the others.”
Sigrid said nothing, but doubted if Urbanska could stop herself from turning red every time she was reminded of the victim’s true sex.
Urbanska doggedly continued. “So she went to bed and he went up to check on the noise. Why would he go into a different apartment?”
“The night man said that he hadn’t seen Lundigren all evening, so he probably took the stairs or the service elevator,” said Hentz. “Did we check to see whether 6-A’s service door opens onto the main hall or a back hall?”
“I saw a service door in the kitchen,” Sigrid said, “but I couldn’t say where it went.”
As they returned to the search, the white cat came in and wound himself around Urbanska’s legs. She gave him an absentminded stroke and he jumped up on the bed to begin washing himself.
A dainty dressing table held little bottles of creams and lotions, additional fragile perfume bottles, and a chrome makeup mirror that was framed in lights. Opening a side drawer, Sigrid found a tangle of costume jewelry and a blue velvet jeweler’s box. Inside that was an elaborate crystal necklace and a handwritten gift card: Happy anniversary, xoxo, Phil.
One drawer of the tall dresser held masculine socks and underwear, the other four drawers were filled with lingerie and feminine sweaters.
Ditto the two closets. Denise’s was stuffed to overflowing with the usual women’s apparel. Phil’s held three brown coveralls in plastic dry cleaners’ bags, a brown suit, several shirts and ties, a sports jacket, and four pairs of slacks.
In the bathroom’s medicine cabinet were over-the-counter painkillers, vitamins and calcium supplements, first aid remedies, Band-Aids, and three prescription bottles. One was an antidepressant in Denise’s name. Another, also in her name, held mild sleeping pills. The third, in Phil’s name, contained pills to control high blood pressure.
Once they had walked through the apartment, they spread out to search more intensively. On the floor at the back of Denise’s closet, underneath three rows of shoeboxes, Urbanska found a cardboard box with dividers that had originally kept jars of mustard from bumping against each other. Each compartment was now stuffed with even more shiny knickknacks. She saw a crystal long-stemmed rose, a pretty cloisonné pillbox, a kitten of frosted gray glass, a porcelain shepherdess figurine, a pink glass perfume bottle, and a silver Santa Claus bell that tinkled when she picked it up.
“What’s that?” Sigrid asked.
“Looks like her overflow collection. She probably switches them out with each other. That’s what my aunt does, anyhow.” Urbanska paused and almost to herself murmured, “My aunt doesn’t have any children either.”
At the end of another ten minutes, they had found nothing with writing on it except for that one card and the shopping list.
“Everybody has papers,” Sigrid said. “Bills, bank statements, insurance policies. Where are theirs?”
The cat followed them back through the apartment.
“I guess he’ll be okay,” Urbanska said with a concerned look on her face. “I put out some dry food, too. And fresh water.
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