Too Old a Cat (Trace 6) by Warren Murphy

Without being asked, she gave Razoni her address on the Upper West Side.
    “How long have you been with this carnival?”
    Sarge saw the lovely redhead bite her lip before answering. “I have been with the Swami for three months.”
    “And what’s your position?”
    “I was the Swami’s assistant,” she said.
    “That’s pretty fast moving for someone who’s been on board for only three months,” Razoni said. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gildersleeve nod, almost imperceptibly, but a nod nevertheless. Sarge saw it from the hallway too.
    “Length of time is not the only consideration,” Gloria said. “From the time I first met the Swami, I devoted my life to him.”
    “And you say this girl with the tea was Keri?”
    “That’s right.”
    “You have a last name for her?”
    “No. We don’t deal in last names here,” she said.
    “And you don’t know anything about the girl with the roses?” Razoni asked.
    “Nothing. I never saw her before.”
    “Would you recognize her if you saw her again?”
    “Yes. I think so.”
    “Do you people draw a salary?” Razoni asked. He looked at Gildersleeve, who nodded and said, “Yes, and the amount is none of your business.” Gloria said, “Only expenses. It was an honor to work for the Swami. There wasn’t anyone else like him.”
    “I imagine not,” Razoni said. “You said the Swami had an apartment here?”
    “In the back of this building,” Gildersleeve said.
    “Let’s see it.”
    Gildersleeve started for the door and Sarge turned his back to the doorway and started pushing his broom down the hallway. He heard their footsteps moving away and peeked over his shoulder. Gildersleeve and Gloria were leading the two detectives down the hallway, past the men’s room, past the women’s room, past a storeroom. They passed a refrigerator and Razoni opened it and looked inside, then slammed the door in disgust.
    Sarge heard him grumble, “Nothing but roses in this joint.”
    Razoni and Jackson followed the two officials through a door with a heavy-duty lock on it. When they were out of sight, Sarge opened the refrigerator door. It contained only a bouquet of yellow roses, tied together loosely with string, lying on their side on an otherwise empty shelf. It was a funny place to leave evidence, Sarge thought, and without knowing why, he slid one of the roses from the bunch and slipped it, stem first, into his inside jacket pocket.
    When he heard a sound at the end of the hallway, he turned and started pushing the broom again. He heard the door close and then Razoni’s voice: “Nothing to see in there.”
    “No. Hey, was there any beer in this refrigerator?” the black detective’s voice asked.
    “No. Just some more frigging roses. This place is like a flower shop,” Razoni said.
    Jackson opened the refrigerator anyway and looked at the flowers.
    They passed Sarge and walked toward the end of the hallway, which led to the curtains separating this area from the large meeting room.
    As they passed through the curtains, Sarge heard Razoni say, “She was sleeping with him, you know.”
    “I know,” Jackson said.
    “What the hell do you expect in this massage parlor?” Razoni said.
    And then they were gone.
    Sarge put down the broom and glanced into the two offices, but he knew it was a senseless formality because there was nothing to be seen. When he stepped out into the hall, Sister Glorious came from Salamanda’s apartment.
    “Those two men who were here?” she said to Sarge. “Did they leave?”
    “Detectives Razoni and Jackson?” Sarge said. “Yes. I’m working with them. Can I help?” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and showed her his badge. “Sergeant Tracy,” he said.
    “Oh, good,” she said. “I just remembered something that I thought they might be interested in. I didn’t think of it, they asked so many questions.”
    “I understand, ma’am,” Sarge said. “What was it?”
    “There was a young man here today