Chapter Six

Surely it was a sign of the strangeness of my life that on being jolted out of a sound sleep by the hysterical clamor of a security alarm, my first reaction was, not again.

Not a-fucking-gain, if we wanted to be precise.

So much for new locks on the doors. I threw aside the sheet and reached for the phone. The bells were still clamoring downstairs, but we’d had so many false alarms, I wasn’t sure the police would show up. This time the 911 operator came on immediately, and I reported the break-in.

I verified that I was safe — I assumed the new dead bolt on my flat door would hold — and agreed to wait on the line while a patrol car was dispatched.

The minutes ticked by. Tomkins played with the lamp cord until I scooped him up and tossed him on the bed.

After what seemed like a very long time, though according to the clock, was a mere seven minutes, I heard the downstairs buzzer. I thanked the operator and hung up.

I turned off the alarm, unbolted the door, and went down to let the cops in.

It was the same two uniformed officers from the night before. A young Hispanic man who didn’t look old enough to be out past curfew, and a matronly-looking black woman who identified herself as Sergeant Frame.

“Somebody sure wants in here pretty bad,” Frame remarked. “Come have a look at this.”

I followed them into the warm, smoggy night and over to the construction side. Around the corner of the building, they showed me where the bay window had been partially cut away.

“He must have been counting on you not expecting another break-in.”

“Not kids,” I said. I couldn’t believe kids would be using a glass cutter. Tools seemed to indicate a professional mind-set.

“Not kids,” agreed Frame. “Definitely not kids. There’s crime-scene tape across the door, and the perp went for it anyway.”

The rookie, Martinez, said, “I guess he wasn’t expecting the alarm. He must have fled when it went off.”

I opened my mouth, and Frame said, “Don’t worry, Mr. English. We’ll make sure. We’ll check the premises from top to bottom.”

They did too. I went back into the bookstore, sat on the steps, and waited while they investigated the building, floor by floor. A floorboard squeaked, and I tensed. Nothing moved in the gloom. Behind the sales desk, the shiny eye of the Maltese Falcon replica caught the gleam of the emergency lights.

Occasionally Frame’s and Martinez’s voices drifted down to me — and the crackle of their radios.

“Nothing to indicate he made it inside,” Martinez called to me when they came back downstairs.

Frame signified that they were going to check the alley behind the bookstore, and I nodded. A short time later I heard the clang and banging of trash bins.

When all had been checked out to their satisfaction, they returned to the bookstore.

“I don’t think he’ll be back,” Frame assured me while Martinez went out to radio all clear. “Not tonight.”

“Thanks.” I thought she was probably right. Then again, I hadn’t thought there was a chance in hell my intruder would show up two nights in a row, so what did I know? Whoever this guy was, he was determined.

As though reading my mind, she commented, “This is a busy address these days.”

I nodded glumly.

“Any idea what he’d be looking for?”

I shrugged. “Books? Construction equipment? Termites?”

She smiled politely. “There are a lot of stories about this old place.”

“I’ve heard one or two.”

“I guess you know it used to be a hotel. The Huntsman’s Lodge. It was a swanky place at one time, but a lot of lowlifes used to hang out here in the fifties and sixties.”

“I heard that too.”

“The place belonged to the Swierzy brothers. They owned a lot of properties through this part of town. Most of them were sold and demolished after Teddy Swierzy died. This old beauty managed to survive the cut.”

“There was a move to have it placed on the historical register.” I eyed her with new interest. “It didn’t succeed, but it delayed the building being torn down. In the end, it was subdivided and sold off.”

“Funny in all these years, all these renovations, nobody ever found what was buried in the floor of that back bedroom.”

Hilarious.

“The top level was blocked off for years as unsafe. I know the remodel I did on this half when I purchased it a decade ago was the first real renovation the building had. Most of the businesses renting on that side were fly-by-nights. I don’t think the second story was used much for anything except storage.”

She shook her head, whether over the waste of floor space or the shabby treatment of what should have been a historical landmark was unclear.

It occurred to me that Sergeant Frame had something on her mind. She didn’t strike me as the type to stand around in the middle of the night reminiscing about the good old days — although I’m sure it made a pleasant change from domestic-dispute calls.

“When I first bought this side of the building, I tried to find out what I could about Jay Stevens. There wasn’t much.”

“Guys like Jay Stevens were a dime a dozen,” Frame said easily. “Part-time musicians and full-time hustlers.”

“You couldn’t have known him.” She had to have been a baby in 1959. A baby with an intimidating gaze.

“No. I knew the officer who investigated Stevens’ disappearance, and I remember his stories about this town back then. Stevens played at a club on the beach. It was called the Tides. It’s long gone now.”

I made a mental note of it. “Was there much of an investigation after Stevens disappeared?”

“Some. According to Argyle, he was the disappearing kind, if you know what I mean.”

I thought I did. “This Argyle was the investigating officer?”

She nodded, glanced out the window to where her partner was waiting by the squad car. She looked back at me. Slowly, quietly, she said, “Jake Riordan was my lieutenant.”

Funny how the unexpected mention of Jake’s name rippled through my nervous system like an electric shock. I sat up straight, bracing for…whatever was coming.

“He was a hard-ass all the way.”

Before I could respond, Frame added evenly, “But I never met anyone more fair. Riordan backed his people. He never tried to pass the buck. Never asked you to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself. That means a lot in a job like this. Sometimes it means everything.”

I didn’t know what to say; I was wondering why she thought this was anything like my business — what the official word was about me and Jake.

Into my silence, she said, “Riordan’s still got friends on the force.”

“Thanks. I’m glad.”

She nodded politely. “You have a good rest of your night, Mr. English.”