A Perfect Evil (27 page)

C
hristine hoped Nick didn’t detect the relief in her voice when he called to cancel dinner. If this new lead panned out, she’d be working late to claim yet another front page on tomorrow morning’s paper.

“Can we do it tomorrow night?” he asked, almost apologetic.

“Sure, no problem. Is something big going down tonight?” she added, just to push his buttons.

“This newfound success of yours is ugly on you, Christine.” He sounded tired, drained of energy.

“Ugly or not, it feels wonderful.”

“So this number the paper gave me, it sounds like a cellular?”

“Yep, just one of the perks of my new, ugly success. Look, Nick.” She needed to change the subject before he asked where she was or where she was headed. “Can you please bring your sleeping bag tomorrow night when you come over? Remember, Timmy asked if he could borrow it for his camping trip?”

“They’re going camping on Halloween?”

“They’ll be back Friday night. Father Keller has mass. Remember, for All Saints’ Day? Will you remember the sleeping bag?”

“Yes, I will.”

“And don’t forget Agent O’Dell.”

“Right.”

She turned the corner into the parking lot as she flipped her cellular phone closed and shoved it into her purse. Nick would be furious if he knew where she was.

The four-story apartment building looked run-down. The bricks were weathered and chipped. Rusted air conditioners hung out windows, clinging to rickety brackets. The building looked out of place in an old neighborhood of small, wooden-framed houses. Despite being old, the houses were well kept. Their backyards were filled with sandboxes, swing sets and huge old maples perfect for tree houses and hammocks.

The air filled with the smell of burning wood from someone’s fireplace. A dog barked down the street, and she heard the tinkling of a wind chime. This was Danny Alverez’s neighborhood. Danny’s shiny, red bike had been found leaning against the chain-link fence that separated the apartment’s parking lot from the rest of the neighborhood. It was right here that the horrors of his last days began. Here in a place he had come to take for granted as safe.

Inside the main entrance a heavy metal trash can held open the security door. It overflowed with cigarette butts falling onto the floor. Christine stepped carefully.

The elevator smelled of stale cigarettes and dog urine, and she eyed the stained carpet. She pushed the button for the fourth floor, stabbing it two, then three times before it lit up and the doors whined shut. The elevator rattled, shook and wheezed. She started to push the open-door button when the elevator finally started up slowly. Pulleys ground and whined.

She hated elevators. Hated small places. She should have taken the stairs. Her eyes searched for the emergency phone. There wasn’t one. Seconds flew by and the light above showed only that she had reached the second floor. She punched three, hoping to cut short her trip, but the button crumbled into pieces. Frantically, she picked up the bigger pieces and began replacing them into the frame like a puzzle. Two stayed, one fell down into the hole, the others fell back to the floor. The elevator jolted to a stop, and finally its doors screeched open. Christine squeezed through before they were completely open.

She stopped in the hallway, leaning against the dirty wall, waiting to catch her breath. The light was dim, the carpeting filled with more stains. Again, the smell of dog urine mixed with the scent of old, musty newspapers and someone’s burnt dinner. How could anyone live in a hole like this?

Apartment 410 was at the end of the hallway. A hand-braided welcome mat lay outside the scratched and battered door. The mat was clean, spotless.

Christine knocked and held her breath to avoid the hallway’s suffocating odors. Several locks clicked inside, then the door opened just a crack. A pair of hooded and wrinkled blue eyes peered at her through thick glasses.

“Mrs. Krichek?” she asked as politely as possible while holding her breath.

“Are you that reporter?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. My name is Christine Hamilton.”

The door opened, and she waited for the woman to back out of the way with her walker.

“Any relation to Ned Hamilton, owns the Quick Mart on the corner?”

“No, I don’t think so. Hamilton is my ex-husband’s name, and he isn’t from around here.”

“I see.” The woman shuffled away.

Once inside, Christine was accosted by three large yellow and gray cats rubbing against her legs.

“I just fixed a pot of hot chocolate. Would you like some?”

She almost said yes, then saw the steaming pot on the coffee table where another large cat helped itself to several licks off the top.

“No, thank you.” She hoped her voice disguised her disgust.

Other than the cats, the apartment smelled much cleaner than the hallway. The ammonia of a hidden litter box was obvious but bearable. Colorful afghans and quilts were draped over the couch and a rocker. Green plants hung above the windows, and crocheted doilies dotted an antique buffet and secretary’s desk. Both tops were filled with black-and-white photos of servicemen, a young couple in front of an old Buick and three colored photos of a little girl at various stages of her life.

“Sit,” the old woman instructed, backing herself into the rocker. “Oh, the pain in this shoulder,” she said, rubbing the bony knob sticking up through her sweater. “Such pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Her bones did look brittle. Knobby knees stuck out from under her plain cotton housedress. Her round face twisted into a permanent scowl. Her brilliant blue eyes were magnified and distorted by the thick wire-rimmed glasses. Her white hair was twisted neatly into a bun, clasped by beautiful turquoise hair combs.

“It’s hell getting old. If it wasn’t for my cats, I think I’d call it quits.”

Christine sat and watched her navy skirt fill with cat hair. Two of the cats still circled her legs while one jumped onto the back of the couch to take a closer look.

“Rummy, get down from there,” the woman scolded, waving a bony finger at the cat. He ignored her.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Krichek. I don’t mind,” she lied. “I’d like to get right to what you saw the morning Danny Alverez disappeared. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No. Not at all. I’m glad somebody’s finally interested.”

“The sheriff’s office has never come here to question you?”

“I called them twice. In fact, just this morning before I seen your article. They hemmed and hawed like they think I’m making it up or something. So, then I called you. I don’t care what anybody says, I seen what I seen.”

“And just what did you see, Mrs. Krichek?”

“I seen that boy park his bike and get in an old blue pickup.”

“Are you sure it was the Alverez boy?”

“Seen him dozens of times. He was a good little paperboy. Brought my newspaper all the way to my door and laid it on my mat. Not like the kid we have now. He steps off the elevator and tosses it down here. Sometimes it makes it. Sometimes it doesn’t. It’s not easy getting this walker through that doorway. I think your paper should make sure those kids do a better job.”

“I’ll let them know. Mrs. Krichek, tell me about the pickup. Could you see the driver?”

“No. It was still dark out. I stood right at that there window. Sun was barely coming up. He pulled into the parking lot so that the passenger’s side was all I could see. He must’ve said something to the boy, 'cause Danny leaned his bike against the fence, came around and got up into the pickup.”

“Danny got into the pickup? Are you sure the man didn’t grab him and pull him in?”

“No, no. It was all quite friendly—otherwise, I would have called the sheriff sooner. It wasn’t until I heard Danny was missing that I put two and two together and called.”

Christine couldn’t believe no one had checked out this woman’s story. Was she missing something? The woman was old, but her story seemed believable. She stood and went to the window the woman had pointed to. Below was a perfect view of the parking lot and the chain-link fence. Even someone with poor vision could make out the events Mrs. Krichek had described.

“What kind of pickup?”

“I know little about cars and trucks.” The woman hoisted herself back into the walker and shuffled her way over to join Christine. “It was old, royal blue with paint chipped and some rust. You know, on the bottom part. It had running boards. I remember ‘cause Danny stepped up on it to climb in. And it had wooden stock racks, homemade ones on the back. The kind farmers put on when they’re hauling something. Oh, and one of the headlights wasn’t working.”

If the woman was senile, she had a creative imagination. Christine jotted down the details. “Were you able to see any of the license plate?”

“No, my eyes aren’t that good.”

A screen door slammed below, and a little girl raced out into a backyard on the other side of the fence. She jumped onto a swing and called out to the man who followed. He had long hair and a beard and wore blue jeans with a long tunic-like shirt.

“They just moved in last month.” Mrs. Krichek nodded down at the pair as the man pushed the little girl, and she squealed with delight. “The first day I saw him, I tell you I thought I was looking down at the Lord himself. Don’t you think he looks like Jesus?”

Christine smiled and nodded.

C
hristine hoped Nick didn’t detect the relief in her voice when he called to cancel dinner. If this new lead panned out, she’d be working late to claim yet another front page on tomorrow morning’s paper.

“Can we do it tomorrow night?” he asked, almost apologetic.

“Sure, no problem. Is something big going down tonight?” she added, just to push his buttons.

“This newfound success of yours is ugly on you, Christine.” He sounded tired, drained of energy.

“Ugly or not, it feels wonderful.”

“So this number the paper gave me, it sounds like a cellular?”

“Yep, just one of the perks of my new, ugly success. Look, Nick.” She needed to change the subject before he asked where she was or where she was headed. “Can you please bring your sleeping bag tomorrow night when you come over? Remember, Timmy asked if he could borrow it for his camping trip?”

“They’re going camping on Halloween?”

“They’ll be back Friday night. Father Keller has mass. Remember, for All Saints’ Day? Will you remember the sleeping bag?”

“Yes, I will.”

“And don’t forget Agent O’Dell.”

“Right.”

She turned the corner into the parking lot as she flipped her cellular phone closed and shoved it into her purse. Nick would be furious if he knew where she was.

The four-story apartment building looked run-down. The bricks were weathered and chipped. Rusted air conditioners hung out windows, clinging to rickety brackets. The building looked out of place in an old neighborhood of small, wooden-framed houses. Despite being old, the houses were well kept. Their backyards were filled with sandboxes, swing sets and huge old maples perfect for tree houses and hammocks.

The air filled with the smell of burning wood from someone’s fireplace. A dog barked down the street, and she heard the tinkling of a wind chime. This was Danny Alverez’s neighborhood. Danny’s shiny, red bike had been found leaning against the chain-link fence that separated the apartment’s parking lot from the rest of the neighborhood. It was right here that the horrors of his last days began. Here in a place he had come to take for granted as safe.

Inside the main entrance a heavy metal trash can held open the security door. It overflowed with cigarette butts falling onto the floor. Christine stepped carefully.

The elevator smelled of stale cigarettes and dog urine, and she eyed the stained carpet. She pushed the button for the fourth floor, stabbing it two, then three times before it lit up and the doors whined shut. The elevator rattled, shook and wheezed. She started to push the open-door button when the elevator finally started up slowly. Pulleys ground and whined.

She hated elevators. Hated small places. She should have taken the stairs. Her eyes searched for the emergency phone. There wasn’t one. Seconds flew by and the light above showed only that she had reached the second floor. She punched three, hoping to cut short her trip, but the button crumbled into pieces. Frantically, she picked up the bigger pieces and began replacing them into the frame like a puzzle. Two stayed, one fell down into the hole, the others fell back to the floor. The elevator jolted to a stop, and finally its doors screeched open. Christine squeezed through before they were completely open.

She stopped in the hallway, leaning against the dirty wall, waiting to catch her breath. The light was dim, the carpeting filled with more stains. Again, the smell of dog urine mixed with the scent of old, musty newspapers and someone’s burnt dinner. How could anyone live in a hole like this?

Apartment 410 was at the end of the hallway. A hand-braided welcome mat lay outside the scratched and battered door. The mat was clean, spotless.

Christine knocked and held her breath to avoid the hallway’s suffocating odors. Several locks clicked inside, then the door opened just a crack. A pair of hooded and wrinkled blue eyes peered at her through thick glasses.

“Mrs. Krichek?” she asked as politely as possible while holding her breath.

“Are you that reporter?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. My name is Christine Hamilton.”

The door opened, and she waited for the woman to back out of the way with her walker.

“Any relation to Ned Hamilton, owns the Quick Mart on the corner?”

“No, I don’t think so. Hamilton is my ex-husband’s name, and he isn’t from around here.”

“I see.” The woman shuffled away.

Once inside, Christine was accosted by three large yellow and gray cats rubbing against her legs.

“I just fixed a pot of hot chocolate. Would you like some?”

She almost said yes, then saw the steaming pot on the coffee table where another large cat helped itself to several licks off the top.

“No, thank you.” She hoped her voice disguised her disgust.

Other than the cats, the apartment smelled much cleaner than the hallway. The ammonia of a hidden litter box was obvious but bearable. Colorful afghans and quilts were draped over the couch and a rocker. Green plants hung above the windows, and crocheted doilies dotted an antique buffet and secretary’s desk. Both tops were filled with black-and-white photos of servicemen, a young couple in front of an old Buick and three colored photos of a little girl at various stages of her life.

“Sit,” the old woman instructed, backing herself into the rocker. “Oh, the pain in this shoulder,” she said, rubbing the bony knob sticking up through her sweater. “Such pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Her bones did look brittle. Knobby knees stuck out from under her plain cotton housedress. Her round face twisted into a permanent scowl. Her brilliant blue eyes were magnified and distorted by the thick wire-rimmed glasses. Her white hair was twisted neatly into a bun, clasped by beautiful turquoise hair combs.

“It’s hell getting old. If it wasn’t for my cats, I think I’d call it quits.”

Christine sat and watched her navy skirt fill with cat hair. Two of the cats still circled her legs while one jumped onto the back of the couch to take a closer look.

“Rummy, get down from there,” the woman scolded, waving a bony finger at the cat. He ignored her.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Krichek. I don’t mind,” she lied. “I’d like to get right to what you saw the morning Danny Alverez disappeared. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No. Not at all. I’m glad somebody’s finally interested.”

“The sheriff’s office has never come here to question you?”

“I called them twice. In fact, just this morning before I seen your article. They hemmed and hawed like they think I’m making it up or something. So, then I called you. I don’t care what anybody says, I seen what I seen.”

“And just what did you see, Mrs. Krichek?”

“I seen that boy park his bike and get in an old blue pickup.”

“Are you sure it was the Alverez boy?”

“Seen him dozens of times. He was a good little paperboy. Brought my newspaper all the way to my door and laid it on my mat. Not like the kid we have now. He steps off the elevator and tosses it down here. Sometimes it makes it. Sometimes it doesn’t. It’s not easy getting this walker through that doorway. I think your paper should make sure those kids do a better job.”

“I’ll let them know. Mrs. Krichek, tell me about the pickup. Could you see the driver?”

“No. It was still dark out. I stood right at that there window. Sun was barely coming up. He pulled into the parking lot so that the passenger’s side was all I could see. He must’ve said something to the boy, 'cause Danny leaned his bike against the fence, came around and got up into the pickup.”

“Danny got into the pickup? Are you sure the man didn’t grab him and pull him in?”

“No, no. It was all quite friendly—otherwise, I would have called the sheriff sooner. It wasn’t until I heard Danny was missing that I put two and two together and called.”

Christine couldn’t believe no one had checked out this woman’s story. Was she missing something? The woman was old, but her story seemed believable. She stood and went to the window the woman had pointed to. Below was a perfect view of the parking lot and the chain-link fence. Even someone with poor vision could make out the events Mrs. Krichek had described.

“What kind of pickup?”

“I know little about cars and trucks.” The woman hoisted herself back into the walker and shuffled her way over to join Christine. “It was old, royal blue with paint chipped and some rust. You know, on the bottom part. It had running boards. I remember ‘cause Danny stepped up on it to climb in. And it had wooden stock racks, homemade ones on the back. The kind farmers put on when they’re hauling something. Oh, and one of the headlights wasn’t working.”

If the woman was senile, she had a creative imagination. Christine jotted down the details. “Were you able to see any of the license plate?”

“No, my eyes aren’t that good.”

A screen door slammed below, and a little girl raced out into a backyard on the other side of the fence. She jumped onto a swing and called out to the man who followed. He had long hair and a beard and wore blue jeans with a long tunic-like shirt.

“They just moved in last month.” Mrs. Krichek nodded down at the pair as the man pushed the little girl, and she squealed with delight. “The first day I saw him, I tell you I thought I was looking down at the Lord himself. Don’t you think he looks like Jesus?”

Christine smiled and nodded.