probably cried out for help.
Equally striking was that the victim seemed to have no enemies. Everyone seemed to like him, and both his girlfriend and his parents said he hadn't been in any fights or arguments in recent memory.
Consequently, Seamus was convinced that
someone
was lying. Probably even several someones. And that meant that people were scared. He wanted to know why they were scared every bit as much as he wanted to know who had killed Doug Mayberry. This kind of fear didn't arise from having heard gunshots or shouts. Terror came from knowing something that could get you hurt.
It was Gil's turn to drive, so he slid into the passenger seat and rolled down the window to let out the heat that had built up in the car.
They drove north on Forty-ninth, to an area populated by stuccoed cinder-block homes that had been built in a time when land was still relatively cheap and available. The yards were spacious and mostly well cared for, boasting manicured lawns despite the area's water shortage. People who moved here from the Northeast just couldn't imagine a yard without grass and found it perennially difficult to believe that in a place where it rained so often, a place surrounded by water, there could be a shortage.
Here and there, though, were signs of the coming reality: xeriscaping with native plants, and yards that sprouted palm trees and were covered with white gravel.
The neighborhood was upscale enough that it hadn't suffered from the blight that was gradually creeping into some older, less well-to-do neighborhoods as retired householders died. In this area, new retirees kept moving in to replace the ones who had passed on. There was even evidence that young families had moved in: bicycles, swing sets, and wading pools.
But there was a population shift going on in the entire county, with more young people arriving and fewer retirees moving in. St. Petersburg, which had been nicknamed God's Waiting Room, was gradually growing younger, and with that reversal came a concomitant increase in crime.
In short, Seamus didn't think he'd be looking for a new line of work anytime soon.
It was the same day of the week as the murder, and about the same time of day. Gil and Seamus figured that by knocking on doors they'd have a decent chance of finding out who had most likely been at home at the time of the killing, and maybe they could get them to talk.
Gil pulled the car over and parked against the curb, but he didn't immediately turn off the ignition, preferring to let the air conditioner keep them cool.
“Quiet,” Gil remarked.
“Yeah.” No one was outside, no one was walking down the street, and as they sat there and watched, there weren't even any other cars.
Seamus scanned the houses, and the blank eyes of windows stared back at him. Some had their blinds or curtains drawn against the heat, others appeared to be black mirrors. Nothing and no one stirred. He kept waiting for a curtain to twitch, or some nosy neighbor to peer out to see who was parked at the curb, but the houses might well have been devoid of life.
“So maybe nobody did see anything,” Gil remarked.
“Somebody would have heard something.”
“Maybe this is the only neighborhood in the world where nobody peeks through the curtains to see what's going on when they hear a loud noise or shouting.”
Seamus nodded, scanning the houses and street again. “It's like a scene out of some science-fiction movie,” he remarked finally. “I could see this kind of quiet if everybody in this neighborhood worked.”
“But they don't.” Gil sighed and rubbed his chin, his palm rasping on the fastest-growing stubble in the department. “Well, let's give it a little while. We got a two- or three-hour window on the actual murder anyway.”
They didn't have to wait long. Five minutes later a green-and-white St. Petersburg patrol car pulled up beside them. Gil rolled down his window and the cop car rolled down its passenger side window.
“Hey,
Equally striking was that the victim seemed to have no enemies. Everyone seemed to like him, and both his girlfriend and his parents said he hadn't been in any fights or arguments in recent memory.
Consequently, Seamus was convinced that
someone
was lying. Probably even several someones. And that meant that people were scared. He wanted to know why they were scared every bit as much as he wanted to know who had killed Doug Mayberry. This kind of fear didn't arise from having heard gunshots or shouts. Terror came from knowing something that could get you hurt.
It was Gil's turn to drive, so he slid into the passenger seat and rolled down the window to let out the heat that had built up in the car.
They drove north on Forty-ninth, to an area populated by stuccoed cinder-block homes that had been built in a time when land was still relatively cheap and available. The yards were spacious and mostly well cared for, boasting manicured lawns despite the area's water shortage. People who moved here from the Northeast just couldn't imagine a yard without grass and found it perennially difficult to believe that in a place where it rained so often, a place surrounded by water, there could be a shortage.
Here and there, though, were signs of the coming reality: xeriscaping with native plants, and yards that sprouted palm trees and were covered with white gravel.
The neighborhood was upscale enough that it hadn't suffered from the blight that was gradually creeping into some older, less well-to-do neighborhoods as retired householders died. In this area, new retirees kept moving in to replace the ones who had passed on. There was even evidence that young families had moved in: bicycles, swing sets, and wading pools.
But there was a population shift going on in the entire county, with more young people arriving and fewer retirees moving in. St. Petersburg, which had been nicknamed God's Waiting Room, was gradually growing younger, and with that reversal came a concomitant increase in crime.
In short, Seamus didn't think he'd be looking for a new line of work anytime soon.
It was the same day of the week as the murder, and about the same time of day. Gil and Seamus figured that by knocking on doors they'd have a decent chance of finding out who had most likely been at home at the time of the killing, and maybe they could get them to talk.
Gil pulled the car over and parked against the curb, but he didn't immediately turn off the ignition, preferring to let the air conditioner keep them cool.
“Quiet,” Gil remarked.
“Yeah.” No one was outside, no one was walking down the street, and as they sat there and watched, there weren't even any other cars.
Seamus scanned the houses, and the blank eyes of windows stared back at him. Some had their blinds or curtains drawn against the heat, others appeared to be black mirrors. Nothing and no one stirred. He kept waiting for a curtain to twitch, or some nosy neighbor to peer out to see who was parked at the curb, but the houses might well have been devoid of life.
“So maybe nobody did see anything,” Gil remarked.
“Somebody would have heard something.”
“Maybe this is the only neighborhood in the world where nobody peeks through the curtains to see what's going on when they hear a loud noise or shouting.”
Seamus nodded, scanning the houses and street again. “It's like a scene out of some science-fiction movie,” he remarked finally. “I could see this kind of quiet if everybody in this neighborhood worked.”
“But they don't.” Gil sighed and rubbed his chin, his palm rasping on the fastest-growing stubble in the department. “Well, let's give it a little while. We got a two- or three-hour window on the actual murder anyway.”
They didn't have to wait long. Five minutes later a green-and-white St. Petersburg patrol car pulled up beside them. Gil rolled down his window and the cop car rolled down its passenger side window.
“Hey,
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