Flesh and Blood by Thomas H. Cook Page A

the remaining rooms of the apartment. “Anything back there?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” Tannenbaum said. “It’s clean as a whistle.”
    Frank said nothing, and Tannenbaum looked at him curiously. “Want to see the rest of the place?” he asked.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œFollow me.”
    Tannenbaum turned swiftly and led Frank down the corridor and into the back bedroom. The bed was made up neatly.
    â€œShe must have been up late that night,” Frank said as his eyes moved over the bed. He looked at Tannenbaum. “Did you notice the number of cigarettes in the ashtray in the living room?”
    Tannenbaum pointed to another ashtray which rested on the small white table beside the bed. “That one’s full, too. Same brand as the pack we found on the floor of the living room.”
    â€œWas it her brand?”
    â€œWe checked that out. It was.”
    â€œShe had emphysema,” Frank said. “Had she always smoked like that?”
    â€œWe hear she’d been trying to quit,” Tannenbaum said. His eyes lingered on the ashtray. “Looks to me like she was a little nervous that night.” He shook his head. “If she were a younger woman, I’d figure some sort of romantic problem, you know. Maybe she was waiting for her married lover, something like that. Maybe they had words. Things can get very nasty in a situation like that.”
    Frank nodded.
    Tannenbaum walked to the bedroom window, parted the blinds and peered out. “Of course, the jimmy marks wouldn’t go with that theory,” he said. “But still, when I saw the bed all made up, despite the fact that she died early in the morning, I thought that it could have been someone she knew.” He turned back to Frank. “I mean, people don’t wait up for psychos.”
    â€œNot the ones they don’t know, at least,” Frank said.
    Tannenbaum laughed. “But the way I see it now, she was maybe dozing on the bed while the guy was trying to get in.”
    Frank looked at him doubtfully. “Wouldn’t she have heard it?”
    â€œMaybe not,” Tannenbaum said. He pointed to a pair of headphones which lay on the floor next to her bed. “She could have been using those things. They’re like speaker systems for your ears. If she were using them, she might not have heard anything until it was too late.”
    â€œWas a record on the stereo?” Frank asked.
    â€œShe had a CD player,” Tannenbaum said. “And the answer is, yes. Classical. Loud, too. Beethoven’s Ninth.” He shrugged. “In any event, she was up late.” He stared at Frank intently. “What would keep you walking the floor till the morning light, Frank?”
    â€œLove can do it,” Frank replied. “Money. Family troubles.”
    Tannenbaum released the blinds and they clattered shut. “Nobody heard a thing, you believe that?”
    â€œNot unless he gagged her.”
    â€œLab says no for the gag,” Tannenbaum said. “And he couldn’t have drugged her first. Not the way she was dancing around the living room.”
    â€œWho’ve you talked to?”
    â€œWe’ve canvassed the whole building. The people right downstairs were taking a much-needed vacation in Saint Thomas. The woman in the one next door was shacked up with her boyfriend for the evening. That leaves the one across the hall.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œThe sublessee hadn’t moved in yet,” Tannenbaum said. “So, what can you do in a neighborhood like that?”
    Frank shook his head. “Not much.”
    â€œWhen she hit that fucking table,” Tannenbaum said, “that made a big noise, you know?”
    â€œYeah,” Frank said.
    â€œAs for screaming,” Tannenbaum added, “the M.E. says he might have gotten her vocal cords first.” He smiled. “What do you think, Frank, a lucky punch?”
    â€œI don’t