Night Kills by John Lutz Page B

in flea markets, where Shellie had bought it. Life could certainly change in a hurry, sometimes for the better.
    There was only one hitch.
    David explained it to her over their first breakfast at home. They were almost like a married couple talking over…the things Shellie imagined married people discussed.
    â€œI sublease the place,” David said, after swallowing a bite of buttered toast. He took a sip of the coffee he’d assured her was just right. “Part of the deal is that I can’t have a roommate.”
    Shellie paused in raising a bite of egg on her fork. “You mean my living here has to be a secret?”
    He laughed. “I wouldn’t put it so melodramatically. I mean, you don’t have to hide or skulk around. A big apartment building like this, hardly anybody knows or even notices their neighbors. Once you close the door to the hall behind you, they don’t know which apartment you’ve just exited. In the elevator, they don’t know which floor you’ve come from. What’s more, they don’t care. There’s a rapid tenant turnover here.”
    â€œAm I supposed to look both ways in the hall before I go out the door?”
    He smiled. “It wouldn’t hurt. What I mean, though, darling, is just don’t make it a point to get to know the neighbors. You don’t have to run and hide if anybody sees you.”
    â€œYou make it sound like a game.”
    â€œIt is one,” he said. “The way subleases and rental agreements work, lots of New Yorkers play it. If we lose, they’ll throw you out. Which means they’ll throw us both out, because I’ll go with you.” He shrugged. “Getting evicted wouldn’t be the end of the world. It happens somewhere in the city every day.”
    â€œNot to us,” she said, then chewed and swallowed her bite of egg. “Not here. I promise to be careful.”
    â€œProbably,” he said, “no one would turn us in even if they did notice you were staying here. Most people mind their own business. They might even approve of your presence. Who couldn’t approve of you?”
    A game, she thought, and finished her breakfast.
    More like a romantic movie. The Phantom Tenant.
    Like a movie. And I’m the star.
    David wouldn’t know that was how she saw it, she thought, so why not give herself top billing?
    Â 
    It worked so well. David was right: no one in the building paid much attention to anyone else. If the tenants passed in the halls or found themselves with one another at the elevator, they usually merely nodded, sometimes smiled. On the elevator itself, they followed elevator etiquette and stood stone-faced staring at the ascending or descending number above the sliding door.
    Entering or leaving the building was the same way; often there wasn’t even an exchange of glances. A few times someone held open the heavy street door for Shellie. She’d thanked them perfunctorily and hurried along. She acted the way they did, the way most New Yorkers acted—preoccupied. They passed or had brief contact with thousands of people every day and within a few days forgot all but a few.
    Shellie was happy. And the apartment was spacious by New York standards, and with a nice view from a high floor. The furnishings were traditional, with a pale tan leather sofa and matching armchair, a TV behind the doors of a wooden wall unit that also had shelves holding knickknacks and a lineup of books that seemed chosen more for color than content. The furniture, the complementing drapes and carpet, the framed art prints on the wall gave the apartment a composed, decorator look. It was a look she liked, and it took only a few weeks for Shellie to regard it as home.
    She would have been even happier if David spent more time in town, but they made the most of it when he was home.
    And the most of it was quite a lot.

9
    The present
    Renz had shot off his mouth about a profiler, so he