night?”
“Sometimes. Don’t we all?”
“Nothing of interest to tell me?”
“Come to think, he took the garbage out again this morning. A little odd, no?”
“Do you always wear your hearing aid, Tom?”
“Not always. I put this fuckin’ thing in your ear, you’ll find out.”
“Did you wear it last night watching
Psycho
?”
“Never when I watch TV. I turn up the volume. Okay, I get your drift.”
“Kinter complains about the volume?”
“No. He’s an ideal renter.”
“How loud, Tom?”
“Loud. Maybe I wouldn’t have heard anything, okay, which I doubt there was anything to hear.”
“In the house, you never wear it?”
“I live alone. What’s the point?”
“Do me a favor. Knock on the door – see if anyone responds.”
“And if they do, then what?”
“You’re a shrewd guy. Invent something.”
“Hey! I saw
Rear Window
.”
“Nice, Tom.”
“Only because I owe you big time, Eliot.” He leaves andwhen he returns, “No one home unless there’s a corpse up there. In case you’re wondering, I knocked very obnoxiously many times. Jesus Christ, Eliot, you’re pretty extreme.”
“Okay. Call.”
Castellano calls. The answering machine.
Conte takes another biscotto.
“Tom,” chewing, “I need to borrow your key to their apartment.”
“That’s an illegal act, as if you didn’t know.”
“Not if you put the key in and come in with me.”
Conte knocks heavily and repeatedly for thirty seconds. Nothing. They enter. Walk around. Nothing remarkable. Conte inspects the bathroom with care. The tub. Asks Castellano to fetch a screwdriver. Castellano throws up his hands, “
Madon’
, Eliot!” When he returns with the screwdriver, Conte opens the tub’s strainer, puts his finger in, and circles it around. Clean. Takes a wooden spoon from the kitchen, wraps its long handle with tissue paper, which he secures with the vaginal lubricant he finds in the medicine cabinet, inserts in the drain and twists it around. Pulls it out. Nothing. Thinks, Kinter could have run hot water a long time. Or maybe used one of those powerful chemicals that clear drains. Castellano says, “What’s it all about, Alfie?”
“I’m looking for blood and tissue.”
“Christ, these are normal people.”
Technicians from the police would need to get into the trap, but there is no reasonable cause for suspicion that a crime has been committed, unless Antonio would do him a favor. Bone fragments? Teeth? In the trap? Conte says, “Let’s check the garbage cans.”
“We should’ve checked those first before looking for evidence of a slaughter. If we’re talking crazy.”
Downstairs, at the cans, “Those are my bags,” removing the lids, “and his real big ones I don’t see and neither do you, Sherlock.” Castellano adds that he saw Kinter head to the backyard that morning, but his view doesn’t permit him a sight of the garbage cans and even if it did he doesn’t make it a habit to watch his tenant throw out the garbage.
Conte says, “Maybe he put the bags in his car. Does he park back here?”
“My aching balls!”
“Can you see his car from your back window?”
“You mean my rear window?” Laughs. “Just the front. The angle is off to see the trunk. You’re thinking chopped-off body parts, stuffed in garbage bags, that were stuffed in the trunk, which the car is not here, so he disposed somewhere, for Chrissakes? You know this Jed Kinter? Is that it? You wanted to come in the front entrance of the shop because you don’t want to be seen from his apartment? Is that it? That why?”
“Yes, to all your questions.”
“You on one of these new medications or something?”
“You’re an interesting man, Tom. Does he have a storage place?”
“The attic.”
Conte looks for suitcases. Finds only one. It bears Kinter’s identification tag. He says, “Thanks for your time, Tom. Do me one more favor, please.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“Say nothing to anyone
“Sometimes. Don’t we all?”
“Nothing of interest to tell me?”
“Come to think, he took the garbage out again this morning. A little odd, no?”
“Do you always wear your hearing aid, Tom?”
“Not always. I put this fuckin’ thing in your ear, you’ll find out.”
“Did you wear it last night watching
Psycho
?”
“Never when I watch TV. I turn up the volume. Okay, I get your drift.”
“Kinter complains about the volume?”
“No. He’s an ideal renter.”
“How loud, Tom?”
“Loud. Maybe I wouldn’t have heard anything, okay, which I doubt there was anything to hear.”
“In the house, you never wear it?”
“I live alone. What’s the point?”
“Do me a favor. Knock on the door – see if anyone responds.”
“And if they do, then what?”
“You’re a shrewd guy. Invent something.”
“Hey! I saw
Rear Window
.”
“Nice, Tom.”
“Only because I owe you big time, Eliot.” He leaves andwhen he returns, “No one home unless there’s a corpse up there. In case you’re wondering, I knocked very obnoxiously many times. Jesus Christ, Eliot, you’re pretty extreme.”
“Okay. Call.”
Castellano calls. The answering machine.
Conte takes another biscotto.
“Tom,” chewing, “I need to borrow your key to their apartment.”
“That’s an illegal act, as if you didn’t know.”
“Not if you put the key in and come in with me.”
Conte knocks heavily and repeatedly for thirty seconds. Nothing. They enter. Walk around. Nothing remarkable. Conte inspects the bathroom with care. The tub. Asks Castellano to fetch a screwdriver. Castellano throws up his hands, “
Madon’
, Eliot!” When he returns with the screwdriver, Conte opens the tub’s strainer, puts his finger in, and circles it around. Clean. Takes a wooden spoon from the kitchen, wraps its long handle with tissue paper, which he secures with the vaginal lubricant he finds in the medicine cabinet, inserts in the drain and twists it around. Pulls it out. Nothing. Thinks, Kinter could have run hot water a long time. Or maybe used one of those powerful chemicals that clear drains. Castellano says, “What’s it all about, Alfie?”
“I’m looking for blood and tissue.”
“Christ, these are normal people.”
Technicians from the police would need to get into the trap, but there is no reasonable cause for suspicion that a crime has been committed, unless Antonio would do him a favor. Bone fragments? Teeth? In the trap? Conte says, “Let’s check the garbage cans.”
“We should’ve checked those first before looking for evidence of a slaughter. If we’re talking crazy.”
Downstairs, at the cans, “Those are my bags,” removing the lids, “and his real big ones I don’t see and neither do you, Sherlock.” Castellano adds that he saw Kinter head to the backyard that morning, but his view doesn’t permit him a sight of the garbage cans and even if it did he doesn’t make it a habit to watch his tenant throw out the garbage.
Conte says, “Maybe he put the bags in his car. Does he park back here?”
“My aching balls!”
“Can you see his car from your back window?”
“You mean my rear window?” Laughs. “Just the front. The angle is off to see the trunk. You’re thinking chopped-off body parts, stuffed in garbage bags, that were stuffed in the trunk, which the car is not here, so he disposed somewhere, for Chrissakes? You know this Jed Kinter? Is that it? You wanted to come in the front entrance of the shop because you don’t want to be seen from his apartment? Is that it? That why?”
“Yes, to all your questions.”
“You on one of these new medications or something?”
“You’re an interesting man, Tom. Does he have a storage place?”
“The attic.”
Conte looks for suitcases. Finds only one. It bears Kinter’s identification tag. He says, “Thanks for your time, Tom. Do me one more favor, please.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“Say nothing to anyone
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