The Killing Room by Richard Montanari

resigned. She was going on the record. ‘Mara,’ she said. ‘Mara Reuben.’
    ‘Do you live in the neighborhood?’
    ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘ God , no. That’s my mother’s house. I’ve been trying to get her to move for fifteen years, but she won’t have it.’
    ‘Is your mother home right now?’
    ‘No. She’s in the hospital. I stop by here twice a day to pick up the mail, get the flyers and newspapers off the stoop, check on things. Her house has been broken into twice in just this past month, and I figured that a build-up of stuff by the front door is a sure tip-off that no one is home.’
    Jessica studied the woman. She had long ago learned that you can tell a lot about a person by their grooming habits and clothing. Many times, with women, their accessories told you the most. This woman wore a stylish pair of dropearrings, a tennis bracelet, a single sapphire ring, third finger right hand.
    ‘Can I ask what happened over there?’ she asked.
    ‘Right now it looks like there was a homicide in that building,’ Jessica said.
    The woman covered her mouth. ‘That’s terrible.’
    ‘Ma’am, if you think you saw something, no matter how insignificant, it might be very helpful. Everything you tell me will be confidential.’
    The woman took a few seconds. ‘Okay. Well. In that case, maybe I do have something you might find useful.’
    Jessica flipped to a fresh page in her notebook.
    ‘I came down here last night, around ten o’clock, just to check on things,’ the woman said. ‘I picked up the newspaper, unlocked the door – there are three dead bolts, so it takes awhile – then stepped inside. I did a quick check of the windows and the back door, and around ten minutes later I was ready to leave. I stepped out and accidentally dropped my keys next to the steps, and had to walk around. As I was picking them up, I thought I heard someone talking across the street.’
    ‘You heard a conversation?’
    ‘No, not really a conversation. I saw a man standing over there. In front of that closed-up building.’
    ‘A man,’ Jessica said. ‘One man.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And he was talking?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘To whom?’
    ‘Well, to himself, I guess.’
    ‘Was he on a cell phone?’
    ‘I don’t think so. I mean, he didn’t have a phone up to his ear. He might have had on one of those earphone headset thingies, but I didn’t see it.’
    ‘Did you get a good look at him?’
    ‘Not really,’ the woman said. ‘I couldn’t see too clearly. It was dark.’
    ‘And this was about ten after ten last night?’
    ‘Yes. I’m usually down here every night at that time. Just to check on things.’
    ‘Can you describe anything about the man you saw?’
    ‘Well, like I said, it was dark, but I’m pretty sure he was wearing a long black coat, and he had on a hood.’
    ‘A hood?’ Jessica asked. ‘Like a hoodie? A hooded sweatshirt?’
    ‘No, more like a pointed hood.’
    Jessica wrote down: pointed hood?
    ‘About how tall was he?’ she asked.
    ‘Not sure. On the tall side though.’
    ‘By tall side, what do you mean?’
    ‘I saw you talking to that man in front of the building. How tall is he?’
    ‘About six-three,’ Jessica replied.
    ‘Maybe six feet then. Perhaps a little less.’
    ‘Do you recall what he was doing?’
    The woman shrugged. ‘He wasn’t doing anything, really. Just standing there talking to himself.’
    Jessica glanced down the street. There was no bus stop. Whatever the man was doing, he wasn’t waiting for SEPTA.
    ‘Can you characterize the sound of his voice?’ Jessica asked.
    ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
    ‘Was he whispering, shouting, mumbling?’
    ‘He wasn’t shouting, that’s for sure. It sounded more like – this is going to sound weird.’
    Jessica just waited.
    ‘It sounded more like a prayer. Like an old chant or something.’
    ‘A chant?’
    Mara Reuben closed her eyes for a moment, as if she were listening to the sound, as if reliving the