The Thin Wall

by E. M. Parker

  “No,” Fiona answered, fully aware that she wasn’t telling the truth. “I heard you knock on the wall before we started talking, but that was all.”

  “Have you hung any pictures since you moved in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have they fallen down without you touching them?”

  Fiona could not lie this time, even as she felt her heart plunge into her stomach. “Yes.”

  “It happens here too. My mom says the pipes in the wall vibrate, and that causes the knocking and the falling pictures. But I don’t believe that.”

  “What do you think it—”

  “Shhh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Somebody’s coming. I have to go.”

  “Olivia, wait. I want to ask you about—”

  “Quiet.”

  The next voice that Fiona heard was not Olivia’s, but it was familiar nonetheless.

  “First it’s the talking, then it’s the goddamn pounding on the walls. I have to be at work in five hours! How do you expect me to go if I can’t sleep?”

  The anger in the man’s voice had not lost an ounce of its edge in the nearly twenty-four hours since Fiona had last heard it.

  “Leave it alone and come back to bed. Please.”

  The tone in the woman’s voice, on the other hand, had lost all its previous bite. Now she sounded weak.

  “Find a way to deal with it, Natalie. Or I promise I will.”

  “I’ll deal with it, okay? Just don’t go in there.”

  The sound of a door slamming shut gave way to silence. Fiona pressed her ear against the wall.

  “Olivia?”

  No response.

  “Are you still there?”

  A light shuffling of feet. “I don’t think I should talk right now.”

  “It’s okay, honey. You can talk to me anytime you want.”

  “I hope that things don’t get worse in your apartment. I hope you stay safe.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Don’t ignore the knocking. It’s not the pipes in the walls.”

  “Olivia—”

  “Bye, Fiona. I’m glad you’re not sad anymore.”

  “Olivia?”

  Fiona kept her ear pressed to the wall waiting for a response. She heard nothing.

  It was as if the girl was never there.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HEAVY KNOCKING ON THE FRONT DOOR stirred Fiona out of a rootless, dreamless sleep. She was on her feet and out of the room so quickly that she hadn’t had time to look at the clock, but she knew it was early because her apartment was still dark.

  The knocking continued as she stumbled bleary-eyed into the living room.

  “Who the fuck is it?” she blurted out before she could turn on the filter that ran from her brain to her mouth.

  “Denver police. Could you please open the door?”

  Fiona was suddenly wide-awake.

  She opened the door to the sight of a Denver police department badge being held up inches from her face. Behind the badge stood a statuesque brunette who looked like she would have been more at home on the set of a superhero movie than in the hallway of Fiona’s grungy apartment building. She was tall, shapely, and despite her soft facial features, incredibly intimidating. Most police officers who show up at your door in the middle of the night are.

  “Hello, Miss. I’m Detective Chloe Sullivan, Denver PD. Apologies for the intrusion at such a late hour.”

  Her even voice and easy smile was enough to reassure Fiona that she wasn’t here to arrest her.

  “No problem,” she answered, finally feeling safe enough to open her door all the way. “Sorry for the rude greeting.”

  “That’s okay. Thick skin is a necessity when you’re knocking on doors at two-thirty in the morning. Do you have a moment?”

  “Sure. What’s going on?”

  “There was a disturbance on this floor earlier in the evening and we’ve been talking to your neighbors to see if anyone saw or heard anything out of the ordinary around ten-thirty.”

  “What kind of disturbance?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t divulge that.”

  Fiona’s heart dropped as she thought about her conversation with Olivia. ‘Things happen here that make me feel not so safe sometimes.’ She looked past the detective and out into the hallway. There was no visible activity. “Can you at least tell me where the disturbance was?”

  “Apartment 612.”

  That would explain why Fiona saw no activity. Apartment 612 was down the hall and to the right, near the elevators. Far away from her. Far away from Olivia. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she turned back to the detective.

  “Did you know the tenant in that unit?” Sullivan continued.

  “No. I just moved in a few days ago, so I don’t know many people here.”

  “What about the neighbors on either side of you?”

  “I’ve met the woman in 603. Iris. Very nice.” Fiona didn’t feel compelled to mention the hellions on the other side of her.

  “I’ll be talking to her next. In the meantime, I’ll get back to my original question regarding last night.”

  “Did I see or hear anything strange around ten-thirty.”

  “Right.”

  Fiona had seen and heard nothing but strange things since she moved in, but Detective Sullivan wasn’t asking about falling pictures or red stains on the carpet or odd conversations with ten-year-old girls. “I can’t really say that I did.”

  “You just moved in, so I guess it wouldn’t help to ask if you’ve noticed anyone in the building or on the grounds who looked like they didn’t belong.”

  “Sorry. Can’t really help you with that either.”

  “I understand. It must be really hard in a place this size to keep up with all of the comings and goings, regardless of how long you’ve been here.”

  “I moved in three days ago, and I still can’t remember where the laundry room is. They should give you a map with your keys.”

  The detective smiled politely. “Well, if anything does come to mind I would love for you to give me a call.” She pulled a card out of her jacket pocket.

  “Of course,” Fiona answered as she eyed the card. Detective Chloe Sullivan. Major Crimes Unit. Her heart skipped. Something serious happened here, a reality reinforced by the sudden appearance of two uniformed officers in the hallway. They had just exited an apartment a few doors down and were now making their way toward Fiona and Detective Sullivan.

  “Excuse me,” Sullivan said as she broke away to greet the pair. They huddled in a tight circle as they spoke. After a brief, quiet exchange, the officers continued down the hall while Sullivan returned to Fiona.

  “Did something happen?”

  “No, we were simply coordinating our canvassing effort. There are a lot of doors to knock on and we’ve only just started.”

  Fiona nodded despite feeling uneasy.

  “Again, sorry for the intrusion. I appreciate your time. We’re keeping the building manager updated and if anything develops I’m sure he’ll let you know.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the way, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Fiona Graves.”

  “Thank you again, Ms. Graves. Remember, if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call.”

  Detective Sullivan was preparing to walk away when Fiona stopped her. “Actually, I have a question now.”

  “Yes?”

  “I understand that you can’t talk about the specifics of what happened here, but can you at least assure me that I shouldn’t be worried for my safety or anyone else’s in the building?”

  “We haven’t determined that there is an immediate threat. As far as we can tell, the incident was isolated to 612. But there is still a lot we don’t know, so I can’t say anything with certainty. As far as your safety is concerned, we’ll have officers stationed in the building for the remainder of the night and into tomorrow while we determine the full scop
e of what happened. We’re here investigating a possible crime, but we also want to make sure that everyone feels secure.”

  “I know that should make me feel better.”

  “But it doesn’t.”

  “Given the fact that you’re with the Major Crimes Unit, and the fact that you don’t seem to have a suspect in custody yet, no, it doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “Just know that we’re doing everything we can to resolve this situation, and I feel confident that we will. The first few hours are always the toughest, but something always breaks.”

  “Have you gotten much help from the other tenants?”

  “Honestly, no. But we still have a lot more of them to talk to, so hopefully that will change.”

  “What about the people next door to me?” The question came out before Fiona had the chance to consider it.

  “You mean 607? There was no answer. Story of the night so far. You’ve been one of the few tenants to open their door. That’s why I wasn’t upset at your less-than-hospitable greeting. At least it was a greeting.”

  “Note to self, don’t drop the f-bomb until you’ve confirmed that the person on the other end of your door isn’t a homicide detective,” Fiona said with a rueful smile. “If you knew the day I had, you would understand.”

  The detective returned her smile. “No need to explain, Ms. Graves. After the day I had, I probably wouldn’t have stopped at the f-bomb. Take care, and try to get some sleep.”

  “Easier said than done, but I’ll try.”

  Sullivan had begun to walk away again when Iris Matheson’s door opened.

  “What on earth is all the racket out here?” she muttered as she stepped into the hallway.

  “Hello ma’am. Detective Chloe Sullivan. Denver PD.”

  “I can see that,” Iris answered as she looked the tall woman up and down. “Is the air up there the same as it is for the rest of us down here?”

  Sullivan smiled, clearly accustomed to such comments. “The air up here is just fine. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?”

  “Ask away, detective.”

  Sullivan laid out the situation the same as she had for Fiona, followed by the same series of questions. Iris could provide only slightly better answers than Fiona, offering up Donald Tisdale as the name of the tenant in 612, his occupation as a janitor at a local high school, and his status as a certified hermit with no callers, male or female, that Iris had ever seen. He was quiet and didn’t cause trouble, so to her, he was a good neighbor. But she couldn’t recall an instance of them having a conversation that lasted longer than five minutes.

  “Are you aware if Mr. Tisdale ever had issues with any of the other tenants in the building?” Detective Sullivan asked as she eagerly scribbled in her notepad.

  “Donald was never a bother to anyone. Now do I think it’s weird that he hardly ever came out of his apartment except to go to work or that he could barely look you in the eye when he spoke to you? Yes, I do. But I have unnaturally high expectations of people. No one that I knew had an issue with the way he conducted his business.”

  Not even the drug-addicted freakazoids who live next door to me? Fiona thought, wisely deciding not to give it voice.

  “This is all very helpful, ma’am.”

  “Iris. You woke me up at this ungodly hour. The least you can do is call me by my real name.”

  Fiona fought to contain her smile.

  “This is all very helpful, Iris,” a contrite Sullivan answered. “I really appreciate it.”

  “I’m happy to help in any way I can. Whatever happened to Donald, I can tell you that he didn’t deserve it. The man had a good heart.” A flash of sadness came over Iris’s face. “Anyway, I overheard you earlier telling Fiona about your investigation.”

  “Yes. As I was telling Ms. Graves, we’re still in the early stages here, so there isn’t much to report. It seems that Mr. Tisdale was a bit of a mystery to everyone, so aside from the basic information you provided, we don’t have anything else to go on. Part of making sense of a crime is attempting to understand at least something about who the victim was. So far that’s been our main obstacle.”

  “So, you’re admitting that some kind of crime occurred here?” a wide-eyed Fiona asked.

  “Sweetheart, she wouldn’t be here if there hadn’t been one,” Iris said gently.

  “Ladies, I’m not admitting to anything,” Sullivan insisted. “I was making a general statement.”

  “We understand, Detective Sullivan. You start admitting to the residents here that Donald was murdered and you’d have a full-fledged panic on your hands. You’re right in keeping that close to the vest. Not everyone here is as even-keeled as Fiona and I.” Iris leaned in close. “But just so you know, your secret is safe with us.”

  Sullivan nodded uncomfortably. “Again, thank you for the information. If anything else comes up that you may have missed, please call me.” The detective reached inside her jacket for another card, but Iris put her hand up before she could retrieve it.

  “Save it. I can use Fiona’s if I need to.”

  “Okay. We’ll be floating around the building should you need us for anything else. In the meantime, you ladies try and get some sleep, okay?”

  “We’ll try. And thank you.” Fiona liked Sullivan and offered her approval with an extended hand, which the detective promptly shook.

  Iris said nothing as Sullivan walked away. After a short conference with the two uniformed officers who were patrolling the floor, the three of them disappeared around a corner. It was only after they were gone that Iris spoke.

  “Well that’s a real how-do-you do, eh?”

  “Yeah, that was really something.”

  Iris put a hand on her shoulder. “You poor thing.”

  “What?”

  “First it’s the nonsense with the loud music, then this. My God, child, you haven’t even been here a week. What you must think of this place.”

  You don’t know the half of it. “My mind is too shot right now to think about much of anything.”

  “I hear ya.”

  “Can you at least tell me that this is all an anomaly? That I will wake up later and this place will be normal, like any of the other half-dozen apartment buildings I could have moved into?”

  “I would gladly tell you that, sweetheart,” Iris said with a soft smile. “But I’m a horrible liar.”

  Fiona could not hide her disappointment. “Great, so what can you tell me?”

  “A lot more than I told that detective. Interested in that coffee now?”

  There was no hesitation on Fiona’s part this time. “Absolutely.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WALKING INTO IRIS MATHESON’S APARTMENT felt like walking into an antique shop. Aside from the flat-screen television mounted conspicuously in the corner, nothing here looked like it could have been purchased after nineteen sixty-five. From the fine china, to the delicate lace throws that fell over her wood trim velvet sofa, to the American Old West art collection that looked like it should have been part of a museum display, Iris kept an immaculate home.

  “I feel like I just stepped into some kind of time warp,” Fiona said as she inhaled the warm scent of apple and spice potpourri. “What an amazing space you have here.”

  “Thank you. Every item is an original. No dollar-store knock-offs for me,” Iris answered with a gleam of pride in her eye. “These things have followed me everywhere I’ve gone. You should have seen my collection before we were forced to sell the house. Drove my husband crazy. He tolerated it because he loved me, but he wasn’t the least bit upset when we had to put it all in storage. I still have most of it locked away. Probably worth a fortune by now, but I’d never dream of selling it.”

  At the word ‘husband’, Fiona began scanning the apartment for photos. Almost as if she were reading her mind, Iris picked up a frame off the coffee table and gave it to her.

  “That’s my Sam. Handsome devil, isn’t he?”

  Fiona could
n’t help but smile as she took the photo. The grainy eight by ten appeared to be taken during a night out on the town for a much younger Iris and her sharply-dressed husband. It was a candid photo of the pair sitting at a restaurant table. Sam gazed deeply into Iris’s eyes as they engaged in intimate conversation. It was obvious from his gaze how much he adored her. Fiona thought back to the time when Kirk adored her the same way. It seemed like two lifetimes ago.

  “That was always my favorite shot of us,” Iris said as she took the photo back and set it on the coffee table in the exact spot where she picked it up from. “We were sitting there having dinner when a man suddenly walks up with a camera and takes our picture. Of course, he wanted to charge us for it, but he promised it would be worth every penny. Turns out he was right.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Forty-three wonderful years. We started dating in high school and never looked back. It’s been three years since he passed, and not a day goes by that I don’t…” Her voice trailed off as she began straightening the other pictures on the coffee table.

  Fiona used busy work to fight back her emotions in much the same way.

  “Sounds like you two were really doing something right to last that long,” Fiona said, attempting to steer Iris’s emotions back in a positive direction.

  “Oh yes. I mean, we certainly had our ups and downs, but what marriages don’t have those? The bottom line is that we loved each other. I was meant for him and he was meant for me. When you have that kind of foundation in place, all of the down times are manageable.”

  Fiona could only nod.

  “What about you, dear? Married?”

  “Divorced.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “May I ask what happened?”

  Fiona was initially taken back by the intrusive question, but women of Iris’s generation, mothers especially, had a tendency toward intrusive questions.

  “We sucked at managing the down times.”

  Iris nodded her understanding. “Children?”