by Dave Daren
“You’re the lawyer?” she asked in surprise as she looked at me. “You don’t look like a lawyer.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied as I handed her one of my new business cards.
“You should,” she said as she studied the card for a moment and then let me inside.
I stepped into an apartment that looked like it had been airlifted in from the 1970s. The walls had been painted bright orange and avocado green and a thick throw rug in gold covered the hardwood floor. The furniture looked like something my grandmother used to own before my mom had finally convinced her it was time for an upgrade. There were even long strings of beads that served as a door into the kitchen and a framed copy of a Logan’s Run poster. And in the middle of all this sat Felicia’s roommate, Tracey, who looked like a mini version of Farrah Fawcett, though she wore an old track suit instead of the infamous bathing suit.
“Oh, wow,” Tracey said when she saw me. “You’re a lawyer?”
“That’s what I said,” Felicia replied as she handed my card to her roommate.
“He definitely doesn’t look like the lawyers we get at the bar,” Tracey mused.
“Well, thank you for agreeing to see me,” I said awkwardly as I tried to decide where to sit.
Tracey sat in the middle of the vinyl sofa, surrounded by an impressive collection of nail polish bottles that took up the rest of the space. That left an armchair that I wasn’t sure would support my weight and a papasan that was probably comfortable but was hard to look professional in. With the two chair options a no-go, I was left with the ottoman that was partially wedged under the glass-topped coffee table.
“I’ve read the police reports,” I said as I sat down on the ottoman and placed my briefcase on the coffee table. “But I’d like to hear it in your own words.”
I had my cell phone out by then, and I placed it on top of my briefcase and started to record.
“I’m not sure that we can tell you anything else,” Felicia replied as she looked towards her roommate.
Tracey glanced up from her examination of the sea of bottles and scrunched her nose.
“Um, not really,” Tracey agreed. “It’s not like we saw her being stabbed or anything.”
“What did you see?” I asked.
“We got off early that night,” Felicia mused. “That’s the only reason we were even around. But we saw Francie heading inside the building with a man.”
“Can you describe the man?” I asked as the scent of nail polish started to fill the room. I glanced towards Tracey who had opened one of the bottles and was testing the color on one of her nails.
“There wasn’t much to see,” Tracey replied as she studied the nail before she capped the bottle and set it aside.
“He had dark hair,” Felicia added helpfully.
“Did you see anything else?” I prodded. “Did you see his face?”
“Just for a moment,” the black woman said. “He sort of half turned towards us when they reached the door. I didn’t think he was going inside at first, but then he looped his arm around Francie’s shoulders and they went inside together.”
“So tell me what you saw of his face,” I said.
The two women looked at each other, and Felicia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Tracey looked away first, apparently fascinated by the label on a bottle of blue nail polish.
“Tell me truthfully what you saw,” I said in a sharp voice. “Not who you saw in the police photos.”
“We didn’t see much,” Felicia admitted. “Just that he had dark hair and a bit of stubble. Other than that, I don’t remember much.”
“If someone asked you to draw him, would you be able to do that?” I asked.
“It wouldn’t be much more than a black smudge,” the black woman sighed.
“What about his clothing?” I asked.
“Pants, yellow shirt,” the mini Farrah said. “Nice shoes, though.”
“What happened after they went inside?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” Felicia said. “We were still crossing the street when we saw them, which is why we didn’t call out or anything. By the time we made it inside, we didn’t see them anywhere.”
“So we just came back here,” Tracey added. “A little later we heard the police and the ambulance arrive. Felicia went downstairs to find out what was going on.”
“I overheard one of the officers mention Francie’s apartment number, and that’s when I told him that we had seen her coming home with a man,” Felicia said. “He told me to wait and talk to one of the detectives. That detective was nice, a man named Gomez I think.”
“He was the first detective assigned to the case,” I replied.
“He wrote everything down though all I could really tell him was what the man had been wearing,” Felicia continued. “We didn’t hear anything else until that other detective called us.”
“Archer,” mini Farrah supplied. “Like the cartoon. But he’s not as cute or as funny.”
“And not very nice,” Felicia said. “He came here first and kept pushing us to describe the man. And then he finally asked us to look at some photos.”
“How many photos did he show you?” I asked.
“Five,” Tracey asserted.
“Five,” her roommate said in a less certain voice. “Or maybe six.”
“Five,” Tracey repeated. “I counted.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
“We couldn’t really pick anyone,” Felicia explained. “We both told him that several times, so then he started to say things like, ‘maybe it was someone we had seen her with before’.”
“And that made it easy,” the blonde added. “Because there was only one person we recognized from before. He used to drive Francie home sometimes.”
Tracey seemed unperturbed by this revelation but Felicia looked embarrassed. She had a hard time meeting my gaze and her eyes drifted towards her hands, which were now wrapped around each other.
“And after you picked out the photo?” I asked.
“We had to sign something,” mini Farrah said as she settled on a pale purple color. “And he said we might have to testify if it goes to trial.”
“But he said he didn’t think it would go to trial,” Felicia added.
“Why not?” I wondered aloud though I didn’t expect either woman to know.
“He didn’t say,” Felicia said quietly. “I just figured he meant the DA would offer a plea deal. Isn’t that what they usually do?”
“Sometimes,” I agreed. “Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions?”
“Go ahead,” Felicia replied as she glanced towards her roommate who was now focused on her toe nails.
“You mentioned that you recognized one of the people in the photos,” I said. “That you had seen him with Francie before.”
“Tony, I think,” Felicia replied. “We hadn’t seen him in a while, but he used to bring Francie home sometimes when she was out late. We’d run into them in the lobby when we’d get home from work.”
“And before the detective showed you the pictures, would you have said that the man you saw might be Tony?” I asked.
Felicia squinted as she thought about what she had seen that night. Tracey looked up from her painting and shook her head.
“Tony has lighter hair than the man we saw,” the blonde said. “And he didn’t carry himself the same way.”
“That’s true,” Felicia said in surprise. “Tony always carried himself straight, you know, like his mother always told him to stand up straight. The guy with Francie was sort of slouched over, though I guess that could have been because he had his arm around her shoulder.”
“Did you ever see Tony wrap his arm around her shoulder like that before?” I pressed.
“No,” the roommate with braids admitted. “Usually he walked her to the door, and sometimes, if she was really drunk, he would take her all the way to her apartment, but this was… different. More like what a boyfriend does.
”
“Yeah, “ Tracey chimed in. “I thought he might have even been trying to sneak a kiss.”
“Was there anything else that seemed odd about it?” I asked.
The roommates glanced at each other, and both shook their heads.
“It just seemed ordinary until we heard the police sirens,” Felicia sighed. “I mean, not that Francie came home with a lot of men. She didn’t. The only one I saw her with before that night was Tony.”
“I just thought she’d finally found a guy,” Tracey added.
“And nothing about the guy seemed worrisome?” I pressed.
Both ladies shrugged, but I could tell that there was a bit of guilt there as well. They both looked away for a moment and a range of emotions from sadness to uncertainty passed across their faces.
“Do you mind if I ask where you work?” I queried. “Since you routinely come home so late.”
“Sports bar called the Trophy Room,” Felicia replied. “I work behind the bar and Tracey serves them up.”
“They stay open late because they show games from Europe, Asia, even Australia,” Tracey added. “We get all kinds in.”
“Did you see Francie a lot when you would come home?”
“When she first moved in, we would see her more often,” Felicia mused. “That’s how we got to know her, really, because otherwise we’d probably never have even met. But we haven’t been seeing as much of her. She had a regular job so I guess she wasn’t partying as much.”
“Tony’s really nice, too,” the mini Farrah added out of nowhere. “Sometimes he’d bring some of his mom’s meatballs or something for Francie and she’d share it with us. That was the best food.”
“So you like Tony?” I suggested.
“Well, we didn’t get to know him really well,” the blonde said as she waved the small brush around. “Just a few minutes here and there. But he seemed nice.”
“Do you really think he killed Francie?” I asked.
The women looked at each for a long heartbeat, and then Tracey shrugged.
“It’s like those people you always see on TV after they arrest the serial killer,” Felicia said. “They always say he seemed like a really nice guy.”
“But you don’t think he was the one who was with her that night,” I pointed out.
The women looked at each other yet again.
“We’re not sure,” Felicia replied.
I waited but neither woman added anything else. That was fine because I had what I needed, and if this case did somehow make it to trial, it would be easy enough to destroy their testimony. I was more certain than ever that this was really just a way to force Anthony out, and putting him in jail was only a secondary goal. What I needed was to figure out who would benefit from this, but that list only seemed to grow each day.
“Thank you for your time,” I finally said. “If you think of anything else, please just call.”
“Sure,” Felicia said with more enthusiasm than the moment warranted.
Tracey looked up from her feet long enough to nod in agreement.
“Well, if you don’t have anything else,” I began.
Both women remained quiet, and I finally stood up. I turned the phone off and slipped it back in my pocket, then picked up my briefcase. Felicia stirred and stood up as well and walked me the short distance to the door. She opened it for me and flashed me a quick smile as I stepped into the hall. She closed the door before I could say anything else, and I found myself staring at the apartment number and the peephole.
I checked my watch and decided I had plenty of time to check on Geraldine and see if she had anything new to report. I found the stairs and made my way to Francie’s old apartment and the nosey neighbor who lived across the hall. It was quiet once again, as most of the residents were at work. It felt odd to just wander through the building without encountering another human being, but even stranger was to find myself in front of Francie’s door and find that the police tape was gone. While it had been weeks since the murder, the apartment should still have been off limits.
“You’re back,” a happy voice said from behind me.
I turned around to see the neighbor grinning at me from behind the door she had cracked open. Geraldine DiMarco was a spry eighty-something who kept a careful watch over her small section of the apartment complex. She knew all her neighbors and probably a lot more about them then they realized. She had also been a friend to Francine Mott and Wendy Romer, and she was the only one who had known that Giorgio Marinello had moved into Wendy Romer’s apartment. She was also convinced that I was a private detective like her hero Magnum P.I., and I couldn’t convince her that I was just a simple lawyer.
“I had to talk to some of the other residents,” I replied. “I thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”
“Well,” Geraldine declared as she opened the door the rest of the way. “I’m doing just fine though I still can’t get a policeman to talk to me. I guess you’ll just have to do.”
“I’m always happy to listen to you,” I replied with a grin.
“I don’t have anything new to report about that night,” she said as she pulled the door open and waved me inside. “But curious things keep happening around here.”
“Is that so?” I prompted as I followed her inside and closed the door.
“Julio told me that a policeman was sorting through the packages not too long ago, even though he told the man that there weren’t any packages for Francie,” Geraldine said as she sat on the sofa next to Wally, her gray Persian cat who seemed to spend most of his life asleep.
“Did the officer take anything?” I asked.
“Julio said he didn’t, and I believe him,” the octogenarian replied. “Julio’s very careful about that kind of thing. I’m sure he would have stayed the whole time just to be sure.”
“Is he sure they were looking for something for Francie?” I inquired.
“Aren’t you the smart one?” she teased. “That was the same question I had. Julio admitted he just assumed that’s what they were doing, but he didn’t ask.”
“So it could have been something for one of the other apartments,” I mused. “Like Wendy Romer’s and her mystery tenant.”
“But that seems strange as well,” Geraldine admitted. “I mean, they still won’t talk to me about that apartment.”
“No one’s talked to you since that night?” I asked just to confirm what I’d noticed in the police report.
“No one,” she agreed. “But, and this is what I think you’ll find interesting, someone came by, let’s see, two days ago, dressed in a police uniform. I didn’t pay any attention at first, but I heard someone go into Wendy’s apartment. I thought it might be that man again, and I was all set to call you. I went and stood by my door just to make sure it was him, when the door opened and someone came out with a box.”
“A man in a police uniform,” I guessed.
Geraldine smiled and nodded vigorously.
“Well, you can imagine how surprised I was since no one seems at all concerned about Wendy,” she added.
Poor Wendy Romer. She’d moved out, according to Geraldine, a month before Francie was killed and Giorgio Marinello had taken her place. Liz and I had finally tracked down the elusive neighbor, but she’d been reluctant to talk about anything. Wendy had been vague about her mother’s illness and had even less to say about how she had found someone to sublet the apartment. She had then politely asked that we never contact her again.
“I did talk to her,” I said. “She’s okay but she doesn’t want to explain how she found the new tenant.”
“I guess she could be concerned about getting in trouble with the management company,” Geraldine noted, though she sounded skeptical of the idea.
“Can you tell me anything else about this police officer?” I asked as I tried to remember if there had been a warrant issued for Wendy Romer’s apartment. There hadn’t been anything in the file, of that I was certain.
; “He looked sort of Middle Eastern,” Geraldine replied. “Dark skin, dark hair, bushy eyebrows. His hair looked a little long to be a policeman, but perhaps they’re not as particular these days.”
“And the box he removed?” I added.
“About this big,” she replied as she used her hands to demonstrate a roughly one foot by one foot box. “Of course, I couldn’t see inside it because it had a lid.”
“Did you talk to him?” I asked.
“When I saw him come out of Wendy’s place and lock the door, I opened my door,” she admitted. “Just a crack, and I asked him if the police had found Wendy. You should have seen the man jump, he was so surprised. I suppose I’m lucky he didn’t reach for the gun, but his hands were full with the box.”
“Did it seem heavy to you?” I prodded.
Geraldine stared at the wall for a moment and then slowly shook her head.
“No, it didn’t strike me as being heavy,” she replied. “He could hold it with one hand while he locked the door but it tilted downward, so heavy enough to be easier to carry with two hands.”
“Okay,” I replied. “Do you think he brought it with him or was it something he removed from the apartment?”
“Ah,” she said with a grin. “It wasn’t taped and there wasn’t an address label. I did try to check for that. He might have brought it with him to make it easier to carry whatever he was removing.”
“So what did he say when you asked about Wendy?” I asked.
“He mumbled, if you can believe that,” she sniffed. “I’ve never known a policeman to mumble before. I think he said that he was returning something to the renter, but I have no idea which renter he meant. I tried to ask him to repeat himself, but he ran down the hallway like I’d unleashed a rabid dog on him.”
“Not very police like,” I noted.
“I thought about calling the detective,” the octogenarian replied. “But I’m not even sure which one I’m supposed to call. The first one was nice but the one that’s working on the case now is very unpleasant.”
“You could have called me,” I reminded her.
“And I would have,” she insisted. “But you showed up instead so now I don’t have to.”