“Something could go wrong,” Kelly said, shaking her head.
“Nothing will go wrong,” Jeffrey said. “Trust me.”
Before Kelly could agree or disagree, Jeffrey patted her arm and went back to the apartment building. He entered the foyer and pushed open the inner door. A narrow stair led up to the right. A single bare bulb illuminated each landing. Jeffrey could look up the stairwell and see a frosted skylight above.
He climbed the stairs rapidly. By the time he reached the headhouse door to the roof, he was out of breath. It took a little coaxing to get the door open, but Jeffrey was finally able to do it.
The roof was tar and gravel. There was about a four-foot wall separating it from the roof of the next building up the hill. The same with the building beyond that. Each building had its own headhouse. A few were painted and appeared in good repair. Many were dilapidated, with some of the doors off their hinges. Some of the roofs had makeshift decks with rusty lawn furniture.
Going over to the edge of the roof and looking down to the street, Jeffrey could see Kelly’s car. He’d never been fond of heights, and it took all his courage to step out on the metal grate that comprised the fire escape. Between his feet he could look straight down five stories to the brick sidewalk.
Moving carefully, Jeffrey descended the one flight of steps to the landing outside Trent’s window. He felt exposed, and suddenly worried if any of the neighbors were watching. The last thing he needed was for anyone to call the police.
Jeffrey had to wrestle with the ancient screen before he could clear his way to climb in. Once he made it through, he leaned back out the window. He gave Kelly a thumbs-up. Then he turned into the room.
Trent eyed the Playgirl magazine in the rack. He thought about reaching up and flipping through just to see what girls liked in a male body. But he didn’t. He was standing in Gary’s Drug Store on Charles Street and he knew the proprietor was at the counter to his left. Trent didn’t want to give the man any wrong ideas about why he’d be interested in Playgirl. Instead, he picked up a travel magazine that had a cover story about vacations in San Francisco.
Going over to the counter, Trent tossed the magazine down and put a Globe on top of it. Then he asked for two packs of filterless Camel cigarettes, his usual brand. As far as Trent was concerned, if he was going to smoke, he wanted something powerful.
After he’d paid for his purchases, Trent stepped out on the street. He debated going down to Beacon Hill Travel to talk about going to San Fran on a little vacation. Being between jobs, he had the time, and he had money to burn. But he felt lazy. Maybe he’d go to the travel agent tomorrow. Instead, he turned and crossed the street and went into a liquor store. He wanted to pick up some beer.
What he decided to do was go back home and take a nap. That way he’d be able to stay out late that night. Maybe he’d take in a movie and then go see if he could find some fags to push around.
Jeffrey stood and gazed around the living room, getting his bearings. He surveyed the mismatched furniture, the empty beer bottles, and the Harley-Davidson poster. He wasn’t at all sure of what he was looking for or expecting to see; it was a pure fishing expedition. And even though for Kelly’s benefit he’d pretended that coming into the apartment would be a snap, he was a lot more nervous than he’d let on. He couldn’t help but wonder if any of the neighbors had called the police. He was afraid he’d hear police sirens in the distance at any moment.
The first thing that Jeffrey did was take a rapid tour around the whole apartment. It occurred to him he’d better make sure no one else was there. When he was convinced he was alone, he went back to the living room and started examining everything more closely.
On the coffee table he saw a number of mercenary and survivalist journals as well as some X-rated S&M magazines. There was also a pair of handcuffs, with the key in the lock. Against the common wall with the bedroom stood a wooden bookcase. The books were mostly chemistry, physiology, and nursing textbooks, but there were a few volumes on the Holocaust as well. Next to the couch was a fish tank with a large boa constrictor inside. Jeffrey thought that was a nice touch.
There was a desk against one wall. In contrast with the rest of the apartment, its surface was quite orderly. Additional reference books were neatly positioned on it between brass bookends shaped like owls. There was also an answering machine.
Jeffrey went to the desk and pulled out the center drawer. Pencils and paper were neatly arranged. There was a stack of three-by-five cards, an address book, and a checkbook. Jeffrey flipped through the address book. On the spur of the moment he decided to take it. He slipped it in his pocket. Picking up the checkbook, he glanced through. He was surprised at the balance. Harding had over ten thousand dollars in his account. Jeffrey put the checkbook back.
Leaning over, he opened the first of the deeper drawers. Just as he did so the phone rang. Jeffrey froze. After a few rings, the machine kicked on. Jeffrey regained his composure and continued his search. The drawer contained manila files. Each was labeled for a different subject, such as Surgical Nursing, Anesthesia for Nurses, and so on. Jeffrey began to wonder if he hadn’t jumped to mistaken conclusions about the man.
After the outgoing message was completed, the answering machine clicked again and Jeffrey heard Trent’s caller leaving a message.
“Hello, Trent! This is Matt. I’m just calling to tell you how pleased I am. You’re fantastic. I’ll call back. Take care.”
Jeffrey vaguely wondered who Matt was and why he was so pleased. He moved into the bedroom. The bed was unmade. The room was sparsely furnished with a night table, a bureau, and a chair. The closet door was open. Jeffrey could see a rack of Navy uniforms, all pressed and ready to go. Jeffrey fingered the material. He wondered why Harding had them.
There was a TV on top of the bureau. Scattered by it were a dozen or so X-rated videos, mostly of a sadomasochistic variety. Photos of men and women in chains adorned the boxes. On the night table next to the bed was a paperback called Gestapo. On the cover was a picture of a large bearded man in a Nazi uniform standing over a naked blond woman in chains.
Jeffrey opened the top drawer of the bureau and found a sock filled with marijuana. He also found a collection of women’s lingerie. Real stable guy, Jeffrey thought sarcastically. By the lingerie, Jeffrey saw a stack of Polaroids. They were shots of Trent Harding. He’d apparently taken them himself. He was posed on his bed in various stages of undress. In a few, he appeared to be sporting some of the lingerie in the drawer. Jeffrey was just putting them back in place when he had a thought. Selecting three from the stack, he put them in one of his pockets. Then he put the rest of the photos back and closed the drawer.
Jeffrey wandered into the bathroom and turned on the light. He walked over to the medicine cabinet and opened the mirrored door. There was the usual complement of aspirin, Pepto-Bismol, Band-Aids, and the like. Nothing unusual, like ampules of Marcaine.
Closing the medicine cabinet, Jeffrey wandered out of the bedroom area and into the kitchen. One by one, he started looking through the cabinets.
Kelly drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She didn’t like this waiting one bit. She hadn’t wanted Jeffrey to go into that apartment. Nervously she glanced up at the open fifth-floor window. Some blue curtains were sticking out and flapping in the breeze. The aged screen was leaning up against the brickwork where Jeffrey had left it.
Kelly looked down Garden Street. She could see the traffic going by on Cambridge Street down below. She shifted her position and looked at the clock on the dash. Jeffrey had been in the apartment for almost twenty minutes. What on earth was he doing?
Unable to sit still for another minute, Kelly started to get out of the car. She had the door half open and her foot on the pavement when she caught sight of Trent Harding. He was back! He was two doors up from his building, and heading right for the door. There was no doubt about it: he was on his way home.
Kelly froze. The man came toward her. She c
ould see the look that Jeffrey had described in his eyes. They were like cats’ eyes in their unblinking intensity. He seemed to be staring right at her, but he didn’t break his stride. He reached his door and yanked it open with a thoughtless tug. Then he disappeared from view.
It took Kelly several beats before she could break the paralyzing spell the man’s appearance had caused. In full panic she pushed the car door completely open and leaped out into the street. She dashed for the building, grasping the door, fully intending to pull it open. But she didn’t. She wondered if Trent had had time to pass through the foyer. After another second’s hesitation, she cracked the door an inch and peered within. Seeing the foyer was empty, she quickly entered and madly searched for Trent’s name on the intercom board. Finding it on the top, she reached with a trembling index finger and pushed the button.
“No!” Kelly cried. Tears of fear and frustration welled in her eyes. The button wouldn’t budge. Looking closely, she could see that the buzzer had long been disconnected. The severed wire was clearly exposed. The button was permanently smashed in. If the wire hadn’t been cut, Harding’s apartment would have been perpetually abuzz. Kelly pounded the intercom panel with her fist. She had to think of something. She considered her options. There weren’t many.
She dashed back outside and ran to the middle of the street. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted up to the open window: “Jeffrey!” There was no response. Then she yelled even louder, repeating his name twice.
If Jeffrey heard, he gave no sign. Kelly was at a loss. What could she do? She pictured Harding climbing the stairs. He was probably at his door that instant. Running over to her car, Kelly hopped in and leaned on her horn.
Jeffrey straightened up and stretched. He’d searched most of the undercounter cabinets in the kitchen and had found nothing unexpected besides a rather sizable colony of cockroaches. In the distance he heard a car horn sound steadily. He wondered what the trouble was. Whatever it was, the driver was pretty insistent.
Jeffrey had hoped by now to have come across something incriminating in Trent’s apartment, but he’d come up with nothing. All he’d succeeded in establishing was some evidence of a weird and possibly violent personality, combined with some serious questions about his sexual identity. But that certainly didn’t make him a serial killer who’d tampered with vials of local anesthetics.
Jeffrey began to open the kitchen drawers. There was nothing unusual, just the usual flatware, knives and openers, and other kitchen gadgets. Then he went to the sink and opened the cabinet under it. There he found a garbage can, a box of S.O.S. pads, a bunch of discarded newspapers, and a propane torch.
Jeffrey lifted the torch from the cabinet and looked at it more closely. It was the type used by do-it-yourself plumbers. A portable tripod was folded against its side. Jeffrey’s first thought was whether the torch could have been used in tampering with the Marcaine vials. He recalled his own makeshift experiment using Kelly’s stove. A torch like this would have been better in directing the heat. But while the torch might have been useful for such a purpose, in itself it hardly constituted proof that was the reason Trent had it under his sink. There were a lot of uses for a propane torch besides tampering with glass medicinal ampules.
Jeffrey’s heart skipped a beat. The sound of heavy footfalls coming up the stairs reached his ears. Quickly he put the propane torch back in place and closed the doors to the cabinet. Then he started for the living room in case he had to beat a hasty retreat. He’d not heard the buzzer, but he thought it best to be prepared in the unlikely event Harding had gotten in without Kelly seeing him.
The sound of a key slipping into a lock made him freeze. The open window was twenty feet away, directly past the door to the hall. Jeffrey knew he wouldn’t make it out in time. All he could do was flatten himself against the kitchen wall and hope to stay out of sight.
His heart racing, Jeffrey heard the door slam and the sound of magazines being dropped onto the coffee table, followed by the same heavy footfalls across the room. Soon the deep, percussive pulse of rock music filled the apartment.
Jeffrey wondered what he could do. The window in the kitchen looked out on a courtyard, but there was no fire escape there. It was a straight five-story drop to the ground. His only route of escape was the window in the front, unless he could get to the hall door in time. Jeffrey doubted he could do it, and even if he did make it to the door, he’d noticed the full complement of locks securing it. He’d never be able to unlock them fast enough. But he had to do something. It was only a matter of time before Trent noticed the missing screen.
Before Jeffrey could think of what to do, Trent surprised him again by walking directly past, heading to the refrigerator. He had a six-pack of beer in his hand.
Knowing he’d be discovered in the next few seconds, Jeffrey took advantage of the moment by dashing through the door, heading for the open window.
The sudden movement startled Trent, but only momentarily. With a burst of profanity, he let go of the beer, which crashed to the linoleum, and leaped after Jeffrey.
Jeffrey had one goal in mind: to get out the window. Reaching it, he practically dove through, hitting his hip on the sill. Grabbing the wrought-iron balustrade of the fire escape, he attempted to pull his legs from the room, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. Trent got hold of his right leg at the knee and began to pull.
A tug-of-war resulted, with both men grunting and heaving. Jeffrey was no match for the younger man’s strength. Realizing he was about to be yanked back into the apartment, Jeffrey cocked his free leg and kicked Trent as hard as he could in the chest.
The blow loosened Trent’s grip on Jeffrey’s leg. With a second kick, Jeffrey was freed. He cleared the sill and scrambled up the fire escape on all fours.
Trent leaned out the window, to see Jeffrey going up. Deciding to head him off, he ducked back into the apartment to use the main stairs. En route he grabbed a claw hammer he kept on his bookcase.
Jeffrey had never moved so quickly in his life. Once he made it to the roof, he lost no time. He ran directly at the wall of the neighboring house and vaulted to its roof. He rushed to the headhouse and frantically tugged on the door. It was locked! Running for the next wall, he heard the door to the headhouse of Trent’s building burst open and smash against the wall.
Jeffrey glanced over in time to see Trent charging in his direction with a determined grimace of anger contorting his face. Jeffrey saw that he was clutching a claw hammer.
Jeffrey reached the second headhouse, two buildings up from Trent’s. He gave the door a tug. To his utter relief, it opened. In a second he was inside, pulling the door shut behind him and fumbling with the lock, which was broken. But there was a hook and eye. Jeffrey’s hands were trembling so badly that he had trouble putting the hook through. He slipped it home just as Trent smashed into the door’s other side.
Trent rattled the door viciously, trying to open it. Jeffrey backed away, hoping the slender hook would hold. When Trent gave vent to his frustration by pounding the door with his hammer, several of the blows penetrated the thin door with a splintering sound. Jeffrey turned and fled down the stairs. He was two flights down when he heard the door crash open.
Rounding the third landing, Jeffrey tripped in his haste. Had it not been for his grip on the banister, he would have fallen. Fortunately he was able to regain his balance and continue his descent.
Reaching the ground floor, he pushed through the doors to the street. Kelly was standing next to the car.
“Let’s go!” Jeffrey shouted as he dashed for the car. By the time he got in, Kelly had the car started. At that moment, Harding appeared, his hammer clenched in his hand. Kelly spun the tires. There was a dull thud on the roof of the car. Trent had thrown the hammer.
Jeffrey braced himself against the dash as Kelly accelerated down Garden Street. The tires screeched in complaint as she braked at the foot of the hill. Without stopping, she turned right onto Cambridge Street’s
busy thoroughfare and headed for downtown Boston.
Neither of them spoke until they were forced to stop for a light at New Chardon Street. Then Kelly turned to Jeffrey. She was enraged. “ ‘Nothing will go wrong. Trust me,’ ” she said, parodying Jeffrey’s earlier reassurance. “I told you not to go in there!” she yelled.
“You were supposed to buzz!” Jeffrey yelled in return, still catching his breath.
“I tried,” Kelly snapped. “Did you check to make sure the buzzer worked? Of course not. That would have been asking too much. Well, the buzzer was busted and you could have gotten yourself killed. That idiot had a hammer. Why did I let you go in there?” she wailed, hitting her forehead with an open palm.
The light changed. They moved forward. Jeffrey remained silent. What could he say? Kelly was right. He probably shouldn’t have gone into Trent’s apartment. But it had seemed like such an ideal opportunity.
They drove in silence for a few miles more. Then Kelly asked, “Did you at least find something to justify the gamble?”
Jeffrey shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I found a propane torch, but that’s hardly evidence.”
“No poison vials on the kitchen table?” she asked sarcastically.
“Afraid not,” Jeffrey said, beginning to feel a little angry himself. He knew Kelly was shaken up, and had reason to be irritated at his amateur sleuthing, but he thought she was carrying it a bit far. Besides, he’d been the one who risked his neck, not her.
“I think it’s time we call the police, proof or no proof. A hammer-toting madman is proof enough for me. The police should be in that creep’s apartment, not you.”
“No!” Jeffrey shouted, this time with real anger. He didn’t want to go through this discussion again. But as soon as he’d raised his voice, he felt sorry. After everything she’d gone through for his sake, Kelly deserved better. Jeffrey sighed. He’d go through it one more time. “The police wouldn’t even be able to get a search warrant with only pure speculation.”