Hotline to Murder

Tony would get there by midnight with no problem.
    ***
    Tony didn’t have a better plan when he drove past Zook Sheeting on Grand Avenue in El Segundo at five minutes to midnight. One problem was his lack of mobility. Another problem was that Shahla had told the Chameleon that she was driving a black Toyota Highlander—on his advice. That was a mistake. If he parked anywhere near Zook, the Chameleon would spot it as soon as he walked out of the building.
    Tony drove around a corner and made a U-turn, with the help of a driveway. He parked under a tree, away from the streetlights. Another car was between him and Grand. He suspected that the Chameleon walked to work. He had been on foot when Tony saw him before. If he lived in one of the nearby apartments, he should walk along Grand in this direction to get home.
    What did the Chameleon think when Shahla didn’t show up? Was he disappointed? Or relieved because he couldn’t handle contact with a real girl? Just his job, night security guard, indicated that he preferred to be alone. Why had he told Shahla where he worked? Because he was delusional enough to believe that a girl returned his…desire? Lust? Or whatever?
    Tony wondered what he was doing here. What could he possibly accomplish? The impulse that had brought him—stemming from the frustration he and Shahla felt about Detective Croyden’s lack of action—had dissipated in the dark of the night. He should go home. And he would. Soon. But first he would wait a few minutes, just to see if he could catch a glimpse of the Chameleon. That by itself would be useful information and tend to confirm that the man did work at Zook.
    Since there were no pedestrians about and very little auto traffic, the Chameleon should be easy to spot. And he was; his baseball cap and his rapid, slouching walk with his hands in his pockets gave him away. Tony recognized him instantly as he crossed the street where the SUV was parked. He looked neither to the right nor to the left—thankfully.
    Well, that’s it, Tony thought. Mission accomplished. I’ll wait a few minutes for him to get away from the intersection and then drive home. But maybe he could do more. What if he could find out where the Chameleon lived? After a minute, he cautiously drove to the intersection and looked to the right. He could see the Chameleon by the light of the streetlights, walking away from him.
    Tony looked away for a moment, and when he looked back, the Chameleon had disappeared. Had he seen a mirage? No, the man must have turned a corner. Tony drove along Grand to where he had seen the Chameleon. A side street went off to the right. He stopped just short of the intersection and looked along the street.
    At first he saw nothing moving. Just shadows, parked cars, trees, and the gray shapes of apartment buildings. Then he saw movement. Someone was climbing the outside stairs of one of the buildings. Tony had trouble seeing him in the dark, but he was positive the man was wearing a baseball cap. At the top of the stairs he opened a door and went inside.
    Tony waited thirty seconds and then drove to the building. He pulled out one of his business cards and wrote the address on it. Now he should leave. But his adrenaline was flowing again. He couldn’t leave yet. He’d love to get a good look at the Chameleon, get inside his apartment. How could he do it? Not with crutches, that’s for sure. Could he walk up those steps without crutches? His knee was feeling better.
    Tony parked the car far enough away from the Chameleon’s building so that it wasn’t visible from a window. He opened the door and swung his body around so he could place his right foot on the ground. He stood up on his right leg and gingerly shifted some of the weight to his left leg. It hurt, but it was bearable. He shut the door and walked slowly toward the Chameleon’s building, favoring his left leg.
    It was still warm. Some of the warmest LA nights occurred in September. It would be a pleasant night for a walk if one wasn’t limping. Tony was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and he wasn’t cold. Just a little chilly. He remembered watching fireflies on summer nights back home. And catching them in bottles. In days long gone.
    When he came to the wooden stairs, he climbed up one step with his right leg and then brought his left leg up to the step. It was slow, but it worked. He climbed the fifteen or so steps in this manner and found himself facing a door. A plain wooden door