Shallow Graves

course, the family does, too.“
    “The family?“
    “Yeah.“
    “Who in the family?“
    “Who? Everybody. They use the second floor sometimes.“
    “The empty apartment.“
    “Right. Well, it’s got furniture and all.“
    “You know whether any of Sinead’s or Tina’s boyfriends had a key to the front door?“
    Flick, sniff-sniff. “I don’t know nothing about that. They did, they wasn’t supposed to.“
    I decided to play dumb. “How about the agents at Tina’s modeling agency?“
    “I don’t know nothing about that, neither.“
    “Ever see one of them here?“
    “Don’t know them to tell you,“
    I looked at the only other door off the foyer, the one I took to be Sinead Fagan’s apartment. “Okay. Let’s go upstairs and work our way down.“
    I followed Ooch up a flight of coiling balustrade. On the second floor was a door that looked identical to Sinead’s. The carpet runner wasn’t new but it was of good quality and still surprisingly plush.
    The flight to the third floor was more enclosed, the stair shaft narrowing as it ascended. We stopped at a door that looked identical to both the other two.
    Ooch said, “I’m gonna open this, but it’s okay with you, I feel a little funny about going in.“
    “I understand.“
    He put a key to the lock. “After they—the cops—was finished with her, I had to go in and clean up some. There was... this smell, you know?“
    The human body pretty much lets go at death, including the muscles that control the bowels. “How about you just stand outside here, so I can call to you if I need something.“
    Flick, sniffi/sniff. “You got it.“
    Ooch opened the door, and I crossed the threshold of Mau Tim Dani’s apartment.
    It was bright and might have been airy if it hadn’t been shut up for a week. The layout seemed to be the same as Ooch’s place, but the dimensions were bigger with the absence of a boiler room and major staircase. The apartment door opened more onto the living room, with the futon sofa more centrally placed. There was a tiled fireplace, probably gas originally, and bookshelves on either side of it. One wall was sacrificed to a home entertainment center with stereo receiver, CD player, science-fiction speakers and a television/VCR hookup. A small gateleg table sat in sunshine by the bowfront window, two straight-back chairs with it, and a choir of plants on risers around it. The rug was a Dhurrie, hardwood floors polyurethaned underneath.
    Moving toward the back of the apartment, I passed a wider kitchen and a squarer bath than Ooch had. The window with the fire escape was in the bedroom. The furnishings there were all ruffles and quilts, which surprised me until I remembered how close Mau Tim had been to Grandmother Amatina. I checked the quality of work on the fabrications. The slight imperfections of the lovingly handmade.
    I crossed to the window itself. An old one, still with iron sash weights hung in the jamb to allow its mass to be raised. The window was closed but not locked still. I shoved it up and looked out on the fire escape. The metal seemed solid but a little rusty. Holding the bannister by the windowsill, I swung one leg onto the escape and pushed down. The ironwork gave, but only a bit. I swung the other leg out and shifted up and down on it. I got back the sound Larry Shinkawa had described. Not much and not continuous, but a clang every time I moved on the landing.
    I climbed back into the bedroom, trying to picture the burglar possibility. From the ground, he somehow pulls down the first flight of fire escape and comes up to the third-floor landing. Mau Tim’s just taken her shower. Sinead Fagan told me that Friday had been warm. Maybe Mau Tim has the bedroom window open. Or had it open and closed it without engaging the lock. She’s somewhere in the apartment, not making any noise or making so little the TV or stereo is covering it. Then I thought back. Larry Shinkawa said the TV and stereo were off, no other sound beside the fire escape.
    That probably meant Mau Tim was still in the bathroom, toweling off and being quiet. Our boy comes in through the window, place looks deserted, he starts with the jewelry box. Finds the iolite necklace, stuffs it in a pocket or bag, scopes some other pieces maybe, then... Wait, the necklace was broken.
    I walked back into the living room and over to the futon. The pendant part of the necklace was found under one of the corners. I closed my eyes, trying to see the