Shallow Graves

ahead.“
    “I don’t got no celery in the fridge.“
    “Just stand at the sink.“
    Fagan did it. She was two feet from the fire escape through the window, a hunk of wood six inches square on the sill.
    I said, “Was that window open?“
    “Huh?“
    “Was your kitchen window open?“
    “Yeah. Nice night, I wanted a little fresh air.“
    “Can you show me?“
    “Show you how to open a window?“
    “Show me how it was that night.“
    Fagan turned from the sink. Heaving at the window, she niggled the hunk of wood under the frame as it came back down.
    I said, “The window won’t stay open on its own?“
    She shook her head. “Something’s wrong with the things inside the walls.“
    The sash cords were probably broken. “Can I try?“
    Fagan let me replace her. I lifted the old window. It took a lot to move it another six inches off the sill, the sides shuddering like furniture hauled over a bare floor. I said, “How would you get out if there was a fire?“
    She pointed behind me. “Door’s right there.“
    “Okay.“ I looked at Puriefoy. “How about you leave the apartment and close the door. Then go outside the building, dose the front door, and ring Mau Tim’s bell.“
    Puriefoy spoke evenly. “I didn’t ring Mau’s bell, man. I rang Sinead’s.“
    “Please. Just ring Mau’s bell first, wait a few seconds, and then ring Sinead’s.“
    His expression stayed neutral as he left the room, dosing the apartment door behind him. Over the stereo, which wasn’t on loud, I couldn’t hear any noise from Puriefoy opening and dosing the building’s front door. Then a harsh doorbell sound, muted by distance, followed by its twin, even harsher, inside the apartment.
    I said, “You really can hear the third-floor bell down here, can’t you?“
    Fagan said, “Like you was next to it.“
    “You didn’t hear anybody ring Mau that day.“
    “No.“
    “What about when Shinkawa arrived?“
    “Him I heard. Yeah, I remember thinking it must be Larry Shin when I heard Mau’s bell.“
    The harsher bell inside Fagan’s apartment rang again.
    “Well, you want me to answer it or what?“
    “Whatever you did that day when Oz rang your bell.“
    She left the kitchen, crossed the living room, and opened her apartment door, leaving it open as she left my sight and went into the foyer. Listening hard, I could just hear her opening the building’s front door for Puriefoy. She came right back into the apartment, Puriefoy behind her.
    “What did you two do next?“
    Fagan started to say something, Puriefoy riding over her. “Like I told you at my studio, man. After a while, Sinead, she remembers she don’t have wine, so I go out to get some.“
    “But didn’t take a key.“
    “That’s right.“
    “So you leave and Sinead, you still hear water in the pipes.“
    “Yeah.“
    “When did the water stop?“
    “I dunno.“
    “Before Oz got back with the wine?“
    “Yeah.“
    “How long before?“
    “I dunno. A couple minutes, maybe. I remember thinking, good thing Mau’s a little late.“
    “Why?“
    “On account of me forgetting the wine, okay?“
    “While Oz was gone for the wine, did you hear anybody else at the door?“
    “You mean, like the front door to the building?“
    “Right.“
    “No.“
    “Could Mau Tim have let someone in?“
    “Not by buzzing the door. You can hear that fucking buzzer like it was next to you.“
    “Mau Tim’s doorbell or the buzzer now?“
    “Both. But the buzzer, that’s like...“ Fagan made the sound of a hundred-and-twenty-pound bumblebee.
    To Puriefoy I said, “And you get back when?“
    “Wasn’t checking my watch.“
    “Fifteen minutes?“
    “Fifteen, twenty, maybe. Like that.“
    “Same routine for the door?“
    They looked at each other.
    Sinead came back to me. “No. No, this time I just buzzed him in the front door—the building door—then I opened this one and went back to what I was doing.“
    “Which was what?“
    “Picking out some tapes. I was getting tired of the crap I was playing, so I tried some Vanilla Ice.“
    She pointed to the stereo. “That’s him on now.“
    Puriefoy said, “Uh-huh,“ like there was no accounting for Sinead’s taste.
    I turned to the photographer. “What did you do?“
    “Brought in the wine.“
    “Did you close the apartment door?“
    “No, man. My arms were full.“
    “Where did you put the wine?“
    “Kitchen there.“
    “Open it?“
    “Yeah. Corkscrew under the counter.“
    “Okay. When