Swan Dive

ago, the wharves were abandoned, and only the intrepid would wade through the muddy moats the filled land around them had become. Ten thousand cash at a tax title auction would have snagged you a whole structure. Now, the same money would just about cover two years of property assessment on a single two-bedroom unit.
    I slowly drove by the address Niño gave me. Teri’s place was in one of the newly constructed towers, rising floors above even the elevated, six-laned Central Artery that still separates the docks from the commercial downtown. As I pulled over to come back around, I saw Niño get out of his parked Olds across the street and incline his head toward the building entrance. Five minutes later, I found a parking space and joined him.
    He nodded approvingly. ”Punc-tu-al-ity, man. At lunch and tonight, too. Important quality for professional men like you and me.”
    Niño was wearing brown suit pants with cuffs and Hush Puppies shoes, but it was the top half of his outfit that caught the eye. Blue dress shirt, pencil-width leather tie, and a starched white coat with ”Dr. Rodriguez” stitched over the chest pocket. The earpieces of a stethoscope protruded from a side pocket.
    ”Career change?”
    ”You like the getup? Shit, man, this here a condo building. Half the units owned by fucken docs as tax shelters, you know it? I walk in like this, we blend in. Rent-a-cop figure, ‘Big-time médico, too fucken cheap to have some agency show the place to a new tenant.’ C’mon.”
    Niño pulled the door open for me, then moved in quickly and got ahead of me, marching along in that self-absorbed way you see in hospital corridors.
    The guard said, ”Evening, doctor.”
    Niño half saluted but never broke stride. I shrugged at the guard and whispered, ”Famous surgeon.”
    The guard winked to show no offense taken.

    Niño eased the door closed, pushing the police bar back into the slot on the floor.
    I said, ”That was easy.”
    ”The cops, they don’t post no round-the-clock shit for a dead hooker, man. Besides, she killed someplace else.”
    The room was a large L-shaped studio, sleeping alcove off to the right, bathroom and kitchenette to the left. Sweeping view of boat moorings and airport runways through the picture windows, a small telescope set up near the glass.
    Niño walked toward the telescope, saying over his shoulder, ”Do you thing, man. Just don’t break nothing, okay?”
    I started with the alcove. Cherrywood four-poster bed, frilly comforter, the collar of a flannel shirt just visible under one of the pillows. On cold nights, Teri probably slept in it. Beth used to do that all the time.
    Matching nightstands flanked the headboard. On one of them sat a telephone and a tape machine identical to the one in my apartment. An ”O” glowed in the message portal. I pushed the side button which releases the lid. Both outgoing and incoming tapes were still there. I moved the lever to ”Answer Play,” the device immediately rewinding the short distance with no noise. That meant the ”O” wasn’t kidding, buddy, there really were no messages. The machine automatically clicked to ”Play” anyway, nothing but silence coming from the speaker. Stupid to think the cops hadn’t already tried it.
    ”Hey, man, come look at this!”
    I went into the living room portion, Niño bending over the telescope and adjusting some knob near his squinting eye. ”This little mother is powerful. Planes, luggage carts, shit, I can see right into the terminals almost.”
    ”Teri ever mention anything about the telescope?”
    ”Not to me. But she was weird that way. She give me the key to this place ‘cause she trust me and somebody gotta have it, case she get the slam and all.” I thought about what Sandra had asked me. I’d gotten the impression that Teri had told her about the apartment and given her a key. Would Teri have given keys to both of them?
    I went back into the sleeping area and toward the other nightstand. A Harlequin romance facedown, marking her place the hard way, binding nearly broken through. An ashtray, some kind of nail strength-ener, china cup with coins and subway tokens in it. ”Niño, did Teri drive a car?”
    ”No. She knew how, but she didn’t want to keep one in the city. She need one, she borrow mine or see the Hertz counter.”
    On the walls, a couple of Natalie Wood publicity stills, framed professionally. Below them, a bureau with an overload of cosmetic enhancers, most