Write me a Letter

on, I noticed, and in a couple of cases, radios, too. All right. Next step. I need a list of all residents. Also I need that.” I indicated the calendar of events pinned on the notice board. ”Ages of residents, too, if you’ve got them,” I said to her as she was heading for the notice board.
    ”I do,” she said, ” ‘cause I send them all birthday cards.” She unpinned the calendar and brought it over to me. ”I had a thought. This awful man who’s making my life a misery—well, it has to be a man, doesn’t it, I can’t see any of the old biddies who live here creeping around at dead of night climbing into windows, bless them. Anyway, why doesn’t he know a home is empty because he sees the people inside leaving?”
    ”Excellent, Watson,” I said. ”However, the eight homes in question are all scattered around the periphery of the estate, there’s no central location he could be in that would allow him a line of sight with them all.”
    ”What if his home is like where mine is so he can see every car that leaves, ’cause there’s only one way out?”
    ”A fine feat of ratiocination yet again, Watson,” I said. ”But recall.” I showed her one of the lists I’d made. ”God knows why the cops didn’t pick this up.” In all the burglaries the residents were away from home all right, but they weren’t off the estate, they hadn’t driven into town to catch an X-rated film or gone to a drive-in. They were still on the estate attending one of the regular social events put on in the rec room, which is why I wanted to check out the calendar. So I checked it out. It said things like, ”Monday—social club meeting.” ”Tuesday—sewing group.” ”Wednesday executive board meeting.” ”Thursday—paper pickup—have them out by 8 a.m.” ”Friday—special meeting.” ”Saturday—bingo!” ”Sunday—breakfast in the park.” Also entries like ”Wednesday—gamblers’ bus to Reno .” ”Thursday—Talk ’n’ slides on South Korea .” ”Sat.—dance.” ”Tuesday—Spanish group.” And so on, amigos; starting to get the idea? Deduction by elimination is the idea, for you slowpokes. Katy, at my request, came up with membership lists for all the various groups, classes and what have you. She also came up with copies of the estate’s monthly newsletter, in which were published news ’n’ views and new residents and of course the monthly calendar of events and occasionally a tidbit like, ”The sewing group is pleased to welcome new member Mildred Baker, blah blah blah....” It also helpfully listed the members in attendance at the various meetings, following the old small-time newspaper principle that what a reader wants most to see in a paper is his or her own name.
    Elimination—from the list of residents and their ages, I eliminated all males under twenty-five (none) and over, just guessing, seventy. We had already eliminated all females, remember. That left me forty-four clients. Then I eliminated all those attending social functions on the estate the nights of the robberies, what else. One man from the sewing circle. The Reno bus took care of another eight. Spanish class, two more; obviously if someone was brushing up his Mexican he wasn’t likely to say, ”Excuse me a momento,” slip out and go looting and pillaging. It was possible, OK, but if it was later shown the burglary took place when he was gone, then where would he be? Old-time dancing eliminated three more, including me. Still too many names left. I took a wild stab at it and eliminated all married men, because you try hiding something from your wife and see how you get on. That cut it down to four possibles—all right. I asked Katy what she knew about our four potentials—she knew them all personally, of course, she said. All seemed ordinary. No one was a newcomer. The only thing...
    ”Speak to me,” I said.
    ”Mr. Elkins,” she said, pointing to one name on the list. ”I seem to remember he paid cash for his home, which you don’t see often.”
    ”Well, well,” I said. ”When was that, can you remember?”
    ”Eight or nine years now,” she said. ”I could look it up if you want.”
    ”Doesn’t matter,” I said. ”Use your phone? It’s to L.A. ”
    ”Help yourself.”
    I called Sneezy. He was out. I sighed, and asked to be transferred to my brother. He was in.
    ”Lt. Anthony Daniel, Records,” he said.
    ”Tony? It’s me,” I said. ”How’s the wife? How’re the