Much has been made of geographical1 profiling—criminals remaining within acomfort zone. Like any theory, sometimes it pans out, sometimes it doesn’t andyou get killers2 prowling the interstate or venturing far from home so they canestablish a comfort zone far from prying3 eyes.
With any alleged4 rules about human behavior, you’re lucky if you do betterthan chance. But the four-minute drive from Peaty’s apartment to MichaelaBrand’s place on Holt was hard to ignore.
Her building was a mint-green fifties dingbat. The front was an open carportset behind oil-specked concrete. Six parking slots, unoccupied but for a dustybrown Dodge5 minivan. The facade6 was spanned by two olive-green diamonds.Speckles in the stucco caught afternoon light. Way too giddy.
A bank of key-lock mailboxes set into the wall just south of the parkingarea bore no names, only unit numbers. No manager designation. Michaela’scompartment was shut tight. Milo squintedthrough the slot. “Lots of stuff inside.”
Her apartment was at the back. Louvre windows as old as the building were aburglar’s dream. The glass slats were folded shut but green curtains had beenleft slightly parted. Dark inside, but the outlines of furniture were clear.
Milo began knocking on doors.
The only tenant8 at home was a woman in her twenties wearing a stiff,brandy-colored wig9 and a calf-length denim10 jumper over a white, long-sleevedsweater. The wig made me wonder about chemotherapy, but she was buxom11 and hergray eyes were clear. The same kind of lightly freckled12 complexion13 MichaelaBrand had been blessed with. Open face tightened14 by surprise.
I saw the side curls and yarmulke on the squirming blond boy she was holdingand got it: Some Orthodox Jewish women covered their natural hair out ofmodesty.
The badge made her press her son to her chest. “Yes?”
The boy’s arms and feet shot out simultaneously15 and she nearly lost hergrip. He looked to be three or so. Stocky and sturdy, twisting and turning,emitting little growly noises.
“Calm down, Gershie Yoel!”
The boy waved a fist. “Hero hero Yehudah ! Fall the elephant!”
He squirmed some more and she gave up and set him down. He rocked on hisfeet and growled16 some more. Eyed us and said, “Fall!”
“Gershie Yoel, go in the kitchen and take a cookie—but only one. And don’twake up the babies!”
“Hero-hero! Yehudah HaMa kawbee gonna spear you bad Greek!”
“Go now, good boy, or no cookie!”
“Grr!” Gershie Yoel ran off, past walls covered with bookshelves. Books onevery table and the couch. Any remaining space was filled with playpens andtoys and packages of disposable diapers.
The boy’s shouts diminished.
“He’s still celebrating the holidays,” said the young woman.
“Hanukkah?” said Milo.
She smiled. “Yes. He thinks he’s Yehudah—Judah Maccabee. That’s a big heroin17 the Hannukah story. The elephant is from a story about one of his brothers—”She stopped, blushed. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re here about one of your neighbors, Mrs….”
“Winograd. Shayndie Winograd.”
Milo had her spell it and wrote it down.
She said, “You need my name?”
“Just for the record, ma’am.”
“Which neighbors, the punk rockers?”
“Which punk rockers are those?”
She pointed18 to an upstairs unit two doors down. “Over there, Unit Four.Three of them, they think they’re musicians. My husband tells me they’re punkrockers, I don’t know from such things.” She held her ears.
“Noise problem?” said Milo.
“There was before,” said Shayndie Winograd. “Everyone complained to theowner and it’s been okay…excuse me a second, I need to check on the babies,please come in.”
We cleared books from a brown corduroy couch. Leatherette-bound volumesgold-embossed with Hebrew titles.
Shayndie Winograd returned. “Still sleeping, boruch —thank God.”
“How many babies?” said Milo.
“Twins,” she said. “Seven months ago.”
“Mazeltov,” said Milo. “Three’s a lot tohandle.”
Shayndie Winograd smiled. “Three would be easy. I’ve got six, five areschool-age. Gershie Yoel should be in school but he was coughing this morningand I thought maybe he had a cold. Then, wouldn’t you know, he got miraculouslybetter.”
Milo said, “The Lord works in mysteriousways.”
Her smile widened. “Maybe I should have you talk to him about honesty…so isthe problem the punk rockers?”
“This is about Ms. Brand, the tenant in Unit Three.”
“The model?” said Shayndie Winograd.
“She modeled?”
“I call her that because she looks like a model. Pretty, very skinny? What’sthe problem?”
“Unfortunately, ma’am, she was murdered last night.”
Shayndie Winograd’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God—oh, no.” She reachedback for an armchair, removed a toy truck, and sat down. “Who did it?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Mrs. Winograd.”
“Maybe her boyfriend?”
“Who’s that?”
“Another skinny one.”
Out of Milo’s attaché came Dylan Meserve’sbook shot from the hoax19.
Winograd glanced at the photo. “That’s him. He was arrested? He’s acriminal?”
“He and Ms. Brand were involved in a situation. It was in the papers.”
“We don’t read the papers. What kind of situation?”
Milo gave her a summary of the phonyabduction.
She said, “Why would they do such a thing?”
“It seems to have been a publicity20 stunt21.”
Shayndie Winograd’s stare was blank.
“To help their acting22 careers,” said Milo.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s hard to understand, ma’am. They thought the attention might help themget noticed in Hollywood.So why would you think Mr. Meserve would hurt Ms. Brand?”
“Sometimes they screamed at each other.”
“You heard it up here on the second floor?”
“It was loud.”
“What did they scream about?”
Shayndie Winograd shook her head. “I didn’t hear the words, just the noise.”
“Were these fights frequent?”
“Is he a bad person? Dangerous?”
“You’re not in any danger, ma’am. How often did he and Ms. Brand scream ateach other?”
“I don’t know—he didn’t live here, he just came over.”
“How often?”
“Once in a while.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
She thought. “Weeks.”
“When’s the last time they had an argument?”
“Even longer…I’d say a month, maybe more?” She shrugged23. “I’m sorry. I trynot to notice things.”
“Not wanting to pry,” said Milo.
“I don’t want nahrish —foolish things in my life.”
“So Mr. Meserve hasn’t been here for a few weeks.”
“At least,” said Shayndie Winograd.
“And when did you last see Ms. Brand?”
“Her…let me think…not recently. But she used to come in late. The only timeI ever noticed her was when I was out late with my husband and that’s notoften.”
“The children.”
“The children get up early, everyone’s always needing something.”
“Don’t know how you do it, ma’am.”
“You concentrate on what’s important.”
Milo nodded. “So you haven’t seen Ms. Brandrecently. Could you think back, maybe come up with something more specific?”
The young woman pushed back a lock of tight-sprayed, supplementary24 hair.“Maybe two weeks, three. I really can’t say more than that. Don’t want to giveyou false testimony25.”
Milo suppressed a smile. The young womanshook her head. “I go out. To work. I just don’t look at things that aren’timportant.”
“With six kids you have time to work?”
“At the preschool, I stay half a day. What happened to her, it’s terrible.Was it the way she lived?”
“What do you mean, ma’am?”
“I’m not insulting her, but we live one way, they live another way.”
“They?”
“The outside world.” Shayndie Winograd reddened. “I shouldn’t be talkinglike this. My husband says each person should pay attention to their ownactions, not what other people do.”
“Your husband’s a rabbi?”
“He hassmicha —he’s a rabbi but he doesn’t work as a rabbi. Half a day hedoes bookkeeping, the rest of the time he learns.”
“Learns what?”
Shayndie Winograd smiled again. “Torah, Judaism. He goes to akollel —it’slike a graduate school.”
“Working on an advanced degree,” said Milo.
“He learns for the sake of learning.”
“Ah…anyway, sounds like you guys have your hands full…so, tell me aboutMichaela Brand’s way of life.”
“She was the normal way. What’s the American way now.”
“Meaning?”
“Tight clothes, short skirts, going out all the time.”
“Going out with who?”
“The only one I saw was the one in the picture. Sometimes she went outalone.” Shayndie Winograd blinked. “A few times we said hello. She said mychildren were cute. Once she offered Chaim Sholom—my six-year-old—a candy bar.I took it because I didn’t want to insult her but it wasn’t kosher so I gave itto a Mexican lady who works at the day care…she always smiled at the children.Seemed like a nice girl.” Deep sigh. “So terrible for her family.”
“She ever talk about family?”
“No, sir. We never really had a conversation, just to say hello and smile.”
Milo put his pad away. He hadn’t writtenanything down. “Anything else you can tell me, ma’am?”
“Like what?”
“Whatever comes to mind.”
“No, that’s it,” said Shayndie Winograd. Another deep blush. “She wasbeautiful but I felt sorry for her. Showing a lot of…herself. But she was nice,smiled at the babies, one time I let her hold one because I was getting intothe car and had lots of packages.”
“So you had no problems with her.”
“No, no, not at all. She was nice. I felt sorry for her, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Living by herself. All the going out. People think they can go out and doanything they want but the world is dangerous. This proves it, no?”
Squalls sounded from a bedroom. “Uh-oh.” We followed her into a ten-by-tenroom taken up by two cribs. The occupants were a pair of infants, purple withindignation and, from the aroma26, freshly soiled. Gershie Yoel bounced like aSlinky toy and tried to butt27 his mother as she changed diapers.
“Stop it! These men are policemen and if you don’t behave they can take youto the Beis Hasohar like Yosef Aveenu. ”
The little boy growled.
“Beis Hasohar, I mean it, you good boy.” To us: “That’s jail. Yosef—Joseph,from the Bible, he ended up there, seven years until Pharaoh took him out.”
“What’d he do?” said Milo.
“Nothing,” she said. “But he was accused. By a woman.” She rolled up afilthy diaper, wiped her hands. “Bad things. Even then there were bad things.”
Milo left his card at the other apartments.When we got to the ground floor the mail carrier was distributing envelopes.
“Afternoon,” said Milo.
The postman was a gray-haired Filipino, short and slight. His U.S. PostalService van was parked at the curb28. His right hand grasped one of several keyson a chain attached to his belt as the left pressed bound stacks of mailagainst his torso.
“H’lo,” he said.
Milo identified himself. “What’s thesituation in Box Three?”
“What do you mean?”
“When’s the last time she emptied it?”
The carrier opened Michaela’s compartment7. “Looks like not for a while.” Helet the keychain drop and used both hands to separate the stacks. “Two for hertoday. It’s not my regular route…lucky this is all she got, not much roomleft.”
Milo pointed to the two envelopes. “Can Itake a look at those?”
The mailman said, “You know I cannot do that.”
“I don’t wanna open them,” said Milo. “Shegot murdered last night. I just wanna see who’s writing to her.”
“Murdered?”
“That’s right.”
“It’s not my regular route.”
“You already said that.”
The carrier hesitated, handed over the envelopes.
Bulk solicitation29 to apply for a low-interest home loan and a “Last Chance!”pitch to resubscribe to InStyle magazine.
Milo handed them back.
“How about the stuff inside?”
“That’s private property,” said the mailman.
“What happens when you come back in a few days and there’s no more room?”
“We leave a notice.”
“Where does the mail go?”
“Stays in the station.”
“I can get a warrant and come by and open it all up.”
“If you say.”
“I say I just wanna look at the envelopes that are in there. Seeing as thebox is already open.”
“Privacy—”
“When she got killed she lost her privacy.”
The carrier made a show of ignoring us as he went about delivering mail tothe other tenants30. Milo reached into BoxThree, removed a thick stack wedged so tightly he had to ease it out, andthumbed through.
“Mostly junk…a few bills…urgent one from the gas company meaning she wasoverdue…same deal with the phone company.”
He inspected the postmarks. “Ten days’ worth. Looks like she was gone wellbefore she died.”
“A vacation’s not likely,” I said. “She was broke.”
He looked at me. Both of us thinking the same thing.
Maybe someone had kept her for a while.
收听单词发音 |
1
geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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killers
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| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
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prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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denim
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| n.斜纹棉布；斜纹棉布裤，牛仔裤 | |
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buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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heroin
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| n.海洛因 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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hoax
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| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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supplementary
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| adj.补充的，附加的 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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