Free A Kiss Before Dying by Ira Levin Page B

doors as they passed them: ‘Six-twenty, six-eighteen, six-sixteen …’ They had to take another left turn before they reached 604, which was at the back of the square, across from the elevators. He tried the door. It was locked. They read the hours listed on the frosted glass panel and Dorothy moaned dejectedly.
    ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I should have called to make sure.’ He put down the valise and looked at his watch. ‘Twenty-five to one.’
    ‘Twenty-five minutes,’ Dorothy said. ‘I guess we might as well go downstairs.’
    ‘Those crowds—’ he muttered, then paused. ‘Hey, I’ve got an idea.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The roof. Let’s go up on the roof. It’s such a beautiful day, I bet we’ll be able to see for miles!’
    ‘Are we allowed?’
    ‘If nobody stops us, we’re allowed.’ He picked up the valise. ‘Come on, get your last look at the world as an unmarried woman.’
    She smiled and they began walking, retracing their path around the square to the bank of elevators where, in a few moments, there glowed above one of the doors a white arrow pointing upwards.
    When they left the car at the fourteenth floor, it happened again that they were separated by the other alighting passengers. In the corridor they waited until these had hurried around the turns or into offices, and then Dorothy said, ‘Let’s go,’ in a conspiratorial whisper. She was making an adventure of it.
    Again they had to make a half-circuit of the building, until, next to room 1402, they found a door marked Stairway. He pushed it open and they entered. The door sighed closed behind them. They were on a landing, with black metal stairs leading up and down. Dim light sifted through a dirt-fogged skylight. They walked upwards; eight steps, a turn, and eight more steps. A door confronted them, heavy reddish-brown metal. He tried the knob.
    ‘Is it locked?’
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    He put his shoulder to the door and pushed.
    ‘You’re going to get your suit filthy.’
    The door rested on a ledge, a sort of giant threshold that raised its bottom a foot above the level of the landing. The ledge jutted out, making it difficult for him to apply his weight squarely. He put down the valise, braced his shoulder against the door, and tried again.
    ‘We can go downstairs and wait,’ Dorothy said. ‘That door probably hasn’t been opened in—’
    He clenched his teeth. With the side of his left foot jammed against the base of the ledge, he swung back and then smashed his shoulder against the door with all his strength. It gave, groaning open. The chain of a counter-weight clattered. A slice of electric blue sky hit their eyes, blinding after the obscurity of the stairway. There was the quick flutter of pigeons’ wings.
    He picked up the valise, stepped over the ledge, and put the valise down again where it would be clear of the door’s swing. Pushing the door further open, he stood with his back to it. He extended one hand to Dorothy. With the other he gestured towards the expanse of roof as a head waiter gestures towards his finest table: He gave her a mock bow and his best smile. ‘Enter, mam’selle,’ he said.
    Taking his hand, she stepped gracefully over the ledge and on to the black tar of the roof.

TWELVE
    He wasn’t nervous at all. There had been a moment of near-panic when he couldn’t get the door open, but it had dissolved the instant the door had yielded to the force of his shoulder, and now he was calm and secure. Everything was going to be perfect. No mistakes, no intruders. He just knew it. He hadn’t felt so good since – Jesus, since high school!
    He swung the door partly closed, leaving a half-inch between it and the jamb, so that it wouldn’t give him any trouble when he left. He would be in a hurry then. Bending over, he moved the valise so that he would be able to pick it up with one hand while operating the door with the other. As he straightened up he felt his hat shift slightly with the motion. He