Free Unknown Means by Elizabeth Becka Page A

killed the woman? You don’t think the husband did it?”
    “We don’t know. But thanks for the help—and Erie Realty hired you?”
    “Yep.”
    She wondered why Justin hadn’t listed him as an employee. As if reading her mind, Gerard spoke up. “He’s only here on Tuesdays.”
    “Sometimes not even then, depending on what else is going on.
    I might be here tomorrow too, if I can’t get this software patch to work.”
    Evelyn perked up. “Is something wrong with the elevator? Like stopping at the wrong floors?”
    He seemed almost sorry to have to shoot down another one of her theories. “It tends to run with the doors open on car top inspection. It’s got nothing to do with stopping at floors. I already told those two detectives all this just an hour or two ago.”
    “Sorry. Actually, I came up here to collect oil samples.” She pulled a small packet from her bag.
    “Oil?”
    She broke a sterile swab out of its packaging. “Grease, whatever.”
    “From the elevator?”

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    “And the dead-bolt locks, and the Markhams’ exercise equipment—any source of oil in the building.”
    Behind her, Gerard’s sigh could be heard over the clacking.
    “Our tax dollars at work.”
    “Be my guest.” The elevator repairman stepped to the side, holding the door firmly open.
    She moved gingerly forward. Every inch of the car top seemed covered with oil, or dirt, or some sort of heavy black coating. She extended the swab toward a mechanism at the closest edge.
    “That’s the door operator,” Jack told her, not that she really wanted to know.
    She slid the swab into its microtube with trembling hands.
    “Anything else?”
    She gave up the brave front and held out a fresh swab. “Can you reach that hatch with this?”
    “Sure.” He slid a screwdriver into the door as a stop and stepped into the darkness. “Just anywhere on the hatch?”
    “Around the edges.”
    He returned with a blackened swab. “There you go. You really think he was fooling around in the shaft? Sheesh, that’s all I need, to come in and find someone flattened on top of the car.”
    She tucked the labeled swabs away in her kit. “He got into Grace Markham’s apartment somehow. He avoided the camera in the garage. He’s someone who knows this building like the back of his hand.”
    “Like us,” Gerard said. “More like me, since I’m here all week long. I think I’d better get a lawyer.”
    Evelyn didn’t know what to say. Usually cops interviewed potential witnesses. She stuck with dead people and inanimate objects for a reason.
    Luckily, her Nextel beeped. She hit the green phone button.
    “Mom? I’m going . . . project . . . Steve.”
    “Angel, you’re breaking up. I’ll call you right back.” Evelyn

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    clipped the phone to her belt. “Sorry about that. My daughter. She must be home from school already. The high school has— Oh, crap.”
    “What?” Jack asked, wiping his hands on a rag, though they didn’t seem dirty.
    “It’s Meet the Teachers at the high school today. That’s why she’s out early.” She looked at her watch. “Well, I’m going to stand up Mrs. Evans—again. The woman is going to think I don’t exist and report Angel to Children and Families as an orphan.”
    Jack grinned again. “Nothing like squirming around in those little desks while every teacher in the school tells you why you’re a lousy parent. My son raised so much hell that, by the time I showed up, they wanted to give me a detention.”
    Evelyn laughed. Gerard sighed.
    “One more thing. Could anyone—tenants or staff—take the elevator from one floor to another floor without going to the lobby first?”
    “Nope.”
    He seemed as sure of that as he had been of everything else.
    “Can you tell how many trips went to Grace Markham’s apartment that day?”
    “Nope.”
    She gestured at the computer. “That information isn’t recorded?”
    “Not unless we’re doing some kind