Free Chocolate Quake by NANCY FAIRBANKS

very badly paid, I thought, not to mention unreliable about manning his post.
    “Good morning,” I said cheerily. “I’m Carolyn Blue, and I’m here to investigate the death of Denise Faulk. Were you here the night of her murder?”
    “ Da, ” he replied, squinting at me suspiciously. “Vassily an’ me. My son.” He showed his first sign of animation. “Vassily is math genius. Is being computer millionaire while still young like Microsoft,” he predicted.
    “That’s wonderful,” I replied. “I didn’t catch your name.”
    “Alexi Timatovich.”
    “So, Mr. Timatovich, while you were on duty that night did you see any suspicious people in the center, someone who might have killed Denise Faulk?”
    “Lady professor after she is killing Mrs. Faulk. Got blood all over when police taking her away to prison.”
    “Professor Blue didn’t kill Mrs. Faulk.”
    “No?” He looked puzzled. “Maybe police killing her and blaming old lady. In Russia such things happening, but not so much in Siberia where my family living. Everyone busy keeping warm, even police. Got no time for killing ladies and blaming other ladies.”
    “Siberia? You a criminal?” asked Mr. Valetti, who had been listening closely.
    “No criminal. Engineer,” said Mr. Timatovich. “Build things. Is hard in cold.”
    “Sure, engineer,” said Mr. Valetti sarcastically. “An’ now a guard.”
    “Guard is good job,” said Mr. Timatovich. “Guard in United States making more money and living better than engineer in Russia. And here no cold, no snow. Is good job. Only bad that having to pay for son’s university.”
    “Maybe he’ll get a scholarship,” I suggested. “Did you see anyone entering Mrs. Faulk’s office before Professor Blue went in?”
    “Seeing no one.”
    “You see la Professora go in?” asked Mr. Valetti suspiciously.
    “No see professor until coming out all over blood with police. I watching door into building, not more doors. I signing in peoples coming in and peoples going out, not looking at peoples inside.”
    I was discouraged to hear that he’d paid no attention to events down the hall, but if he checked visitors both in and out—well, that information would be helpful.
    “Were any of the people you signed in given to violence? Or particular enemies of Mrs. Faulk?”
    “Not letting in bad peoples. Bad husband coming to look for wife, I sending away.”
    “One came that evening?” I asked eagerly. That would be an important clue. Denise Faulk had headed the Battered Women’s Advocacy before she took over as business manager, and abusive husbands have been known to attack whose who help their wives.
    “ Da. Man always beating up wife coming to find her. Very mad. Very drunk. Thinking we got her here. I am saying, ‘She not here. Go away, or I call police.’ ”
    “And what happened?” I asked.
    Mr. Timatovich shrugged. “He going away.”
    “Could he have gotten in some other way, or perhaps at some time when you were away from your desk?”
    “No one coming in or going out from Alexi Timatovich without signing name. Always I am being here.”
    “You wasn’t here when we came in, an’ we ain’t sign-a your book,” said Mr. Valetti.
    “So I am taking a piss. I sitting here or in toilet. You saying Alexi Timatovich not good security?”
    “Not at all,” I interjected hastily. No need to alienate the man; I could check on his reliability through other avenues. “What was the name of the angry husband?”
    “Freddie Piñon. Everyone here knowing him. Bad man. Alla bosses say not letting him in.”
    I wrote the name down. A definite lead. “Could I see the list of people who were in the building that night?”
    Mr. Timatovich patted the book in front of him. “Here is book.”
    He was certainly helpful. Wondering what Mrs. Chavez-Timberlite would think of his accommodating behavior, I flipped back to Thursday and found, to my dismay, several pages of names. Obviously I couldn’t copy all