“I heard a lot of hot-shit lines, man, but that’s a good one.” He closed the door, undid the chains, opened it again, wider. He was wearing a yellow basketball jersey that came down to his knees and maybe nothing else. “ ‘Can I look out your window?’ I got to remember that one.” He stepped back to let Gurney in.

The apartment appeared to be the twin of the one next to it. Gurney looked into the kitchen, then down the short opposite hall where the bathroom was. The door was closed.

“You have visitors?” asked Gurney.

The gold teeth appeared once more. “One visitor. She don’t want nobody to see her.” He pointed to the windows on the far side of the main room. “You want to look out? Go look.”

Gurney was uncomfortable with the closed bathroom door, didn’t want that kind of an unknown behind him. “Maybe later.” He stepped back into the open doorway, positioning himself at an angle that allowed him to be equally aware of any movement in the apartment or on the landing.

Bolo nodded with an appreciative wink. “Sure. Got to be careful. No dark alley for you, man. Smart.”

“Tell me about Freddie.”

“Told you. He disappeared. You lie down with a fucker, you gonna get fucked. Bigger the fucker, worse you get fucked.”

“Freddie testified at Kay Spalter’s trial that she was in the apartment next to yours on the day her husband was shot. You knew he said that, right?”

“Everybody knew.”

“But you didn’t see Kay yourself?”

“Thought maybe I saw her, somebody like her.”

“What does that mean?”

“What I told the other cop.”

“I want to know it from you.”

“I saw a small … small person, looked pretty much like a woman. Small, thin. Like a dancer. There’s a word for that. Petite. You know that word? Some hot-shit word. You surprised I know that word?”

“You say ‘looked like a woman’? But you’re not sure it was a woman?”

“The first time, I thought it was. But hard to tell. Sunglasses. Big headband. Big scarf.”

“The first time? How many times—”

“Twice. I told the other cop.”

“She was here twice? When was the first time?”

“Sunday. The Sunday before the funeral.”

“You’re sure about the day?”

“Had to be Sunday. Was my only day off. From the fucking car wash. I am going out to Quik-Buy for cigarettes, going down the stairs. This petite person coming up the stairs, passes me, right? At the bottom of the stairs I think I don’t have my money. I come back up to get it. Now she’s standing there, outside the door, behind where you stand now. I go straight into my place for my money.”

“You didn’t ask her what she was doing here, who she was looking for?”