A sharp little laugh burst out of him. “Shit, man, no. Here you don’t better bother nobody. Everybody got their own business. Don’t like questions.”

“She went into that apartment? How? With a key?”

“Yeah. A key. Of course.”

“How do you know she had a key?”

“I heard it. Thin walls. Cheap. Key opening the door. Easy sound to know. Hey, that reminds me, definitely had to be Sunday. Ding-dong. Church down the river, twelve o’clock every Sunday. Ding-dong, ding-dong. Twelve fucking ding-dongs.”

“You saw this small person again?”

“Yeah. Not that day. Not until shooting day.”

“What did you see?”

“This time it’s Friday. Morning. Ten o’clock. Before I go to the car wash. I’m out, coming back with pizza.”

“At ten in the morning?”

“Yeah, good breakfast. I’m coming back, I see this little person go into this building. Same little person. Petite. Goes in very fast, with a box, or something bright, wrapped up. When I come in, little person is at top of the stairs, pretty sure now it’s a wrapped-up box, like for Christmas. Long box—three, four feet long. Christmas paper. When I get to the top of the stairs, the little person is already inside the apartment, but the door is still open.”

“And?”

“Little person is in the bathroom, I am thinking. That’s why this big rush, maybe why the outside door is still open.”

“And?”

“And it’s true, little person is in the bathroom taking a big leak. Then I know for sure.”

“Know what?”

“The sound.”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t right.”

“What wasn’t right?”

“Men and women, the sound is different when they piss. You know this.”

“And what you heard was …?”

“Absolutely sound of pissing man. Little man, maybe. But absolutely man.”

Chapter 19

Crime and Punishment

After getting from Bolo his legal name (Estavio Bolocco), as well as his cell number and a more detailed description of the petite he-she-whatever creature, Gurney went back down to his car and spent another half hour searching the case file for any record of an Estavio Bolocco having been interviewed, for any note regarding the appearance in the apartment of a possible suspect on the Sunday prior to the shooting, or for any question being raised regarding the shooter’s gender.

He came up with zero on all three searches.

His eyelids were starting to feel heavy, and the burst of energy he’d felt earlier was just about expended. It had been a long day in Long Falls, and it was time to head for Walnut Crossing. As he was about to pull away from the curb, a black Ford Explorer pulled in just in front of him. Chunky Frank McGrath stepped out and walked back to Gurney’s car window.

“You all done here?”