“I guess it’s okay.” Albright let the door swing open. She turned and walked back into the apartment.

Eden followed her, entering the living room, a dark space with curtained windows and a stained brown carpet. A TV stood on a pedestal table at one end, playing an episode of Law & Order. Arranged around the TV were a high-backed sofa, two mismatched chairs, and a coffee table. The room was warm and smelled of mildew.

Albright sat on the sofa and picked up an already burning cigarette from an ashtray. She inhaled deeply, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “Win’s coming home soon. And just so you know, he doesn’t like the police. He told me that. It would be real good if you weren’t here when he gets home.”

Eden made a space for herself on one of the chairs by pushing aside a pile of clothes. She took a pad from her jacket pocket. “I understand. Was Mr. Partridge home on Monday evening?”

“Most nights he goes out to drink. I watch the TV, and he doesn’t like the TV.”

“So on Monday evening, he wasn’t at home? He was out…drinking?”

“I don’t remember exactly, but I guess he was. That’s what he usually does.”

“And you weren’t with him?”

Albright took another long draw on her cigarette. She blew out the smoke. “No. Mondays, there’s the Idol program I like to see.”

Eden wrote on her pad.

“What’d you just write? Are you writing what I say?”

“Just taking notes.”

Eden wondered at the apartment’s ordinariness. The sofa was covered in a print of faded dahlias. The wall behind the sofa held a framed winter landscape and a clock with a painted rooster. Was this the house of a serial killer? What did she expect? Body parts on the bookshelf? “When Mr. Partridge goes out, does he go by himself or with a friend?”

“Alone, I guess. He never says. I don’t care for it myself. I worked at a bar for a while and saw enough of those people. On Fridays, Win and me go to Applebee’s. The other nights I have my programs.”

“Do you remember what time Mr. Partridge returned Monday evening?”

“I don’t know. We don’t keep track like that.”

“Were you still awake when he returned?”

Albright drew on her cigarette and shrugged. “I think I was. I was watching the news, so it must’ve been around eleven.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Pretty sure. What’s this about anyway?”

Loud voices suddenly erupted on the TV, and both women turned to watch. Briscoe and Green were questioning a teenage suspect on a street corner. Green shoved the suspect against a wall, and Briscoe tried to restrain his partner.

Eden looked back at Albright. “It’s important we understand where Mr. Partridge was that night.”