Copyright © 2011 Ron Hummer. All rights reserved.

She walked inside the lobby of her apartment, spotted Eddie Marshall by his stool, staring at the monitor that was on top of the brown podium. He gazed at Natalie, said "Looks like you had a good run," wiping perspiration from his forehead. He was taller than Natalie, about 6-0 with a high forehead. His brown hair was parted to the side making a poor attempt to hide his widows peak that was the size of a cue ball. His middle-aged looks were spoiled by the wrinkles across his forehead and the furrows down his cheeks.

"I did. How have things been here?"

"Very quiet" - he coughed into his hand - "for a Saturday morning."

"I’ll see you later," Natalie said, going into the elevator.

Once inside, she pressed 2 with her forefinger, took a breath, happy that there wasn’t any cigarette smoke in the elevator. Maybe she’s finally listening to me, Natalie thought.

She walked out of the elevator on the second floor, noticing that the door to her apartment was ajar. She narrowed her eyes, pushed the door wider, spotted Linda in the living room on the floor.

"Linda," Natalie nearly shouted, running across the red carpet, the floor creaking as she reached her sister. Linda was on her back, her arms stretched on the floor over her head. Her thick chestnut hair was a tangled heap on the red rug. Her dark eyes were half closed; her full lips were compressed, forming a thin angry line. A red bruise on her throat seemed out of place below her almond complexion. "Natalie, are you okay?" she said. "Natalie, wake up. Wake up."

Tears falling down her cheeks, she ran to the phone, noticed that her sister wasn’t breathing. She grabbed the phone, pressing 911, her hands and knees shaking.

20 minutes later, the police arrived; a white haired man pulled a sheet over her sister’s head. He stood up, talked to one of the detectives on the scene. He bobbed his head, then went over to Natalie. He about 6-3 with red hair that fell over his ears, and beneath that an eight inch scar on his forehead, and beneath that, small eyebrows and dark eyes, and beneath that, a pug nose, and beneath that, a red mustache. "Sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you," he said. "My name is Frank DeMarco.

"Where is your partner?" Natalie asked.

"Oh, Ozzie Rivera. He’s looking around your apartment. I think he was in your room last."

"What happened?" she wanted to know.

"Evidently, your sister was strangled."

"Oh my God."

"She was also screaming your Super’s name several times. People heard her say he must have done this."

She remembered how angry George Smith was because Linda was always smoking in the apartment. Kept complaining that she set off the smoke alarm in the kitchen, Natalie thought. "Are you saying he killed my sister?"

Another man came out of her room and Natalie looked him over carefully: the thick and wavy dark hair that framed his olive complexion, the 3 inch scar above his left eye, the pock-marked face, the small nose, and the bushy mustache.

"Ms Martinez, I’m Ozzie Rivera," he said, putting out his hand. His voice was low, deep. Natalie shook it.

"When do you think you’ll be able to start looking for the person who murdered my sister?" she demanded. "Have you talked to Mr. Smith, the Super?" She took a deep breath. "Have you even talked to my doorman?"

"Why don’t we go outside," Rivera suggested.

"Fine." She followed the detectives out the door into the hallway. "You still haven’t answered my question."

"We won’t have to go to that trouble," Rivera answered.

"Really. Why is that?"

"Because the person that murdered your sister is still in the building?" he said.

"What," she almost screamed, forming the letter -o- with her lips. "Are you sure?"

"Ms. Martinez," DeMarco said, "if Ozzie is sure that the person that murdered your sister is still in the building, then you can believe it."

"Really. Why?"

"Ozzie Rivera is the best detective, that’s why." Frank said. "I’ve been working with him for 6 years and he is amazing at closing nearly all our cases."

"Well, that sounds great," Natalie said, "but I can’t understand how you can come to this conclusion so quickly unless you’re saying that the Super did it. I still can’t believe it." She chewed the inside of her cheek. "I was out for over an hour on my run. The person who did this had plenty of time to leave."

"Well, your doorman said that he didn’t see anyone suspicious leaving or entering the building," Ozzie said, pulling at his earlobe. "In fact, he said that things seemed really quiet and was shocked that this happened."

"What about the side entrance?" Natalie inquired.

"Joan Benson was sitting on a bench outside the door," Ozzie answered. "She said that she was there for nearly 2 hours reading her book and saw no one suspicious entering or leaving the building."

"She’s 76 years old."

Ozzie raised his eyebrows, stared at his partner. "Ms. Martinez, she seemed perfectly capable of knowing if someone suspicious was coming in our out of the building."

"Fine, so you’re saying that Mr. Smith could have killed my sister."

"Not necessarily," Rivera said.

"Jesus," Natalie replied, leaning against the wall.

"Natalie, are you okay." Natalie turned and saw Jeremy, smiled. He looked uncomfortable as he rubbed the heel of his hand over the faint stubble of his chin. She took in his beefy face, his broad shoulders, the crooked grin, and his unruly brown hair that seemed plastered to his skull. "I just heard what happened. This is so terrible."

"I know," Natalie answered, the tears coming down her eyes. Jamie, her best and most trusted friend. I told him that we will always be friends even though he really likes me, Jamie thought to herself.

George Smith came out of the room, his whole body shaking. He was short, closely knit, compact. Iron gray hair and an iron gray beard filled his face; tiny criss-cross veins filled his bulbous nose. His carefully combed hair showed the effects of his fingers repeatedly raking it. "Do you have any more questions for me detective Rivera?"

"No."

"George, why was my sister shouting those things about you?" Natalie demanded.

"I don’t know."

"Does your sister live here?" Rivera asked.

"My sister was just staying with me for a week before she went back to Boston. She goes to college at Boston University." She glared at Smith. "You should be questioning George about my sister, not me."

"I understand your sister smoked," Rivera ventured.

"Yes, she did," she replied turning her attention to Ozzie. "Is that a crime?"

"No. It’s not."

The elevator door opened and Natalie saw the McKinney’s come out and walk over to her, Allison in the lead. She was about Natalie’s height, 5-6, looked to be about 39 from where Natalie stood, her sandy hair was short and wavy, the overhead lights revealing the lines under her lids of her eyes and the losing battle her makeup was waging with her crows feet.

"Natalie, we just heard the news," she said.

"I’m surprised you came up at all," Natalie said, glaring at Allison. She thought back to all the times Allison complained about Linda smoking in the hall and outside. "After all, you were always complaining about my sister."

"What were the complaints about?" Rivera wanted to know.

"Always smoking in the hallway or in the elevator," Allison answered. "So obnoxious."

"I told you I would talk to her." Natalie shouted.

"Well, she always seemed to ignore you. And I didn’t appreciate the way she was always flirting with Hal," Allison said, putting her hands on her hips.

Hal patted his wife on her shoulder, biting his lip. His brown hair was thinning, displaying a high forehead and lines across it. His eyebrows were bushy, framing his amber eyes and a beard that wrapped around his mouth. When he smiled, his dimples plowed large furrows in his cheeks.

"Look, I told you it didn’t mean anything to me," he said nervously. He wiped his hair with his fingers, the perspiration falling onto his blue tee shirt.

"Excuse me," Jeremy said to Ozzie, "I would like to talk to you privately."

"Any reason?" the detective wanted to know.

"Well, this is kind of awkward."

"What is Jeremy?" Natalie said.

"If we can talk privately," Jeremy said.

"If you have something to say, just say it Jeremy."

"Yes," DeMarco added. "Just tell us."

"Well, I know that Mr. McKinney was alone with Linda several times."

"Really, is that true?" DeMarco said, looking at Hal.

"Hey, wait a minute," Hal said nervously.

"Where were you earlier today?" DeMarco demanded.

"You said you were going out to get the paper," Allison said, glaring at her husband.

"I did."

"Where did you see Hal?" Natalie asked Jeremy.

Jeremy licked his lips, forced a smile. "I saw him several times with your sister," Jeremy said.

"Is that true?" Allison said, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of hand.

"Look, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

"What floor do you live on Jeremy?" Rivera inquired.

"The 4th floor," Jeremy said.

"Where did you see them?" Rivera asked.

"One time, I saw Hal go into Natalie’s apartment while you were out," Jeremy said.

"Very convenient considering you live on the 4th floor."

"Jeremy and I are good friends," Natalie said. "He was probably just looking for me. Isn’t that right?"

"Yes, of course."

"One time, when I was really sick," Natalie continued, "Jeremy came down and wanted to make sure that I was okay."

"I guess you called him?" Ozzie asked.

"No. Jeremy came down and asked me if I was okay."

"Is that right." Rivera said.

"Just like the time Jeremy knew that there was a mouse in the apartment" - Natalie smiled and patted Jeremy on the shoulder - "and Mr. Smith didn’t believe him until he found the mouse droppings.

"Interesting," Ozzie observed.

"Excuse me," Allison said. "I want to know when you saw my husband go into her apartment?"

"Last week," Jeremy said meekly.

"I knew it," she said, slamming her hands against her hips, glaring at her husband. "I had to work late and you were home alone. I tried to call you and you said you went out for a walk."

"I think we need to bring you in for questioning," DeMarco said.

"Before we do that, let’s all go into Natalie’s bedroom," Rivera said.

"Why? Natalie said. "It’s obvious that Mr. McKinney..."

"Let’s just go into your bedroom," Ozzie interrupted, walking back into the apartment.

"Yes, let’s just go into Natalie’s bedroom," Natalie replied, throwing her hands in the air. "Who do you think you are just inviting everyone into my bedroom?"

"Ozzie, what’s going on here?" DeMarco asked.

"I’ll explain in a moment, Frank."

When everyone was in the bedroom, Rivera said "I assume that your sister smoked in this room as well."

"Yes, she did," Natalie said indignantly.

"Any smoke alarms go off?" Rivera inquired.

"Just the one in the kitchen," Natalie said, shrugging her shoulders.

"What about this one?" Rivera said, pointing to one on his left on the wall.

"No," Natalie said, "I don’t recall it going off. Maybe it’s broken?"

"Did you ever hear it beep?" Rivera asked.

"No. Why would it?"

"Because it would beep if the battery was low?"

"Well, it didn’t. What’s the difference?" She put her hands on her hips. "I’ll get a new one. Maybe George can fix it."

"Did you install this Mr. Smith?" Rivera asked.

"No," George said annoyed. "Tenants are responsible for their own smoke alarms."

"That’s right," Natalie added. "Jeremy put that one in for me."

Rivera took a silver lighter from his pocket, opened it, put the flame close to the alarm, not hearing a sound. "I guess it doesn’t work, does it Jeremy? I mean, what if there was a fire. Did you even check this before you installed it?"

Jeremy looked down at his shoes, his feet seemed glued to the floor.

"What is the matter with you Detective RIvera?" Natalie shouted. "Isn’t it obvious that Mr. McKinney killed my sister."

"I had nothing to do with that." Hal yelled back.

"Oh, but you weren’t having an affair with my sister, were you?"

Hal turned away, clenching his lips together.

"Say something Hal," Allison said, tears flowing down her eyes and cheeks.

"I’d like to say something," Rivera said, putting his lighter back in his shirt pocket. "Frank, read Jeremy his rights."

"What," Natalie said.

"Jamie, you’re under arrest," Ozzie said.

"What," Natalie replied.

Rivera put a plastic glove over his hand, put it on the alarm and turned it to the right until it came off.

‘Is that what I think it is?" Natalie asked.

"Yes," Rivera replied. "It’s a nanny-cam disguised as a smoke alarm. From what I can tell, since it’s positioned over your bed, he’s able to see you every night on the internet."

"I’m sorry." Jeremy said. "I have a problem. You’re so beautiful."

"Oh my God," Natalie said, putting her right hand to her mouth.

"That’s how he knew about the mouse," Ozzie said. "He saw it go into the radiator in your room when he was watching on the internet. He knew when to come down when you were sick also."

"Jesus," Allison said. "Did you see my husband having sex with Linda?"

Tears filled Jeremy’s eyes as DeMarco put the handcuffs on his wrists.

"People heard Linda yelling Smith’s name because she discovered the camera and assumed that Mr. Smith installed it," Ozzie said. "You came down at that time and Linda let you in, telling you about the smoke alarm. Then when she led you into the bedroom, you grabbed her by the throat and strangled her."

"I’m not saying anything without a lawyer," Jeremy replied, tears choking his voice.

"I can’t believe this," Natalie said, sitting on her bed.

"You couldn’t leave anything out of place and probably hoped that we wouldn’t discover it," Ozzie continued. "Then you could continue to watch Natalie on the internet. That’s why you blamed Hal McKinney for the murder."

"So I’m not in any trouble for this?" Hal asked Rivera.

"Only with your wife."