"What was that about a water gun, Mrs. Ebbermann?" I asked casually.
"Oh, she wanted to bring her water gun with her, poor baby. But I made
her leave it at home--I was afraid she might squirt people with it.
But I shouldn't have done that! She's a good girl! She wouldn't squirt
anybody!"
"Sure not, Mrs. Ebbermann. Does Shirley have a key to your apartment?"
"Yes. I gave her her own key, a pretty one, with her initials on it,
for her seventh birthday, so she wouldn't have to push the buzzer when
she came home from school."
"Where's your husband?" I asked taking a look at Ramirez' notebook to
get her address.
"Shirley's father? Somewhere in Boston. We've been separated for two
years. But I wish he were here!"
"Would you give me the key to your apartment, Mrs. Ebbermann? We'd
like to take a look around."
She gave me a key. "But she's not there. I told you, that's the first
place I looked."
"I know," I said. "We just want to look around. We won't disturb
anything."
Then His Grace and I got out of there as fast as we could.
* * * * *
I keyed open the front door of the apartment building, and we went
inside. Neither of us said anything. There was no need to. We knew
what must have happened, we could see it unfolding as plainly as if
we'd watched it happen.
Nestor had seen Shirley sneak off from her mother and had followed
her. In order to get into the building, he must have come right in
with her, right behind her when she unlocked the outer door. Then
what?
The chances were a billion to one against his ever having been in the
building before, so it stood to reason that all he would have been
doing is watching for an opportunity and--the right place.
The foyer itself? No. Too much chance of being seen. The basement?
Unlikely. He must have followed her into the elevator, and she would
have pushed the button for the seventh floor, where her apartment was,
so there wouldn't be much likelihood of his getting a chance to see
the basement. Besides, there was a chance that he might run into the
janitor.
* * * * *
The Duke and I went into the old-fashioned self-service elevator, and
I pushed number seven. The doors slid shut, and the car started up.
The roof? No. Too much danger of being seen from other buildings
higher than this one.
Where, then? I looked at the control panel of the elevator. The button
for the basement was controlled by a key; only the employees were
allowed in the basement, so that place was ruled out absolutely.
I began to get the feeling that we were on a wild goose chase, after
all. "What do you think?" I asked His Grace.
"I can't imagine where he might have taken her. We may have to search
the whole building."
The car stopped at the seventh door, and we stepped out as the doors
slid open. The hallways stretched to either side, but there were no
apparent hiding places. I went over to the stairwell, which was right
next to the elevator shaft and looked up and down. No place there,
either.
Then it hit me.
Again, I could see Nestor, like a scene unfolding on a TV drama, still
following little Shirley. Had he spoken to her in the elevator? Maybe.
Maybe not. He was still undecided, so he followed her to the door of
her apartment. Wait--very likely, he _had_ made friends with her on
the elevator. He saw her push button seven--
_Well, well! Do you live on the seventh floor?_
_Yes, I do._
_Then we're neighbors. I live on the seventh, too. I just moved in. Do
you live with your mommie and daddy?_
_Just my mommie. My daddy doesn't live with us anymore._
And, since he knew that mommie was in the park, he could guess that
the apartment was empty.
All that went through my mind like a bolt of lightning. I said: "The
apartment! Come on!"
The Duke, looking a little puzzled, followed me to the door of 706. I
put my ear against the door and listened. Nothing. Then I eased the
key in and flung the door open.
No one in the living room. I raced for the bedroom. No one in there,
either, but the clothes closet door was shut.
When I opened it, we saw a small, dark-haired girl lying naked and
unconscious on the floor.
Then there were noises from the front room. The sound of a door
opening and closing, and the clatter of hurrying footsteps in the hall
outside.
We both turned and ran.
In the hallway, we could hear the footsteps going down the stairwell.
The slow elevator was out of the question. We took off down the stairs
after him. He had a head start of about a floor and a half, and kept
it all the way down. We saw the door swinging shut as we arrived in
the foyer. Outside, we saw our man running toward the corner. I
started to reach for my gun, but there were too many people around. I
couldn't risk a shot.
And then that amazing walking stick came into action again. The Duke
took a few running steps forward and hurled it like a javelin, the
heavy silver head forward. Robin Hood couldn't have done better with
an arrow. When the silver knob hit the back of the running man's head,
he fell forward to the sidewalk.
He was still struggling to get up when we grabbed him.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
The Duke and I were waiting for Dr. Brownlee when he came back from
talking to Lawrence Nestor in his cell. "He's one of our zanies, all
right," he said sadly. "A very sick man."
"He's lucky he wasn't lynched," I said. "Did he tell you what
happened?"
Brownlee nodded. "Just about the way you had it figured. He had the
little girl's clothes off when her mother came back. He heard her
putting her key in the door, so he grabbed Shirley and dragged her
into the closet with him. The mother didn't search the place at all;
she just went through the main rooms, called her daughter's name a few
times and then left."
"That's what threw us off at first," I said. "We both accepted Mrs.
Ebbermann's word that Shirley wasn't in the apartment. Then I realized
that she wouldn't have taken time to look in all the closets. Why
should she? As far as she knew, there wasn't any reason for Shirley to
hide from her."
"It's a good thing Mrs. Ebbermann did come back." Dr. Brownlee said.
"That was the only thing that saved the girl from rape and death.
Nestor was so unnerved that he just left her in the closet, still
unconscious from the blow he'd given her.
"Any normal man would have gotten out of there right then. Not Nestor.
He went looking for a drink. Fortunately, he found a bottle of whisky
in the kitchen. He was just getting in the mood to go back in after
the girl when you two came charging in.
"He saw you run to the bedroom, so he knew the girl's mother must have
called for help. He decided it was time to run. Too late, of course."
"Too late for a lot of things." I said. "Much too late far Angela
Donahue, for instance. And, as a matter of fact, we were so close to
being too late with Shirley Ebbermann that I don't even want to think
about it. I should have let Shultz go ahead and tell the newsmen. At
least people would have been warned."
"There's no way of knowing," said the Duke, "But I think there's just
as good a chance that he'd have gotten his hands on some other little
girl, even if the warning had gone out. There will always be parents
who don't pay enough attention to what their children are doing. They
may blame themselves if something happens, but that may be too late.
As it happens, we _weren't_ too late. Let's be thankful for that.
"By the way, am I wrong in assuming that Nestor will not get your
psychotherapy treatment?"
"No, you're right," I said. "The warden at Sing Sing will be taking
care of him from now on." I turned to Brownlee and said: "Which
reminds me--what's going to be the disposition on the Hammerlock Smith
case?"
"I talked to Judge Whittaker and the D.A. Your recommendation pulled a
lot of weight with them. They agreed that if Smith will plead guilty
to felonious assault and agree to therapy, he'll get off with eighteen
months, suspended. When I release him, he'll never bother young boys
again."
The Duke looked puzzled. "Hammerlock Smith? Odd Name. What's he up
for?"