"They have any visitors the last few days?"
The doorman made a great play of consulting the visitors' log, prominently displayed on the reception desk. He fished a smeared pair of glasses from his pocket and started reading.
"Let's see now...Oh, yeah. They had a plumber install a washer-dryer Tuesday morning. He arrived at ten thirty and signed out again at twelve forty." He squinted, trying to read the cramped, angular writing on the page. "'A. Bello' it says here. Yeah. I remember this guy. 'Super Eagles Plumbing. Seven oh eight, five five five, eight zero eight eight.'"
"Who was home to let him in?"
"No one. Ms. Okoro phoned from work, told us to expect him. I let him in with the master key."
"Anyone else?"
"Not really. Same guy came back the following day. Ms. Okoro phoned down to tell me he was on his way and to let him straight up. She told me everyone was home sick. I remember her saying that. Yeah."
"Why'd he come back? How long does it take to fit a washer-dryer?"
"He was removing the old unit. He signed in at nine-oh-five a.m. and left at eleven forty-five. Wheeled the thing out in a big old crate."
"You sure about that? Seems a long time to be boxing up a used washer-dryer."
"That's what it says here. No mistake." The doorman's eyes sparked with sudden interest. "You think he killed them?"
Maybe.
"Anyone else drop by?"
His question unanswered, the doorman's mouth drooped with disappointment.
"Nope. Not till the cleaning lady this morning."
"Got it. This 'A. Bello,' you remember what he looked like?"
"Black guy. Tall. Maybe six-three, six-four. Built like a basketball player. Had a little scar on each cheek."
"Hair?"
"You know...Black guy hair."
"Long, short, cornrows?"
"Couldn't say. Guy was wearing a baseball cap."
"Color? Logo? Anything?"
"Sorry, man. Not sure. Blue maybe? Old, though. Definitely old. It was all washed out, like."
Ethan's gaze left the doorman. Roved across the lobby walls. "Those cameras work? We'll want to look at the tapes."
"Sure. Happy to help."
"Anyone in the building have a problem with the Okoros?" For the first time, Al Mills hesitated.
"See...Mr. Okoro could be stand-offish. Like I said."
"And?"
"That kinda thing can rub people the wrong way, 'specially coming from...you know."
Ethan's sudden smile was designed to show that he understood perfectly.
Mills relaxed a little.
"One of the other doormen, Joe Ricci. He works the evening shift. Not a fan of...you know. Thought the guy was a dick."
"Did he and Mr. Okoro have words?"
"A couple of times. Mr. Okoro thought Joe was lazy and disrespectful. Told him straight to his face. At least, that's the way Joe tells it. I wasn't there, see?"
"Is Joe working this evening?" Mills shook his head.
"He's been out a couple of days. Called in sick."
Ethan wrapped things up with the doorman and headed back up to the twentieth floor. When he got back to the apartment, the medical examiners were preparing to remove the bodies. There were techs dusting for prints.
"Learn anything useful?" Raymond asked.
"Yeah, I think so." Ethan wandered into the kitchen, the sergeant in his wake. He squatted down beside the sink. Neatniks though the Okoros were, there was still a build-up of grime where the appliances met the floor. "How old do you think this washer-dryer is?"
"At least five years."
Ethan glanced up at Yeung.
"You sound pretty fucking certain, sergeant."
"Yessir, lieutenant sir, I surely fucking do. We got one at home exactly like it. They don't make 'em anymore. Getting the parts is a bitch."
"Definitely not installed on Tuesday, then?"
Yeung laughed. Gave the washing machine a dismissive kick. Polished leather met weathered enamel in a dull thud.
"No way. This thing was installed when dinosaurs roamed the fucking Earth."
