“Just sit still a minute.” Hazel said, as Price opened the door. “This isn’t Dransfield.” She looked up and down the street, “They know we’re the police.”
“Who knows?”
“At least four people are watching us right now.” Hazel said, “You can see them at the curtains.” She pointed out the nearest. “And there as well. Across there. Up there on the second floor.”
“How do they know we’re the police?”
“The fancy aerial on the back of the car,” Hazel said, “That and the fact that the only time a car pulls up here the police are driving.”
Price gave a short laugh.
“Yes.” Hazel said, “It’s very amusing at first. Do you imagine anyone who has to live here can afford a car? This is cheap housing, low paid work, if they can get any work, and, usually, people with very poor education. It’s a recipe for crime.”
Price was, surprisingly, still cheerful, “Sounds exciting. If it’s so bad how come we didn’t arrive with back up?”
Hazel nodded, as if she were taking his comment seriously, “Yes, we could have done that. I’m sure the residents would love to see a couple of van loads of coppers descending on them. They know we’re the police, and they can probably guess we’re here about Charlie Harris. They may not be overly educated, but they know how to use the internet and can read news stories. Which means they know we’re likely to leave them alone if they keep quiet.” She paused, opened her door and stepped out onto the street. After a moment she said, “That’s interesting. Come on out.”
“What’s interesting?” Price joined her on the street.
“We’re not being watched any more.” Hazel said. She continued to look at the windows. All interest had ceased right after she stepped into view.
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Price said. Hazel had to give him credit for not being nervous. Possibly he was too stupid to be worried.
“It’s a thing.” Hazel said. “Come on, let’s get this fiasco over with.”
“Why fiasco?” Price said, following her over to the apartment building. “Aren’t you supposed to buzz first?”
Hazel opened the door. “It’s broken.” She said, which wasn’t entirely true. She was familiar with these places. It had been vandalised at some time in the past and never repaired. Lack of funds or lack of interest. Possibly both. “The locks on these places never work properly.” There were various reasons why but it was often some local who had forgotten his key and would rather break the door open than ring for the building supervisor. Usually the supervisor was at home sleeping. These places never had anyone on permanent call.
“The downside is the lift won’t be working.” Hazel said. If it was she wasn’t intending to travel in it. The smell in those enclosed spaces was usually pretty bad.
“You never know.” Price pressed the button.
Hazel leaned against the wall and watched him. She said, “You can come out from there if like.”
A balding, middle aged man, in blue overalls put his head round the corner. He looked incuriously at them
“Hello.”
“You’re the building supervisor?” Hazel said. She showed him her warrant card, though he probably knew they were the police. Hazel had the impression he couldn't care less who they were.
“Yes.” He sounded bored.
“You know why we’re here?”
He shrugged and vanished. Price said, “Lift works.” The door opened.
A beefy, teenage boy barred the way in. Behind him Hazel could see a blonde female head. Price and the boy stared at each other for what seemed like a long time.
“We’re taking the stairs.” Hazel said, raising her voice slightly. She didn’t want a punch up in a confined space. The teenage boy nodded slowly, grinning. The lift doors closed again. Hazel could hear it moving upwards once more.
The balding head appeared again and a pudgy hand held out a key.
“Someone told you to cooperate?” Hazel said. She took the key. The bald head vanished again. Hazel shrugged.
“What’s all that about?” Price said.
“I don’t know.” Hazel said, though she had a few ideas. “Come on, up the stairs. The exercise will do you good.”
The place was painted a dull and unimaginative magnolia gloss. Though time and neglect had rendered it dark with greasy hand prints. The steps were stone and the hand rails metal. Any doors were firmly shut. Hazel sniffed. The drugs squad would probably have a field day if they came here. Which, if they ever did, it would have to be in force with plenty of back up.
She led the way, noting that Price seemed to manage the steps pretty well, he wasn’t red faced or puffing by the time they reached the top.
Hazel indicated one of the doors. “Charlie Harris’ place.” She said. It had a spy hole in the top centre and looks robust. She waited a moment, but could hear nothing inside so she tried the key.
The door opened easily and harmlessly.
Hazel led the way inside.
“It’s not exactly palatial.” She said. It wasn’t. It was as dull and devoid of personality as she expected. Small, cramped. A sofa bed. The dominant thing was a huge TV set.
“It’s not so bad.” Price said optimistically. “It’s got everything you need.”
“Everything a man needs.” Hazel said. It was, essentially, a man cave. Television. Sofa – bed. A plug in cooker and a fridge. Plus, of course, the inevitable cheap lap top. “Do you know anything about computers?”
“I know all about computers.” Price said with such confidence that Hazel didn’t believe him. She handed the lap top over, “Compute.” She said. She turned her attention to the wall opposite the window. The décor was modern pornography to judge by all the images Harris had posted on it with blue tack.
“I don’t think you should have done that.” Price opened up the lap top.
“Well you were the o ne who claimed he knew all about computers.” Hazel said without looking round. From what she could gather from the pictures Charlie Harris preferred a definitive type of woman. Young, blonde, fair skinned, and with a liking for classic hosiery. Black seamed stockings and suspender belts had never gone out of fashion on this wall.
“I wasn’t talking about the computer.” Price set the lap top down and started it up, “This one is rubbish by the way. I bet he got it second hand for less than a hundred euros.”
“What were you talking about?” Hazel couldn’t see any books, so it was reasonable to assume Charlie Harris didn’t go in for much literature.
“We backed down from the kid in the lift.” Price said. He drummed his fingers casually on the desk as he waited for the computer to boot up. “I bet this is so low on memory it takes ages to do anything.”
Hazel opened a drawer. It held underwear. Pretty standard boxers and socks. “That kid as you call him wasn’t much younger than you. I said we’d take the stairs if you remember.”
“We shouldn’t have backed down.” Price said, The computer came to life. “He didn’t know much about computers. No password to protect his data. He’s not even changed the screen saver.”
“If you feel that strongly, go pick a fight with the kid.” Hazel said, “I’m all in favour of a quiet life.”