True to his word in the diner, Tannehill didn't manage to sleep until 3:00 AM. He passed out fully clothed on a still-made bed. He awoke two hours later feeling even more exhausted. The day before had started out as a simple annoyance advancing into the promise of a meager paycheck and ended in a full-blown disaster.
From yesterday's perspective, no leads meant that Snell would have been left to connect the dots or that Tannehill was led by his partner on an extended snipe hunt. From today's perspective, no leads meant that a murderer would walk free. And still, he had no leads.
"Was yesterday's job connected to his murder?" Tannehill reviewed the little knowledge he had at hand. Snell definitely wanted Tannehill out of the office. The timing of Tannehill's adventure was fortuitous as well. "What are the chances that I arrive at the building the exact same time the subject was having sex? Then again Snell knew enough high-class callgirls that this may have just been the first appointment of the early evening."
With no other starting point, this was the avenue Tannehill had to pursue however tenuous the thread. He briefly thought about leaving CCPD to their own devices and simply moving on to the next small-time con or jilted lover. But. But, he was a licensed PI. And a former policeman. And partner to a murdered man, however repulsive that man was. He needed to do something, even if it meant tossing a few leads into the mix for his former colleagues.
He arose from semi-rumpled bedclothes, smoothed them, washed his face, affixed his fedora, and left his apartment.
He was firmly planted on the bench across from 513 Highwater street at 7:45 AM, ready for a long day of tedium as the residents of downtown prepared for a typical weekday. He wanted to spot the Blonde, the Uncle, the Doorman - anyone who may be able to give him just a little bit more thread to pull. He also prayed for clear skies and an empty bladder, so his surveillance could continue unabated.
At 8:13 AM his luck held. He saw Impatient Gray Suit from the night before exit the building - this time adorned in a blue double-breasted outfit two sizes too big.
"Excuse me! Sir!" Tannehill quickly crossed the street to intercept the man. He flashed his PI license as the man glanced toward him.
"Yes, officer?" Good, the man's response to a badge was what Tannehill was counting on.
"It's detective, actually." Technically, it wasn't a lie. Tannehill was a detective, just not one employed by the taxpayers of Capital City.
¨Do you live in this building?"
¨Yes, yes I do."
¨I see. First, I want to assure you there's no cause for alarm." Tannehill rested his hand on the man's shoulder. The man gaped at Tannehill open-mouthed and wide-eyed - less in terror than astonishment.
The man nodded in response, still open-mouthed.
"However, we need to check up on someone in your building who took a child in for social services. Normally, I'd simply ask the doorman, but they can be a bit thick and may call up to the unit first. Given the sensitive nature of the visit, I'd like to make sure we're not giving anyone too much on advantage. Understand?"
Open-mouth nod. No questions asked. "Good," thought Tannehill.
"OK, I just need you to get me to the elevator bank in your building and I can take it from there. If the doorman asks, just say your friend Bob needed to pop by to borrow some papers from you."
Open-mouth nod.
"Alright," Tannehill extended his hand, "after you." He had the expectation that he could lead the man in front of a bus and his new friend would oblige without complaint.
"Hi Chuck," the man called to doorman - luckily not his perceptive nemesis from the night before - "this is my friend, Bob. I need to let him up to my place and then I'll be back on my way."
"Sure thing, Mr. Sugarbaker," the doorman called back.
"OK, here you are." They cruised past the front desk to the elevators." Sorry, off- er, detective, I've got to go. I've got an important meeting to start the day." Sugarbaker turned on his heels and exited the building promptly.
Tannehill gave a flagging wave and ducked in the alcove behind the elevator bank into the residents' mailroom.
"650, 750, 799, 800, 801, 802" E. Brunner. "Is that her name? Or someone else in the household? Does she even live here?"
Tannehill returned to the elevator bank and pressed the button for the next car. He walked directly to 802 upon alighting from the elevator and stopped abruptly.
"What now?" He pressed his ear against the door listening for signs of life inside. All he could hear was the rush of blood coursing through his ears.
Shrugging, he knocked and waited. Nothing. Knocked again. Nothing. No one home.
He heard signs of life from his new friend's apartment in 800 and decided to wait in the hall. After another ten minutes passed, the tall brunette he'd spotted through the window the evening before - Sugarbaker's wife, he guessed - emerged from the unit.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Sugarbaker?"
"Yes?" His improvisation was paying off much better this morning than the evening before. He'd need to deprive himself of sleep more often.
"I'm a friend of Ms. Brunner's," fingers crossed he was guessing residency correctly, "and she told me to meet her at her door this morning to help her with some items. You don't happen to know if she's home, do you?"
"Emily?" Paydirt. "We don't really chat too much. She just moved in about a month ago. How did you know my name?"
"Emily," the name rolled off Tannehill's tongue with newfound confidence "talks about you and your husband all the time. She always mentions what pleasant neighbors you are."
Mrs. Sugarbaker perked up at this response. "Really? That's odd, we've never exchanged more than a couple of words in passing. I listen to her play jazz records through the wall, and I've always been keen to learn more about jazz but haven't found the nerve to ask her. I really never expected she thought anything of us."
"Well, something you said made an impression."
Mrs. Sugarbaker smiled. "I'm sorry, Mr.?..."
"Roberts."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roberts, but you'll have to forgive me. I'm running a bit late for an appointment otherwise I'd offer you a cup of coffee. I'm sure she'll return shortly."
"Thanks for the offer, but I understand." Tannehill sucked his teeth in mock exasperation, "With Em you never can tell. She's a bit flighty from time to time. Nice to meet you, though."
"Pleasure to meet you as well." She walked past him to the elevator. Tannehill remained in place to reflect on his morning's work a moment longer. Emily Brunner, jazz lover.
[Author's Note: I'm back. This edition was 1158 words for a running total of 6197. I should be back on my normal weekly Sunday schedule until my next trip...]
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