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“I’m not ruling anything out,” I say and walk to the elevator. “But the description of the man he gave us just sounds so made up. And conspicuous. If this killer has been getting away with it for twenty years, I’d expect him to blend in with the crowd rather than stand out, wouldn’t you?”
She doesn’t say anything for a few moments, her eyes soft like they always are when she’s thinking.
“You have a point,” she finally says as the elevator doors open. “But we can’t discount it just because of that. Milo says he saw a guy in a large overcoat too.”
I nod and follow her into the elevator. “I know, and it could be this same guy. But that doesn’t mean he’s the killer.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence and exit on the eighth floor, which smells strongly of fried onion and potatoes.
Mrs. Vitan’s apartment is the first one to the right of the elevator. I ring the bell twice and can clearly hear shuffling footsteps coming from the other side of the door as I take a step back from it.
“Who is it?” a soft, raspy voice asks a moment later.
I hold my badge up so she can maybe see it through the peephole and introduce myself. “Can we ask you a few questions?”
The sound of locks opening fills the hallway and then she finally opens the door. She’s a head shorter than Eva and stooped besides, but she looks at us with very clear blue eyes.
“This is about the murder last night?” she asks, adding, “Come on in,” as I nod.
“Just straight ahead, you can sit down on the sofa, dear, you look like you could use a rest,” she says to Eva as she ushers us through a short hallway towards the living room at the end of it. “I’ll get you some water. Maybe some tea too?”
“Just water is fine, thanks,” Eva says, her cheeks flushed. She doesn’t like people fussing about her being pregnant, but this lady is very nice about it.
“Nonsense, it’s cold out there,” she says. “Go sit down. I’ll be right with you.”
And with that, she disappears into a small kitchen to the left of the living room, which is, I think, the source of the onions and potato smell in the hallway.
I lead the way into the living room, which is absolutely cluttered-up with old-style furniture that includes a large, floor-to-ceiling, dark wood shelving unit that holds about a hundred books and a small TV, enough sofa-space to sit at least six people, along with assorted side tables and lamps. I have to dodge of lot of those to get to the window beside the balcony door where a dark grey, winged armchair prevents me from getting right up to the window. But I see well enough.
The window looks onto the river, but from up high and the thick, black, leafless tree branches growing on the riverside, are obscuring the view of the spot where the body was found more than I thought they would. But you can see the walkway to and from it clearly.
“I’m thinking the lower floor apartments will have a better view,” Eva muses beside me.
“You’re not sitting, sit,” Mrs. Vitan says behind us, preceded into the room by the scent of freshly made herbal tea and honey.
We turn and Eva walks to her to relieve her of one of two steaming cups of tea and glasses of water the lady is carrying on a tray.
“You can see the crime scene from this window,” I say as I take the other glass and cup from her tray. “Did you see anything last night?”
She lets the now empty tray hang by her side and she shuffles past me to the window. “I was sitting in my reading chair when a man started shouting for help,” she says, indicating an old, dark grey winged armchair by the window that is in dire need of new upholstery. “He scared me out of my wits with his shouts. But I couldn’t see anything when I looked out the window. It was such a dark night last night. Though I did see him once he ran to the street, still shouting. I had no idea what had happened until the police came and turned on their bright lights. That poor girl.”
She grabs hold of the arm chair to steady herself.
“Did you see her here before?” Eva asks. “Maybe walking by the river.”
Mrs. Vitan smiles softly. “Lots of people walk by the river. But I knew her, yes. She lives in one of the buildings across the street. Ms. Kobe. She was very nice.”
She sighs and looks down at her feet. “I know her from the NUK library. She’s a very good research librarian. You see, I was a history professor at the University for many years before I retired and I still love reading.” She waves at the full bookshelf behind her, a lovingly soft look in her eyes. “And Ms. Kobe once dug up some very interesting sources for me to study from the time of the major peasant uprisings in the eighteenth century. She also used to bring me books when I broke my hip and couldn’t get to the library. But this was a few years ago. I haven’t seen her for a while now.”
Eva takes a sip of her tea, grimacing either at its heat or the profusion of honey in it. The single sip of mine I took scalded my tongue and almost made me gag from the sweetness.
“Your neighbor, Mr. Vidmar, says he saw a tall man in a dark fisherman’s overcoat hanging around here,” I say. “Did you see him too?”
Her eyes are still very sad as she focuses them on me. “A lot of men fish here, right where the river meets the overpass.” She points at the spot through the window. “I see them here all the time.”
“He says he saw this man last night too, looking on as the police worked,” I add. “Did you notice that too?”
Mrs. Vitan shakes her head. “Vidmar drinks. And he likes to tell stories. But he might have seen what he says he saw. Maybe it was one of the fishermen coming to see if the water is calm enough for fishing yet. It’s not. They can’t fish when it’s rushing like this from the snowmelt and the rain.”
