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As I understand it, this area is one of the oldest and some of these buildings date back to the Middle Ages.
Not the mansion we’re visiting. That’s much more recent, though far from new. Its large wooden double doors are equipped with modern, stainless steel doorbells—six, to be exact. I ring the lowest one and introduce myself to the raspy female voice that answers.
“Oh, yes, the honking and the yelling woke me,” she says as I explain why we’re here. Then she buzzes us right in once I ask that we’d like a word.
The anteroom is big enough for a horse and carriage team to pass, and hardly warmer than it was outside. The stench of damp stone is overpowering as we cross it and ascend the stairs to the first level.
“So many of you,” the woman I spoke to on the intercom says as we reach the wide hallway where the residential part of the mansion starts. She’s standing in a lit doorway, wearing a robe over a floor length nightgown and fluffy white slippers.
She’s very thin and short and slightly stooped. But judging by the position of the door, her apartment must overlook the Zois Street. I just hope her eyesight is good.
I show her my badge and explain briefly what we need to know.
“I didn’t see anyone running across the street,” she says. “I just heard that taxi driver making a lot of noise. He was standing in the middle of the street, yelling curses. Such a vulgar man.”
“I saw someone running across the street,” a woman says behind our backs.
She’s about my age, with long curly hair forming a cloud around her head and shoulders, and she’s standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the upper floors, wrapped in a plaid white and black blanket.
“What did you see?” Eva asks.
“Well, I was up, painting, or trying to,” she says and chuckles as she approaches. Up close, it’s evident that the track suit she’s wearing is covered with streaks and blotches of multicolored paint. There’s some on her forehead too.
“Basically I was just looking out over the river and bridge, thinking,” she says, chuckling again. “And I saw someone walking along the river. I don’t see a lot of people out this late, especially in such shitty weather, but that’s not the only reason the person caught my attention.”
She clears her throat and wraps the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“Why did the person catch your attention?” Eva asks and I’m happy to let her take the reins on this one, since this woman seems to be one of those starved for attention types that will make us drag every word out of her. I have no patience for that dance right now. But at the same time, she could prove a valuable witness.
“Because of how creepy he looked,” she says in a voice filled with exaggerated awe. “He was wearing this floor length black coat and a shapeless cap on his head. I would hate to run into him in the night, I’ll tell you that.”
I wish she’d tell us everything without these pauses for effect, or whatever she thinks she’s doing. Her eyes, no, her whole face is bright as she looks at each of us, gauging our reaction to her words.
“Can you describe him more fully?” I ask.
She looks up at the dark ceiling and I get the distinct feeling she’s going to start making things up.
“Well, he was tall for one thing, and wide, muscular-like, I mean,” she says. “And that black coat made him look even bigger. Like a giant, almost. He reminded me of one of those monsters from slasher movies. You know, like Jason or Freddy Krueger, though that one was skinnier… which one am I thinking of… a really scary dude from a horror movie…”
She looks at each of us like she’s expecting for us to start throwing out names.
“Did you get a look at his face?” I ask instead.
She shakes her head in an exaggerated way, her eyes very wide. “That’s just it. He had this mask on. Black like his coat. All I could see were his eyes. Icy blue and so cold.”
There’s no way she could’ve seen the color of his eyes, but there’s no point in getting into that argument with her. And I’m sure she would argue if I tried.
“Was this the first time you saw him?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes.”
But then her eyes lose their focus. “Although, maybe not,” she adds. “Might be I’ve seen him before. Prowling the riverside… just walking around, you know. But I never saw him so clearly before though. And he looked right up at me before crossing the street, as though he could feel me looking. It sent shivers right down my spine, I’ll tell you. And then that taxi almost ran him over… “
She shivers in an exaggerated way.
“And you’re sure it was a man?” I ask. “Could it have been a woman?”
She looks at me with wide eyes and a very mocking, condescending expression in them. “No. It was a man. Definitely.”
