Page 75 of Deathmarch

Mike stopped by with the blue folder Harper had given him a couple of days before. “I have some updates for you, if you have a minute.”

“I have to drive Frank Carmelo home. If you want to ride along, we can talk on the way back?”

“Stop for doughnuts?” Hope glinted in Mike’s eyes. “I haven’t had lunch.”

Harper sighed. “You’re a walking cliché, you know that?”

But they stopped for doughnuts on the way there because Frank wanted some too. They waited while he painstakingly picked a dozen, all his granddaughters’ favorites. Then they drove him home, and they even walked him in. The temps had dropped below freezing again, and the driveway was slippery. If they’d thought their helpfulness would earn them some cooperation, however, they were mistaken. Frank marched into his town house and slammed the door in their faces.

Mike shrugged and gave a heavy sigh. “When you’re good-looking, some people can hate you just for that. It’s the McMorris curse.”

Harper patted his back. “You should consider cleaning your bathroom mirror.”

As Mike opened his mouth, either for a retort or a joke, the neighbor’s door opened next to them. A thirty-something woman stepped out, wearing green hospital scrubs.

“Harper Finnegan.” Harper flashed his badge. “Broslin PD. Would you mind if we asked you a couple of questions, ma’am?”

“I have to leave for work.”

“It won’t take more than a minute.” Harper descended Frank’s steps and walked over to her. “It’s about a murder case we’re investigating.”

“I don’t know any more about that than what I saw on the news. Amy Martin,” she introduced herself at last, which Harper took as a good sign and an indication of further cooperation.

“Were you home that night? Last Monday?”

“Sure. Trying to sleep. I have the early shift at the hospital on Tuesdays. Morning shift means I have to be there by six, which means I have to leave here by five, which means I have to drag myself out of bed at four a.m. to get ready.”

Harper could relate. He’d done plenty of shift work at the PD.

“By any chance have you heard your neighbor Frank Carmelo move around? Specifically, between six and eight p.m.?”

“I heard him, all right. He has his TV on the wall that separates his bedroom from mine. He was watching his prepper DVD collection. When he has that TV on, I can hear every word. I heard enough to know how to put up pickled eggs. If I get fired because I sleep through my alarm, I guess I can rent a stall at the farmers’ market.”

“Are you sure he was home? He didn’t just turn on the TV and go out?”

Amy shook her head as she locked the door behind her. “He’d pause every time he went to the bathroom. Which is every half an hour. He has prostate problems.” She gave a long-suffering sigh. “The TV would go quiet, I’d nod off, then he’d be back and waking me up all over again. I banged on the wall until my hand hurt, but he doesn’t care. He bangs right back.”

She looked Harper straight in the eye. “On nights Frank can sleep, it’s the girl on my other side. She’s putting herself through college by streaming live to the internet. People pay to watch her get naked and play with her toys. Not slut shaming. Girl power and all that. But she’s got one vibrator that I swear sounds like a sledgehammer. And then the damn moaning.”

Harper glanced at Mike, who was looking everywhere but at the woman, red creeping up his neck.

Amy Martin dropped her keys into her oversized canvas purse. “I don’t know how much longer I can go on with this level of sleep deprivation. This is how people snap.”

Harper pulled out his notebook to cross Carmelo off his list.

“I really have to go,” Amy said, mistaking the pen and paper for a sign that he had more questions. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be late.”

Harper tucked away his notepad. “We appreciate your cooperation. If you ever decide to file a noise complaint, just come down to the station.”

That had her stopping in her tracks. “Is that a thing? I could do that?”

“Yes, ma’am. You come down and ask for Officer Mike McMorris. Have a good day, ma’am.”

She nodded as she hurried past them.

“Was that necessary?” Mike elbowed him in the side. The color in his cheeks said he did not want to come back to tell the neighbor that they’d received a complaint about her vibrator being too loud.

Oh, to be a fly on that wall…