Evidence or not, I wish I’d secured at least one photo of Abigail and Ken. I wanted to know if Kevin could identify him.
Nancy heard male voices in her apartment but can’t identify anyone except Tim. And she won’t be here long enough to audio i.d. Ken. Mrs. Mason? Mr. Invalid? Tim might know.
I want to know if he was here when she fell and if so, did he leave her in need of help. He can’t just get away with that.
“ All I know is someone was with her the afternoon of the 23rd and that’s the day she died, right? I heard her fighting with someone and I heard a crash,” said Nancy. “Then I heard the front door open and close but I was in the hall closet under the stairs (which is why I was able to hear them so well, there’s less insulation there.”
“There’s a twelve-inch cement wall between the units. It’s for fire protection but it helps with sound.”
“Maybe so, but I tell you I was emptying our closet and could hear two people arguing in her apartment.”
“Her closet door must have been open, too,” said Stephen, dubiously.
“I bet you heard them through the kitchen windows. Didn’t you say they were in the kitchen?”
“At some point, they must have been because they made drinks,” she insisted. “But I heard them in the living room and I heard the man leave.”
“How do you know it was the man?” asked Stephen.
“Well, who else would it be? She never left.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” said Stephen. “We’re assuming she moved to the couch after she fell and died there, but she might have roamed around the whole complex.”
“But remember Tim said he saw her---“
“No, he saw her with Ken when he opened the door.”
“There you are,” said Nancy. “Tim saw her with Ken around the same time I heard them. I’m sure it was the same time. It was afternoon.”
“That tallies with when I was expecting George and Ken and only George showed up,” I said.
“What are you trying to do, anyway?” asked Nancy. “Figure out when he was here?”
“When he was here, when he left, if he was the only one in the apartment after she hit her head.”
“But what are you getting at? What do you want?”
“She’s trying to make him responsible for Abigail’s death,” said Stephen.
“No, I’m not,” I said, too fast to have considered the idea.
“Aren’t you?” he persisted. “Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do since you found out they knew each other?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure out how she died and if someone could have saved her. She was calling me. If I’d been in the office, I’d have reached her. Tim was right there. What if he’d come back instead of stealing her car? And Ken. What if he hadn’t left her alone? What if he’d taken her to the hospital? And you, Nancy. You were home.”
“But what if she was fine when he left?” argued Stephen.
“What if she kicked his ass out?” asked Nancy. “That’s what I was hearing. They didn’t sound like they were going to see each other again soon.” She swallowed the dregs of her wine, rose and walked to the kitchen. I heard her wash the glass and the light-hearted ping of the crystal against the faucet. Stephen and I exchanged looks. He rose and took my glass, which was half full, and downed the contents.
“You know what,” she said, returning with a tin of Christmas cookies. “They sounded like we do, Stephen, when we argue about leaving Atlanta. Like the fight’s been going on forever and nothing’s going to change.”
“Like they were bored?” he said.
“Yeah, but can’t stop picking at it.”