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The vicinity of my apartment seemed to be free from any signs of leech-like appurtenances or, still worse, unwanted observers, at least as far as I could tell after a very long and close period of observation. I used another one of my stealthy approach routes as a caution, and made it my business that anyone who was hanging around was minding their own business. Satisfied at last, I made my inside and up the stairs. The building was quiet in the early evening, as it usually was: no music played, no sounds of arguing couples or howling infants, no groans or cries of pain or pleasure. Just a restful silence. It was another reason why I had chosen this place. I opened my own front door with my own key and pushed it wide, then stopped dead. There was something out of place. I am an unrepentantly tidy housekeeper, with a place for everything and everything in its place. I like to be able to move around my own apartment with my eyes closed without bumping into things, and still be able to find the coffee jar in the cupboard by touch alone. There was a dark lump in the middle of the floor, next to the easy chair and the side table with the chess set, visible even in the gloom of the unlit apartment. I hadn't left anything there. I wasn't expecting any deliveries. I reached over and switched on the electric light - a low-powered version of the technology used by humans, adjusted to the lower light levels preferred by Goblins - to take a closer look at the object on the floor. It was a bundle of dark material that looked as if it contained a body, a bundle that I thought I recognised. It was the bundle I had last seen being carried over the broad shoulders of Drummond, Monzie Hosh's right-hand man, assisted by the bright-eyed Clathy Dupplin. Time to call the cops, again. This was getting to be a habit. "This is getting to be a habit," Inspector Luncardy said, pointing at the body on the floor with what must be quite literally the Long Thin Arm of the Law. I nodded. I had to agree. It was another bad habit I seemed to have acquired in recent days, having dead bodies dumped at my residences. It seemed that somebody was trying to send me some subtle and understated message, and I wished I could work out exactly who - and what - it was. I had called Luncardy direct, rather than the generic police emergency number, on the principle of "better the devil you know". To my great good fortune - although I didn't necessarily appreciate it at the time - she had been on duty and took my call immediately. She had responded to the description of my circumstances with a few terse grunts and a similar number of sharply-pointed questions, then barked: "Stay where you are" before slamming the phone down. She had arrived in about ten minutes, bringing no less than four assorted uniformed types with her. I guess coppers like Luncardy don't feel in control without a few underlings to boss around. After all, she wouldn't want to get her hands dirty doing things herself; rather, she would content herself with directing others from her appointed spot in the centre of attention. I had been standing outside my own apartment door when Luncardy's team arrived, smoking the second of two cigarettes in quick succession and trying to get the sickness in my stomach to settle. As always, she was all business and no time for anything resembling casual small talk. She strode forward, brushing past me in her haste to get to the scene of the crime, and bent to inspect closely the bundle in the middle of my living-room floor. The Inspector lifted the edge of the cloth that covered what I expected to be the face and flicked it aside. She had been so closely followed by her team that, for a moment, I could not see whose deceased form had been so kindly delivered to my door. Then the minions parted and I could just make out somebody I knew. "Mister Monzie Hosh," I breathed, "Departed, I guess, for a better place." I was not really surprised, not after what I had witnessed at the Starfield Club. But I was beginning to get distinctly cross. Somebody was trying to take me for a sucker.
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Part 65