through both sides. I guess that was how the sand had leaked out. I stuck my fingers inside the mitt and felt more sand inside. THIS SIDE FACES OUT had been embossed on the outside, although the holes partially obliterated the words.
A black oblong. This was what Chad had been holding out to Nadia in the parking lot the night before she was murdered. Don’t pretend you don’t know what this is, he’d said. But what was it?
I went back to Mona’s kitchen for a clean plastic bag. It was when I was putting the black mitt in the bag that I felt the image stamped into the fabric just below one of the holes. I held the mitt under the light. The design, a kind of trefoil, looked familiar, and I frowned trying to remember where I’d seen it. As I turned the mitt sideways to fit into the resealable bag, I suddenly recognized the design—the pink-and-gray scrolls Nadia had painted on the Body Artist looked just like this.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck. This was what connected Nadia to Chad. But what was it? When Chad saw the scrolls, he was sure that Nadia was making fun of him. I stared at the mitt in the plastic bag, then pulled the butcher paper from my purse and put it in the bag with the mitt.
I looked around the apartment. What else had I overlooked when I was here before? I went through the garbage in the bathroom, the bedroom, and the kitchen, but I only found a discarded razor blade, a bunch of tissues, and some fairly ripe banana skins. If I had infinite resources, I’d bag all the garbage and send it up to Cheviot for analysis, but the mitt seemed the one important item. I finally left, putting the hasp back in the padlock.
Just as the elevator doors opened, I decided I needed to be more thorough. I went down the hall to see who had come out to watch me. As nearly as I could tell, it had been the third apartment on the left. I knocked, several times, and finally a woman of eighty or so peered through a crack in the door.
“I’m V. I. Warshawski.” I flashed my ID at her. “I’m a detective working on the Vishneski case. You seem like the only observant person on this floor. Have you seen people coming in and out of the Vishneski apartment besides the family?”
“Can I see that ID of yours again, Missy? How do I know it’s not a fake?”
“You don’t, of course.” I held it up to the crack in the door.
The State of Illinois, Division of Professional Regulation, had duly certified that I had completed all required training, and was of good moral character. I could be a licensed private detective. The woman frowned from the card to my face and decided we were the same person, even though it didn’t have my picture on it.
I repeated my question. The hall was so dimly lit, I couldn’t believe she’d be able to identify anyone even if she’d noticed them.
“I haven’t seen anyone. Of course, Mona Vishneski, when she came home Monday, that was a shock for her to find her door broken in like that. I don’t know why the cops thought they had to do that. When I heard the noise, well, it woke me up—I’m sure it woke everyone up. Only, you know what people are like, don’t get involved, MYOB. That’s what gets people killed, too much MYOB—”
“Right,” I interrupted. “I could tell you’re a concerned citizen. What about the night before the police picked up Chad? When did he come home?”
Her mouth scrunched up in thought.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was watching TV in the front room and heard them going down the hall, him and his buddies. He knew they made too much noise, but he isn’t careful about it. That one time Mr. Dorrit complained, Chad swore at him in an ugly way, and it really did frighten us. He’s so big, you know, and he’s a soldier. If he shot us, he’d just tell the judge he was protecting America from terrorists and the judge’d let him go.”
I started to wonder how reliable anything she said might be, but she knew where she was heading.
“See, that night, that night he shot that woman in the nightclub, I heard them coming off the elevator. And I just peeked, you know. Turned out