He goes to Baltimore.
The man went on: "He doesn't talk much. In fact, he doesn't talk at all. You a detective?"
"No, although I feel like one."
"What's he done?"
Jeannie hesitated, then thought, Why not tell the truth? "I think he's a rapist," she said.
The man was not surprised. "I could believe that. He's peculiar. I've seen girls leave here sobbing. Twice, that's happened."
"I wish I could look inside." She might find something that would link him with the rape.
He gave her a sly look. "I have a key."
"You do?"
"The previous occupant gave it to me. We were friendly. I never returned it after he left. And this guy didn't change the locks when he moved in. Figures he's too big and strong to be robbed, I guess."
"Would you let me in?"
He hesitated. "I'm curious to look inside myself. But what if he comes back while we're in there? He's kind of large - I'd hate to have him mad at me."
The thought scared Jeannie, too, but her curiosity was even stronger. "I'll take the risk if you will," she said.
"Wait there. I'll be right back."
What would she find inside? A temple of sadism like Wayne Stattner's home? A gruesome slum full of half-finished takeaway meals and dirty laundry? The excessive neatness of an obsessional personality?
The neighbor reappeared. "I'm Maldwyn, by the way."
"I'm Jeannie."
"My real name is Bert, actually, but that's so unglamorous, don't you think? I've always called myself Maldwyn." He turned a key in the door of 5B and went in.
Jeannie followed.
It was a typical student apartment, a bed-sitting room with a kitchen nook and a small bathroom. It was furnished with an assortment of junk: a pine dresser, a painted table, three mismatched chairs, a sagging sofa and a big old TV set. It had not been cleaned for a while, and the bed was unmade. It was disappointingly typical.
Jeannie closed the apartment door behind her.
Maldwyn said: "Don't touch anything, just look - I don't want him to suspect I came in here."
Jeannie asked herself what she expected to find. A plan of the gymnasium building, the pool machine room marked "Rape her here"? He had not taken Lisa's underwear as a grotesque souvenir. Perhaps he had stalked her and photographed her for weeks before he had pounced. He might have a little collection of pilfered items: a lipstick, a restaurant check, the discarded wrapping from a candy bar, junk mail with her address on it.
As she looked around, she began to see Harvey's personality in the details. On one wall was a centerfold, torn from a men's magazine, showing a naked woman with shaved pubic hair and a ring through the flesh of her labia. It made Jeannie shudder.
She inspected the bookcase. She saw the Marquis de Sade's One Hundred Days of Sodom and a series of X-rated videotapes with titles like Pain and Extreme. There were also some textbooks on economics and business; Harvey seemed to be doing an MBA.
"Can I look at his clothes?" she said. She did not want to offend Maldwyn.
"Sure, why not?"
She opened his drawers and closets. Harvey's clothes were like Steve's, somewhat conservative for his age: chinos and polo shirts, tweed sport coats and button-downs, oxford shoes and loafers. The refrigerator was empty but for two six-packs of beer and a bottle of milk: Harvey ate out. Under the bed was a sports bag containing a squash racket and a dirty towel.
Jeannie was disappointed. This was where the monster lived, but it was not a palace of perversion, just a grubby room with some nasty pornography in it.
"I'm done," she said to Maldwyn. "I'm not sure what I was looking for, but it's not here."
Then she saw it.
Hanging on a hook behind the apartment door was a red baseball cap.
Jeannie's spirits soared. I was right, and I found the bastard, and here's the proof! She looked closer. The word SECURITY was printed on the front in white letters. She could not resist the temptation to do a triumphant war dance around Harvey Jones's apartment.
"Found something, huh?"
"The creep was wearing that hat when he raped my friend. Let's get out of here."
They left the apartment, closing the door. Jeannie shook hands with Maldwyn. "I can't thank you enough. This is really important."
"What are you going to do now?" he asked.
"Go back to Baltimore and call the police," she said.
Driving home on 1-95, she thought about Harvey Jones. Why did he go to Baltimore on Sundays? To see a girlfriend? Perhaps, but the likeliest