Apartment 24

Apartment 24

by Angenette Lilly

According to Jess, there were three things that every smart woman should remember: 1) never trust a man, 2) never ever trust a man, and 3) never ever ever trust a man. It was that simple. But even smart girls have moments of stupidity followed by moments of disbelief.

Tidbits. Slivers. Pieces of glass. That's what the burglar who robbed apartment 23 and 24 on Randolph Street West on Friday afternoon had left behind and not much more, at least nothing that Jess found of interest, nothing that really meant anything to her... not anymore.

"Mrs. Manning..." the reporting officer said, scribbling quickly onto a notepad he gripped firmly in one hand.

"It's actually Ms.," Jess replied, waiting for an acknowledging glance from the short, muscular man with the bulging biceps and a too-fast step. His hand paused slightly, as if letting her words register, and then it picked up the pace again. Small, tight, cursive lettering spread evenly over the page. 

"We'll need a complete list of everything that was taken. Most of the time we never catch these guys, but if we know what they're going to be selling to the pawn shops and antique markets, we can keep an eye out and maybe get some of your things back. I hope you have some insurance." His blue eyes settled on hers, misreading her feelings. "There's no need to be afraid. Most thieves never return to the scene of the crime. They're long gone by now."

"It would be nice if I didn't believe that," Jess mumbled under her breath, her mind drifting to the man who'd robbed her apartment. 

"Excuse me?"

"Unfortunately, I know who did it, officer, and I'm sure you are right. He's long gone."

"And how can you be sure you know who it is? Did you see the perpetrator? You  didn't mention this on the call."

"The thief's name is Timothy Vargas," Jess said in a nonchalant, numb voice. "Or at least that's the name he gave me while living here for the past two weeks. I thought he was real, but now I'm pretty sure he was as fake as they come. It's probably not even his real name."

"Ma'am, I hate to disappoint you, but this was no one man job. See, one person couldn't have achieved..."

"You underestimate the thief." Jess sighed. She wanted to pound her fists in the air and laugh at the same time. Was she really this stupid, or was he just this smart? "Tim won't be pawning anything here, and I don't think you'll ever catch him." The gravity of the moment hit her in the stomach like a gulp of something rotten. "I guess I'll probably never see him again."

"Oh If he's as good as you think, then he's done this before. Maybe we can find him more easily than you think. Can you identify him if we show you some photos down at the station?"

"Maybe." Jess quickly turned, glancing at the refrigerator, her heart leaping with hope, but where was the image of the two of them, her wrapped in his arms, and his lips pressed to her cheek? It was gone. "I could look at photos but it's probably a waste of time though."

"Let me decide that. Can you describe him for me?"

"I can try, but not without telling you everything else."

The officer sat down on the edge of the velour sofa, his hand paused. "Ok. Shoot."

"It was last month--the 12th--when we met. I was working on the Hefelmeigher deal then, and Mr. Ross had lit one of those nasty cigars during the morning meeting--one of those cigars that makes anyone turn a lovely shade of grass green and immediately want to vomit, and since our office is a non-smoking office, we didn't have a tray around for him to dispose of the foul thing, and before anyone could stop him, he'd sat it on one of my decorative cup coasters, which unbeknownst to all of us, was highly flammable. The next thing I knew, I was making a mad dash out of the office to the sidewalk in front of the store with a flaming coaster because there was simply nowhere else for me to go! The rest happened so quickly that I have a hard time remembering the order. I started to throw the coaster to the ground, and I think it was mid-fall and completely engulfed in flames, and I let out a scream and was going to attempt to stomp out the fire, but before I could, I was drenched in fudgy-brown, iced coffee. The man who was holding the Starbucks cup--Timothy Vargas. He then tackled me to the ground, sopping wet, and held me there!"

The officer's forehead wrinkled slightly, and he looked up from his pad, raising his eyebrows. "Can you give me a general description of Mr. Vargas? Height? Weight?"

"Oh! Sure." Jess shut her eyes tightly, remembering him. "He's about 6'2"... about 185-190, athletic build, toned... light brown skin, almost a smooth milky chocolate, one might say. His shoulders are broad, and his arms warm and easy to fall into, like they've carried a million helpless people out of a million burning buildings. His hands are large and capable, hardworking hands, but soft at the same time. His hair is medium brown, short, slightly wavy, and his eyes... his eyes are soft, large, hazel... mostly a deep hypnotic blue with emerald and golden flecks throughout." A smile broke across her face, her heart pounding as she held on to that image of Tim. 

The police officer had to return the smile. "I don't think we have any other descriptions like that on file," he added, with a light chuckle.

Jess blushed pink, savoring that feeling. "Then you've never had Tim in custody," she whispered, letting go of the image. "There's no other way to describe him."

"So the perp drenched you in coffee, tackled you, and then asked you out?"

"No. It wasn't like that. I didn't need his help. I could have handled putting out the flames by myself, without assistance, and all he did was ruin my cream blazer and white blouse with the iced mocha. He really embarrassed me in front of my employees. I was infuriated!" Jess paced several angry steps to the left, and then she stopped. "But then he ..."

"He what?"

A tingle of electricity circled her neck and raced down her arms. "He smiled. It was such a nice smile--flawlessly white, perfect straight teeth. One of those smiles you can't not return no matter how angry or tired or sick you are? You know the type?"

"Not sure that I..."

"He told me he was a fireman. He didn't ask me out then, but he did say something like, "I'm so sorry! What an idiot! I've never been this close to a beautiful woman who was in such immediate danger and I panicked." If my brain would have been functioning instead of high on endorphines and adrenaline, I would have realized that a firefighter is exposed to lots of people, including beautiful women, routinely, who are almost always in immediate danger; a fireman should be used to it and not panic. It was all part of the plan. I see that now."

"Plan? We all make mistakes."

"Yes, and love is blonde, occasionally," Jess said, straightening her pale locks as she glanced at her reflection in the unshattered side of her sliding glass balcony door.

"Don't you mean blind?"

"No, I mean blonde, and no, he didn't ask me out that day. He waited until the next day for that."

"And I guess he showed up in uniform then?" the officer asked, leaning back on the sofa, feigning to straighten his own uniform a bit before relaxing completely.

"No... ummmm...?" Jess took a seat on the adjacent sofa.

"Dodd... Officer Dodd."

"No, Mr. Dodd, he didn't show up in uniform. In fact, I never saw a uniform... even after he moved in with me. But the thing is, there never really was one, was there? I never had any proof that he was a fireman, just his word. No, he showed up at the office with an iced coffee and scones." 

"Let's skip forward. When did he move in?"

"Coffee?" Jess asked, nerves getting the best of her. She strode across the room to the smallish kitchen and began rattling cabinets and running water.

"No, thanks."

From the kitchen, Jess answered, "Two weeks ago," while filling the Tassimo with tap water. "He moved in two weeks ago. We've spent a lot of time together over the past six weeks or so, and around the end of the month, he said his friend's place had a major roof leak and some kind of mold problem. He had an allergy. At first, he was just going to stay a few nights... until the problem was taken care of with the mold..." Jess lifted the bag of fresh ground coffee to her nose and inhaled sharply before doling out several tablespoons. "But then someone tried to break in here about two weeks ago when he was on shift. I woke up, heard them shaking the lock, and I yelled. They left, but I was a little afraid to stay by myself after that. Of course, he was more than happy to protect me and never moved out."

"So someone previously attempted a break in? Did you report this?"

Jess leaned, elbows on the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. "Report what? They didn't actually break in. They jiggled the locks and pushed on the door a few times and that's all. It was over in two minutes, tops. I screamed; they ran."

"Did you mention it to anyone else? Any one see anything?"

"I told Tim, and he decided to stay. Now that I think about it, it was too easy. Maybe it was him all along! He knew I'd be alone that night. I did let him know that I liked having a roommate and had sometimes felt afraid when I was alone. He was counting on me letting him stay."

The smell of Starbucks permeated the apartment. Officer Dodd sat his opened notebook on the edge of the mahogany coffee table, tossing a Bic on top, just to have it roll sideways and tumble to the floor. "And what makes you think Mr. Vargas could have broken into and robbed both of the apartments in question? Do you have any proof? It would be difficult, closer to impossible, for one man to do that in such a short period of time. Unless you have proof, I'd say his disappearance is coincidence, and who knows, he might even come back, disproving your theory completely."

"I don't need any proof. I don't have any, but I don't need any. Apartment 23--Mrs. Bickham; I've known her since I moved in over five years ago. I have tea with her every Wednesday because she's lonely and misses her daughter who now lives somewhere in Wisconsin with her two children. She plays Scrabble on Friday afternoon with Mr. and Mrs. Richmond over on Faraday. She's gone for at least three to four hours and sometimes more. Sometimes she even stays all night, depending on the weather.

"Apartment 24--the balcony is adjacent to Mrs. Bickham's balcony, which is left unlocked most of the time--something no one else knows, except Tim and I, because Mrs. Bickham leaves it partially open so her cat, Tomas, can come and go as he pleases. She does lock it on occasion, and I'd say this was one of those occasions. Someone like him wouldn't let that disrupt his plans though, now would they? Mrs. Bickham has antiques, and she also has paintings--quite a few of them, at least 12 or more. She tried to explain each of them to Tim and I one afternoon when we both sat for tea, and a few in particular that she pointed out, specifically, were more valued, but I can't remember ... the painter started with a K... Klimt? I think?"

"She mentioned that name."

"So it was those that were taken."

"I can't give you that information."

"You don't have to." 

"You really have no proof though, Ms. Manning. You are just playing detective, which can be dangerous, you know. You have, at best, circumstantial evidence, and you are pointing at someone who has only been gone for how long?"

"He kissed me awake this morning. We had breakfast. I came home to broken glass around 2 pm."

"I hardly call that disappearing!"

"He won't be back."

"And when he comes back this evening?"

"You can arrest him for breaking, entering, and..."

"When he comes back this evening..."

"If he comes back...which he won't."

"When he does, I'll question him..."

Jess shook her head knowingly. "And when he doesn't come back?"

"He may be a suspect then, but right now, I need you to make a list of everything that was stolen for our records. Why make it look like a robbery at all? Didn't he have a key?"

Jess sat beside of the officer, grabbed his notepad, and flipped the page. "Oh, he has a key, but not to Mrs. Bickham's balcony door." She began to scrawl neatly: Ms. Jessica Manning, Apartment 24, Westover Avenue South, one four carat white gold diamond engagement ring, three gold necklaces, an Ebel women's watch, four pairs of Agave jeans, a couple of designer Oxford shirts, one pair Nike running shoes, one pair Sperry Top-Siders, some Abercrombie and Fitch shirts, a Rolex. She handed the notepad to the officer.

"And all of these are your things?" Officer Dodd asked.

"No. Almost everything that's missing  here belonged to him minus a few other pieces of jewelry and some photos of us together: hand in hand on the beach, tossing crumbs to the seagulls, snuggled side by side on the sand before sunset." 

Her lower lip and hand trembling, Jess took the pad back and started scribbling one more thing. She handed the pad back to Officer Dodd.

"I'm sorry, I can't quite read that one?" he said.

Jess tried to gulp down the lump in her throat; her chest ached as she pushed out the words, "Heart... it says my heart. That's the most valuable thing he stole, but I don't think anyone will ever find that again. Do you, Officer?"