It took about thirty seconds sitting with my head lowered, breathing slow and easy, before the nausea subsided to a safe level. I crossed my hands across the network of pain lacing through my rib cage and gingerly felt for any cracked ribs. I could just barely hear the sirens outside the apartment building over the fire alarm in the hall.
"Philip," I said. "You shouldn't be here when the firemen and the police arrive. Too many questions."
Philip Castler still sat on the floor where Hans Mueller had dropped him. He swallowed visibly. Angry, plum-colored bruises were sprouting around his neck where Mueller's fingers had dug deep into his flesh. He swallowed again, started to speak, coughed weakly instead, and simply nodded.
Ernst Vielstich bent solicitously over me. It was weird, almost surreal, looking up into the short man's face for the first time.
"Miss Avalon," he said, "should you not do the same? I'm sure the questions they ask will not be easy." He nudged his toe against the splintered door lying in the middle of the floor and the shattered window, as if in support for his argument.
"No offense, Ernst," I said, "but I don't think the police will ever believe that you fought off an intruder alone and got away to pull the fire alarm."
"This is true." He looked over at Castler. "Mr. Castler?"
Castler scraped himself up off the floor and stood unsteadily, leaning on one of the bookcases.
"We... how do we stop him?" he rasped.
I stood, feeling my ribs creak and complain like the rafters of an old house in a storm.
"Here." I handed him my card. "Call me on my cell phone in about an hour. In the meantime, get ahold of your wife and tell her to take the kids to visit Grandma or something. Wherever she goes, she should get out soon. Your whole family is a potential target."
He nodded and made his way toward the door.
"Take the stairs," I said. "Go up to the top floor, then come all the way down in the elevator. Then you won't look like you came from this floor."
"Will the elevator work with the alarm system tripped?"
As if in answer, the alarm in the hallway suddenly shut off, leaving a silence that felt like my eardrums were straining outward against a pressure that was no longer there.
"They'll be up here quick to find out why someone pulled a fire alarm when there's no fire," I said. "Go!"
He disappeared through the doorway.
"And what is our story, Miss Avalon?" asked Vielstich.
I looked around the room.
"Show me one of your least valuable books," I said.
He arched a white eyebrow at that, but moved to a bookshelf and tugged on the black leather spine of a fair-sized volume. He handed it to me. It was a history of metallurgy in the nineteenth century.
"Thanks," I said. I stood as close to the window as I could and hucked the book through the empty pane, wincing as my torso protested.
The book spun like a frisbee to land neatly on the rooftop of the building across the alley.
I said, "Let's make our story sort of true in the broad outlines. I was here, consulting with you on your stolen book. In burst another customer of yours, probably stoned, and upset about the purchase he made. When he became violent, I grappled with him while you went out to pull the alarm. He heard the bell, through the book through the window, and took off. Easy enough to remember?"
"Of course," said Vielstich, deadpan. "That is, after all, exactly what happened."
** ** **
The firefighters were miffed at being called out for no reason, but as soon as the police arrived, the firemen were more than happy to leave it in their capable hands.
The police didn't want to swallow it at first, not so much from a specific suspicion of our account as from an ingrained habit of disregarding the first explanation they're given. But the door held a dent in the shape of Mueller's bootprint right below the apartment number, and the book was visible like a perfect piece of set dressing on the far roof, its pages fluttering accommodatingly in the breeze.
The officer who took charge, a tall and hefty fellow named Campbell whose athletic physique was starting to lose ground against the force of gravity, eyed the shiny deadbolt still firmly bolted to the detached door, splinters from the doorjamb hanging from it.
"A deadbolt's not much good when the door itself's made out of balsa wood," he said. "The door's probably original to the building, and the building was built back when people weren't expecting much trouble in eighth floor apartments. Invest in something a little more heavy-duty, alright?"
"Certainly, Officer," said Vielstich. "After all, I will be shopping for a new door anyway, yes?" He smiled his half-smile, and Campbell smiled back in a way that said that the investigation was effectively over.
The super had been out when the alarm went off, and got up to Vielstich's floor just as the police were dotting their
i's. He nodded dutifully as the police routinely pointed out possible security upgrades, and promised Vielstich a new door and frame first thing in the morning.
When the officers had left, gently refusing Vielstich's offer of tea, he found his broom and began sweeping up what he could. The officers had helpfully tipped the door up against the wall beside the gaping doorway.
"Ernst," I said, "you can't stay here. Mueller could come back, and you have no door."
"He was not here for me."
"We don't know that. All we know is that he was angrier at Castler."
Vielstich leaned the broom against a bookshelf and thought a moment.
"Can we secure the door in some way?" he asked. "I would hate to leave my collection undefended."
We called the super, who agreed that an aged man simply couldn't stay in an apartment without a door overnight, and volunteered to bring up some plywood to nail over the doorway until the carpenters could get there in the morning. After all, they would have to replace the doorjamb anyway, and probably some drywall around it.
I hung up the phone. "Pack an overnight bag," I said.
"Yes," he said. "I believe that the hotel around the corner offers reasonable rates."
"Nothing doing," I said. "I need you somewhere I can keep an eye on you, and have you around to answer questions for me. You're staying at my place."
His protests were proper and dutiful, but it was a foregone conclusion that in the end he'd sigh and take it like a man. He vanished into his bedroom, returning in five minutes with a packed leather satchel.
"Let me get one or two books," he said. "For reference."
He browsed his shelves, humming tunelessly, and pulled a couple of volumes from different shelves. By the time he had them stowed in the outside pocket of his satchel, the super was outside with his plywood and hammer.
"This is turning into quite a little adventure," said Ernst Vielstich with an amazing knack for understatement.
