Page 10 of So Lethal

He sighed and shook his head. “No idea. Everything was fine when I left for work.”

“What time was that?”

“Nine-fifteen. I take the train to Fremont. I work for BART as a scheduler, so I get to ride for free. I start at ten, but I like showing up fifteen minutes early so I can grab a danish and a cappuccino from the vending machine and a copy of the Mercury from the newsstand at the Fremont station.”

Maybe it was a San Jose thing to be especially talkative with strangers. Not that Faith was complaining. “I’m Special Agent Faith Bold. This is my partner, Special Agent Michael Prince, my K9 Turk, and Detective Ferris of the San Jose Police Department. Do you mind if we come in and talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” the man replied. He looked at Turk. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”

“If you’re nice, he’ll be nice.”

The man shrugged, apparently satisfied with that answer. “Come on in.” He left the door open and shuffled deeper into his apartment. “Names Cliff, by the way.”

“Is that your last name or your first name?” Ferris asked.

“First name. Last name is Kowalski.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Michael replied.

The apartment was modestly appointed. The floor was vinyl laminate, and the woodwork was pine. The stain was fading in most places, leaving both the same shade of washed-out beige. The leather sofa and easy chair had once been of decent quality but due to age was cracking and wrinkling. It was reasonably clean, though, and it had a pleasant smell that reminded Faith of teak and tobacco.

“You folks want coffee? I still have a half-pot left.”

“I’m all right,” Faith replied. “We just had coffee.”

Cliff nodded. “If you’re in town for a while, you should check out Bert’s Bagels. Best ham-and-cheese in the city.”

“We just came from there,” Ferris said.

“No kidding? Good stuff.”

Cliff poured himself a cup of coffee, then said, “Well… Like I told you all, I left for work at nine-fifteen. Lights were still on downstairs, so I figured Monica was working late. She usually does. Most of the time, she’s out by eleven or twelve, so I didn’t think anything of it. What happened? Someone rob the studio?”

“No,” Faith replied. “Someone killed Monica.”

Cliff blinked at her, disbelieving. “Killed her?”

“Yes. Strangled her to death.”

Cliff sighed heavily. “Oh, boy. That’s horrible.” He sat down in an easy chair and looked at the wall. “Damn. Poor girl.”

“Where were you before you left for work?” Michael asked.

"I was here," Cliff replied. "I work from ten at night to six in the morning. Get home at six-thirty, make breakfast and shower, in bed by nine. Sleep until four-thirty, then wake up, make some dinner, watch some TV, iron my clothes, get dressed, and go to work."

“You don’t ever drop in to say hi to Monica?” Faith asked.

“From time to time. She and I weren’t exactly close. I mean, she was a good neighbor, and I don’t think she had any problems with me either, but we had different lives. You know how it is. They’re just people you live next to.” He sighed again. “Still sucks to hear she went that way. It wasn’t… I mean, she wasn’t… assaulted, was she?”

“No,” Faith replied.

"Oh good." He shook his head. "It's just terrible what these people do to girls nowadays. I tell my niece to make sure she carries mace wherever she goes. You never know with some people. I heard about a guy in Milwaukee who used to pretend to be a high schooler online and lure girls out to fast-food restaurants. He'd slip something into their food to make them sleepy, then take them out to the woods."

“So you heard nothing at all before you went to work? Nothing suspicious?” Faith asked.

“And no one we talk to will have seen you leave this apartment before nine-fifteen?” Michael asked.

“No, I was in this apartment the whole time,” Cliff insisted. “As for your question, Agent Bold, I heard a kind of rumbling sound around eight-thirty.”

---