But did I answer Fingers questions. I did, honest. Evading all the while.

Sort of like this?

“Someone's been copying the graffiti on Dundas West?” I suggested. Unfortunately it wasn't far of the mark..

He looked at me, twisted his lips.

“Thought you’d be like that. Captain is sending in an expert,” he told me. “The man asked me to call in whoever interviewed the man. What can you tell me about the tenant, Billingsly wasn’t it? West end artistic type?”

Apparently Fingers wasn’t so impressed by this kind of occult. Maybe dream catchers and peace pipes were more his style.

It had been six months, I didn't remember the man that well. I offered what I remembered.

The guy had been quiet, dressed neat, his references worked out fine, yet a job downtown working for some investment firm. Preston and Galloway. Maybe he had green eyes?

I couldn’t even remember his name before looking it up again on the computer. Come on, there are twenty five floors here and twenty apartments a floor. You do the math. I either remember the ones who cause trouble, rusty wheels or the good looking woman tenants. I am a male and breathing human being after all.

I was aware that Fingers was watching me closely as I replied. I shrugged, there wasn't a whole lot else I actually knew for sure. Not offhand. I hadn't really made an effort, to look things up.

“Every time an apartment opens up we get a couple hundred applicants,” I told him. “This part of town is in demand you know. Half of them look the same. Twenty something hipsters looking to hang around the west end and spend Friday and Saturday night trolling the party district.

It wasn't like I'd been asked yet.

“I’ll get Teresa to give you all the paperwork.,” I told him. “But really, beyond five years of gainful employment and a less than memorable interview, I can’t really tell you much about him. Didn’t seem to be this kind of an artist, though. He had a job in financial services I think.”

He nodded, and replied that will be helpful, but I could tell there was a glint in his eye. Ever since he invited his ancient grandfather up to my place he’d been a little suspicious of me.

“Any complaints made by the neighbors before,” he asked

I shook my head, the guy’d pretty quiet as expected. Didn’t even complain when one of the elevators was down a month for repairs.

The two of us fell into a bit of silence, and I looked around listening to comments by the other police workers.

“This is quite a bit,” I commented. “Isn’t it.”

“Blood, floor to ceiling,” he nodded, “and in every room.”

“Every room?” I asked some trepidation. “That seems like a lot.”

He nodded again.

“looks to be that way told me, You want to see the pictures of the body.”

I glared at Fingers aghast.

“No, no, no,” I told him to make things clear. “What the hell are you thinking.”

He grinned down at me.

“Jesus, Johnny,” he told me. “Relax. I was just kidding. It’s not like nobody ever died in this building before.”

“I didn’t like it then, either.” I replied. “Yeah Fingers, we can chat about your cases in the comfort of the pub while they don’t happen a few floors from where I live. This is a way too close to home.”

“Sorry.” He told me patted me on the back. “We’ll be through here soon.”

He might be. I’d have to handle the renovation. Well, Arturo would have to handle that. And the whole thing would probably take weeks.

“We're going to want, if you don't mind,” he started, “copies of all the tapes from the lobby and the elevators from the last day or so.”

I nodded, we'd been through the routine before, three years back. That actually, was the murderer a couple years ago where I met him.

“You think someone else was involved. That this was murder? You know we have gargoyles up top.”

“Did I say it did? There’s no sign of forced entry,” Fingers noted. “And the wounds appeared self-inflicted. No sign of struggle either, but still, I look at this and you think, could anyone have done this all this on his own?”

I studious avoided looking at ‘all this.’

“Maybe he just snapped,” I offered. “He did on Bay St.”

Maybe.

But I couldn't help shake the feeling that fate was metaphysically pointing is very pointy finger at me.

And by this point, even after just a couple minutes, I was really starting to feel caged. I wanted to get it out of the room, as soon as I could.

“Sure,” I told him. “I’ll get a copy made and put on a flash drive.”

“Great,” he told me, “I’ll send up a uniform to grab it in an hour or so.”

“Does that mean I can I go now,” I asked.

He gave me a look of appraisal.

“Just hang on another couple minutes, he told me. “At least until the expert we’re getting shows. What do you say? Then you can go back the quiet life you say you lead.”

I had the distinct feeling Fingers was enjoying my extreme discomfort.

No, I wanted to reply, but I didn't. I stayed. I actually stayed.

I really shouldn’t have.