It was still early on Sunday afternoon when I parked my car on the pretty residential block near the corner of Broderick and Pine. The building where Ritter lived was a three-story apartment house, Italianate, clay-colored, trimmed in white, with two columns of bay windows.
He lived on the ground floor.
I rang the bell in the alcove and said my name into the speaker. Ritter’s footsteps got louder as he came to the door.
Chapter 46
JORDAN RITTER OPENED THE DOOR of his apartment, placed one palm on the doorjamb, and, taking his time, looked me over.
I was doing the same to him.
Ritter was in his early thirties, fit, unshaven, good hair, good teeth, and was wearing a T-shirt and Burberry pajama bottoms. I’d seen Avis Richardson wearing pajamas just like those.
A trend? A coincidence? Or had Avis been wearing her boyfriend’s pj’s?
“Well, look at you,” he said.
The nervy bastard was hitting on me.
“Mr. Ritter? I’m Sergeant Boxer,” I snapped. I also flashed my badge.
“Come in. Can I get you some coffee? I just made it.”
I said, “Sure,” and walked around him into the apartment.
The place had a prepackaged look, as if it had been rented furnished or bought all in one day in a department store. I followed Ritter through the living room, noticing the Sunday paper on the floor and a couple of coffee mugs on the low table in front of the couch.
Anyone with an online degree in Forensics for Dummies could’ve figured out that Ritter had had a sleepover guest. Or else he was cagey and had staged a red herring for my benefit.
In the kitchen Ritter said, “Cream and sugar, Sergeant?”
“Black will be fine.”
“Like I said on the phone,” Ritter said, “I hardly know Avis. She’s in my class this year, but apart from her grades — which were excellent — I don’t know much about her.”
I followed Ritter back into the living room and took a chair opposite the one he sprawled in.
“I think we both know that’s not true,” I said.
Ritter laughed.
“You’re saying I’m lying? Golly. That’s bold.”
“Mr. Ritter, let’s just get to the point, okay? So I can get out of here and you can have your weekend back. How well did you know Avis Richardson? I have witnesses who say the two of you were very close.”
“Aw, come on. A lot of girls like me. It’s a cliché for schoolgirls to get crushes on their teachers. I didn’t even notice Avis. That’s the truth.”
“I have photos that show otherwise.”
“Photos. Of what? Oh, now I get it. Willy Steihl has been talking to you. Don’t you know, Sergeant, how jealous these girls can get? Willy has been stalking me for most of the year.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s so. There are no incriminating photos o
f me and Avis because I hardly know her. Is there anything else?”
“Yes. In case the baby shows up, I’d like to prove that it isn’t yours.” I pulled a buccal swab kit from my pocket and said, “It’s a cheek swab. Takes less than a second.”