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very good idea.

Chapter 6
    We drove over to Lottie Schmidt’s apartment in Lou’s car. It was hardly a comfortable ride. And I’m not speaking physically. While neither of us did much talking, Lou’s resentment toward me was only too apparent. I mean, I could feel it.
    Lottie, Lou said, lived only a few blocks from Hedden Circle, where the shooting took place. “There are just a couple of office buildings at the Circle—that whole area is being rebuilt,” he informed me. “The killer picked a pretty good spot for doing the deed. Things get pretty quiet around there after six p.m. Most people have already gone home for the day.”
    “I’m surprised the Schmidt woman wasn’t nervous about walking her dog on a street like that,” I commented.
    Lou chuckled. “Wait’ll you get a look at that dog.”
     
    Lottie Schmidt was a tall, angular woman with a no-nonsense manner. She was approaching sixty.
    Trevor Schmidt was a short, stocky pit bull who also had a no-nonsense manner. He was around three.
    And he terrified me.
    The thing is, there are dogs—which I love—and then there are pit bulls—which, as far as I’m concerned, are a whole different story. I’m just not able to relax until I’ve put some distance between me and any pit bull I happen to meet up with. And the greater the distance, the better. So at my request, and over his extremely vocal protests, Trevor was hauled off to the bedroom, where he had to content himself with frequent and unproductive lurches at the securely closed door.
    “What did you forget to ask me?” Lottie put to Lou after settling herself on the sofa.
    Lou gave her a nice, friendly smile. “Nothing, really. It’s only that Ms. . . . uh . . .”
    He was obviously having difficulty with the introduction, so I helped him out. “Detective Shapiro.” (Well, I was a detective, wasn’t I?)
    “Yeah,” Lou concurred. “Detective Shapiro will be participating in the investigation from now on, and I’d like for her to hear about Wednesday night in your own words. Would you mind?”
    “I suppose not. But I wasn’t much help when I talked to you Thursday. Or to those two young cops who showed up at the scene on Wednesday night. So don’t expect any great shakes today, either. I only know what I know.” She shifted her focus to me “What do you want me to tell you about?”
    “I’d really appreciate it if you could go over everything again—from the beginning.”
    “All right,” she answered tersely, looking none too pleased by the request. “Trevor and I were walking down Hedden Circle when I saw that fellow Vincent. He was heading into the parking lot across the street from the Lacy Building. A second man was following Vincent into the lot, maybe six or seven feet behind him. It appeared to me the second man—the killer—called something out, because Vincent turned around to face him. An instant later Vincent was on the ground. It happened like that.” She snapped her fingers to illustrate. “Then, before I’d even taken in that he’d been shot, the killer was bending over Vincent’s body.”
    “About how far from the parking lot were you at the time?” I asked.
    “I was on the other side of the street. Just a few feet further, and I’d have been directly opposite the two of ’em.”
    “And the shooting took place around eight o’clock?”
    “Around. But I could still see what went on, if that’s what you’re getting at. The lot’s lit up pretty good, and anyhow, Vincent was standing under a light.”
    “About the second man’s leaning over the victim . . . any chance he was trying to help him?”
    Lottie stared at me like I was missing a marble or two, after which she snorted. “Not on your life. He was trying to rob that Vincent fellow, that’s what he was doing. Listen, it was him that did the shooting. Had to be. There wasn’t another soul around.”
    “Okay, what happened next?”
    “I started yelling bloody murder. Scared the daylights