The old woman cringed. She moved down to the far end of the hall. It was dark down there. The wallpaper was a mess. The door was splintered and the floor sagged.
“In there,” she said. She made a face at Elrick as if she was getting ready to spit. In spite of himself the big cop winced. He waited until she had gone, then opened the door.
He walked into a small room even dirtier and more sorrowful than the hallway. It was small and the single window hadn’t been washed for a year. There was a chair and a dresser and a bed. And on the bed was a girl in her late twenties. She had yellow hair. She wore a dress that at one time had been something to see. Now it was a rag. She was resting face down and there was an alcoholic rhythm to her respiration. On the floor was an empty gin bottle.
He closed the door and walked to the bed. For a few moments he looked down at the girl, shaking his head slowly. He was remembering when she had been a kid in pigtails, running gaily home from school.
There was a pitcher of water on the dresser. He grabbed it, dipped fingers into the pitcher and gently turned the girl’s head. His fingers flicked water.
Her eyes opened. They were pale blue. They blinked and then they narrowed. Gladys sat up, looked at the dark blue uniform and mechanically she was on the defensive.
“What do you want?”
“I’m Officer Elrick. Sure, Gladys. Sure, you remember me.”
“I don’t know from nothin’.” She was no longer in an alcoholic fog. This was a cop.
“What am I supposed to do — sing a song?”