RANSVESTIA

"Jeez, Sarge, what's he doing in Homicide if he cain't take a little blood." Dunn's voice was highly indignant.

"Sure, sure," Hamilton sighed as he turned away from the dis- appearing, stocky figure of Central's number one "gopher."

"Sergeant," the young black patrolman, who had entered with Dunn, spoke up at last.

Hamilton appeared to see him for the first time. “Ah, yes," you have something for us."

The uniformed policeman nodded. “Mrs. Mary Koslowski, wife of the building supervisor. She couldn't sleep last night. Heard a car door slam. Saw the two women enter the building. Says one of them was the tenant of this apartment."

"Show her in, show her in by all means," Hamilton beamed at the young officer. "Were there any others in the building who heard or saw anything last night?"

"Not so far, Sergeant," the patrolman was brief. "Mainly older folks, quiet, live here. Seems like everyone was in bed and asleep. Didn't hear any suspicious noises at all."

Hamilton nodded. Mrs. Mary Koslowski, an older woman nearly 60, portly, grey-haired and of a friendly disposition came into the

room.

"Ah, Mrs. Koslowski," Hamilton looked across at his partner, wondering when he would come out of his blue funk. "Please sit down and tell me about last night."

"Well, it was just like I told your other guy," Mrs. Koslowski was enthusiastic and anxious to please. "I couldn't sleep with my leg. The nerve is sciatical, or something like that, and it really hurts when I stand around a lot or bang it like I did when I jumped off the bus yesterday and ..."

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Koslowski," Hamilton's smile was kindly. "Could you tell us what occurred in the building, after midnight last night until the time you went to sleep?"

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