The two Shelbyville, Indiana police officers confront Kimble. He looks at both of them, nervously wondering what their next move will be.

"We saw you coming out of those apartments," the first officer says. "Are you a resident or a visitor?"

"I live there," Kimble says. “I work there, too. Maintenance,” he adds.

The officer looks at his partner, then back at Kimble. "Have you seen this man hanging around?" The officer shows him a photo of a young black male with a shaved head. The name below the photo reads, "James Clifton Pyle".

Kimble shakes his head. "No, can't help you. Never seen him before."

"Are you sure?" the driver asks as the other officer steps closer. "He hangs around here quite often, and stops to see a friend who lives in those apartments."

Kimble takes a second look and again shakes his head. "I just moved in...sorry."

The officer puts the photo away. "If you do see this young man we'd appreciate it if you'd call us right away at this number," the officer hands Kimble a card. "It's important that we talk with him." The officers turn and mount their bikes. They kick start the engines. The one officer looks back at Kimble before they both drive down the street with a deafening roar.

Kimble watches, shaken, as they drive away. Then he looks at the card and puts it into his coat pocket. The thunderstorm breaks and rain begins to pelt the street as Kimble continues on his way. He slows as he reaches the post office and turns to go inside.

15 MINUTES LATER

Kimble exits the post office and walks down the street until he finds a nearby payphone. He slips inside and look around carefully before placing a call.

"Bowers."

"Jim."

"Richard…how's it going?"

"I'm fine. Maggie's going to send me a copy of Helen's diary, like you asked her to. I'm going to see if I can spot anything that can help my case."

"That's good, Richard. I've looked it over myself, but there may be passages that will be more significant to you. I've talked to Becca Ross. She's going back to work at Ross Industries, looking for any evidence of dealings with Charnquist or Alcini or someone named Gagomiros. One of the entries in Helen's diary indicated she saw a one-armed man at Ross Industries. I marked the entry for you. If you see anything else that will help, let me know. We need solid evidence showing Charnquist had both motive and opportunity in order to get an appeal."
 
"I better go. I'll keep in touch. Thanks."

"Take care, Richard."

INSIDE THE APARTMENT BUILDING

In Apt. #215, the Asian woman is in the kitchen putting away the last of the groceries. She goes over to the sink and pours herself a tall glass of water, then takes a seat, drinking thirstily. The loud music is clearly giving her a headache. She gets up tiredly, goes into the hall and taps on a door. "Kim! Turn your music down!"

Kim comes to the door. "Sorry, Mom, I didn't realize you were home."

"The neighbors can hear. We have new neighbor next door. What he think?"

"He's just the janitor, Mom. I heard the landlord telling him he could stay in the apartment until he finds a new tenant. Anyway, he's not there. I saw him leaving."

"He here yesterday!" her mother answers sternly. "Maybe he not here today because music too loud. I worry that man complain to landlord."

 The mother glances over her daughter's shoulder as if she almost expected to see someone else in the room. She starts speaking rapidly in Chinese.

"English, Mom. You can't learn the language if you hardly ever use it."

At her mother's stern look, she says resignedly, "I'll talk to him. Look, Mom, I've got to get to work." The daughter closes the door again and her mother returns stoically to the kitchen.

As Kim walks out the door, she sees Kimble returning carrying a newspaper. Kim hesitates, wanting to speak with him, but uncertain how to start. As he puts his key in the lock, she addresses him. "Um...was my music bothering you earlier?"

Kimble shrugs. "Just a bit."

"Sorry," Kim says, looking embarrassed. "I'll keep it down from now on."

"Thanks. Actually, I hear a lot worse from the other side," Kimble says with a smile.

"Yeah, the walls are kind of thin." As Kimble nods in agreement, she adds hastily, "My name's Kim, Kim Yuen. I live with my mother next door."

"David Peterson."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Peterson. I'll see you around. I have to get to work." Kim heads down the stairs as Kimble turns and goes into his sparsely furnished apartment. He puts the newspaper down on the end table by the bed and crosses to the window, looking both ways for a possible return of the police. All he sees is Kim walking down the street and waving at some friends in a passing car. With relief, he lays down on the bed.

NEXT