Actually there have been more than the two mysteries the other night. There was an earlier unresolved one of my being buzzed continually while asleep and Leslie’s letting whoever it was in (his own face messed up from falling on it while drunk, he later said) and, on the same night, somebody banging on Yvann’s door, downstairs of me, while he slept. We were both retroactively and respectively told by who was with us as we slept. Since nothing came of this I was unconcerned but Yvann was aggressive towards me as someone who might’ve grassed him up and wouldn’t listen that no neighbour would be banging on his door if he was asleep and making no noise.
The other night somebody was kicking briefly at the outside secure door. Police were called by the usual suspects who have it in for the young, and sometimes for the old too if thieving Diana’s cat’s bowls is anything to go on, and an upstairs neighbour, Connor, was fingered by the caller. The police went directly if unavailingly to him. Shortly he left the block while their car was parked and came back when it’d gone.
Next morning I was buzzed by Yvann who’d locked himself out. I couldn’t let him in by use of any old-fashioned Yale key because the mortice was also locked and, Yvann said, the key was inside. How? He wanted me to phone the emergency RHP no for him. I refused, on principle; he was getting no more money out of me and had been abusive. In any case he has a phone, a mother with a phone, he could ask my neighbour Leslie to phone for him. “It’s a small problem,” I said. “Solve it.”
On the way out to the station I accosted Connor who said the incident of the night before had nothing to do with him. On his denial it had there’s no way it can be proved otherwise. While informing RHP the secure door held, I thought it better not to mention Yvann’s locked door since he’s the other target of the complainers, one of whom had been spying when I tried opening Yvann’s door for him. “Nosy git. Mind your own business,” I muttered. Another complainer said of the cracked panel, “Too many louts are housed here.” “Yes,” I Parthian shot from the stairwell, “thieving Bob,” the upstairs lease-holder, “and Rodger,” who’re behind the systematic theft of Diana’s cat bowls over several years and I compelled by invoking Olivia, the Liaison Officer, to return (by putting it by the composter where I’d find it). A glass panel cracked does not compare to the furtive persecution of a schizophrenic neighbour in order to get their small-minded way with a garden.
Yvann has since said he must’ve locked the door using the mortise key and then lost it. He didn’t think it was one of his kicked the door panel. His would simply climb over the wall and bang his door. It was one of Connor’s as Connor pretty well confirmed when he fled on his denial it was to me.