Lethal Legacy (40 page)

“There’s an outer entrance that’s kept locked?”

“Always.”

“What did you do?”

“I was in the den, turning on the television, so I
walked through the apartment to the living room. The knocking came again, and I
asked who was there.”

“Did someone respond?”

“Oh, yes. The young man spoke to me. Told me he
had a package.”

“For you?”

“That’s what has me feeling foolish. I don’t get many
packages, other than an occasional fruitcake from my niece and nephews around
the holidays. Can’t give them away fast enough.” She was spunky and quick to
smile. “‘Not for me, you don’t.’ That’s what I told him.”

“What did he say?”

“That it was a delivery for my neighbor. He even
had the name and apartment right. Miss Ziegler in two-C. Then he told me to
look through the peephole so I could see his uniform.”

While Jane Eliot was talking, I heard Mercer ask
the sergeant whether there was a list of names in the building’s vestibule. He
nodded and mouthed the word “yes.”

“My vision isn’t too good these days,” she said,
“but I can make out shapes and colors. I can see, Mercer, that you’ve got a
very large frame, that you’re a tall man, black skinned. And you’re quite tall
yourself, Alex, with lovely golden hair.”

“Thank you.”

“Mine was red,” Jane Eliot said. “Fiery red. Well,
there he was in one of those brown jackets. You know that delivery service
that’s all done up in brown?”

Tina Barr’s assailant had dressed in a fireman’s
uniform but lost his mask at the crime scene. Was he enough of a chameleon to
change his disguise less than twenty-four hours later?

“Tell me about Miss Zeigler,” I said. “Have you
ever taken packages for her before?”

“Heavens, yes. It’s hard for someone like me,
without a computer, to understand how she does it, but the girl buys everything
online—her books, her clothes, and sometimes even her food. She works for a
travel magazine so she’s on the road often, and I’m used to accepting deliveries
for her.”

“Had she asked you to take anything in this week?”

Jane Eliot bit her lip. “It’s not that I like to
look foolish, Alex. But she doesn’t always remember to ask me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with what you did, Miss
Eliot. What happened isn’t your fault. I don’t blame you for opening the door,”
I said. “Would you tell us what happened when you did?”

She inhaled deeply and continued speaking. “The
fellow pushed his way in, and that’s when I lost my balance. I didn’t fall,
thank the Lord, but I grabbed for the bench behind me and sat down on it.
That’s when he dropped the parcel—a small box—and I thought maybe he had
stumbled on something.

“Then he bent over, not to get the box, but to get
me,” she said, becoming a bit emotional. “He covered my mouth with a cloth,
with some kind of fabric that he’d soaked in something dreadful. I thought I
was going to die, young lady. I—I couldn’t breathe. I got so dizzy. I remember
the room spinning, and that’s all.”

“A few more things, if you don’t mind,” I said,
letting her recover from reliving those frightening moments. “Can you tell us
anything about the man who did this?”

“Nothing that Sergeant Pridgen found very
helpful.”

“Now, Miss Eliot,” Pridgen said. “You’ve been
terrific.”

“You called him a young man, Miss Eliot. And I
understand you have cataracts, but do you have any idea how old he was?”

“Look at me, Alex. I call everyone young.”

My turn to bite my lip.

“He was white, I know that for sure. He was an
adult, not a teenager. But I couldn’t see his features, if that’s what you’re
asking.”

“No marks on his face, when he got up close to
you?”

“Clean shaven is all I can say. Usually I can make
out facial hair if a man’s got it. Didn’t see any of that.”

“Did his uniform have any markings on it? Could
you see?”

“You mean like the name of the company? I’m sorry.
I just couldn’t tell you that.”

“We’ve checked those services, Alex. These days,
they’ve got their scanners current to the second. They can account for all
their drivers in the area,” Pridgen said. “He wasn’t legit.”

“Was the box still there when you came to?” Mercer
asked.

“I never saw it again.”

“What’s the next thing you remember?” I asked.

“My goodness, it was hours later. Almost five
o’clock. There I was, right on the very same bench. Like I was Sleeping Beauty,
gone for a long nap and never been missed.”

“Were you injured?”

“I—I didn’t know. There’s no cushion on that old
bench, so I was stiff as a board. And awfully dizzy still, with a terrible
headache. Must have been that stuff he had on the cloth. The doctors think it
was chloroform.”

“But nothing broken?”

“How many times have they had me to X-ray, Mr.
Pridgen? MRIs and all these other fancy tests.”

“I’m going to ask you something very personal,
Miss Eliot. Sergeant Pridgen has explained what my job is, why Mercer and I
work together,” I said. “We need to know whether this man touched any part of
your body before you lost consciousness.”

Jane Eliot sat up straighter and talked more
seriously. “Now, why would anybody want to do
that
?” she asked. “I’m an
old, old lady. Of course he didn’t touch me.”

It was the specifics I had to establish, whether
she wanted to hear them or not.

“What had you been wearing, Miss Eliot? Can you
tell us that?”

“Pridgen knows. A housecoat, like this one, but
light green. They button up the front so it’s easier for my arthritic shoulders
than lifting over my head.”

“And was your clothing disturbed?”

“Hard to disturb a wrinkled housecoat, isn’t it?”

“Do you have any sense that this man might have
touched your breasts?”

She put one arm to her chest and chuckled. “They
were right where I left them, Alex. He didn’t have anything to do with them.”

“And your undergarments? Did you have any type of
underwear on?”

“These young men probably don’t remember the word
‘girdle.’ I wear a firm girdle, and support hose for the circulation in my
legs. Might take a construction crew to get through all of that.”

“I’m glad to know that you weren’t molested,” I
said, “and that nothing was broken. Do you have any idea why someone would want
to break in to your home?”

“I’ve been sitting here going on four days. Plenty
of time to think about it,” Jane Eliot said. “He was either just a fool, or he
broke in to the wrong apartment.”

“Do you have any valuables there?” I asked. “Has
anyone had a chance to see what was missing?”

“I taught elementary school till they put me out
to pasture at sixty-five. Fourth grade mathematics. Multiplication tables and
time tests—everything that became obsolete with the new math. I’m at an age at
which I give my possessions away, Alex. Never had the money for fine things,
and don’t like the clutter. Had a sweet set of porcelain dolls people brought
me from all over the world, but I gave them to my niece years ago.”

“No cash that you kept in the house? No jewelry?”

“I was wearing the only piece of gold I own.
Couldn’t have missed it if he was looking for something pricey to steal. It’s
bright and shiny, and practically the size of an alarm clock,” Jane Eliot said.
“Show her, Pridgen.”

He walked to the bedside table and picked up the
watch, noting its heft before passing it to me. “I’ll tell you what, Miss
Eliot. If you had cracked the bum over the head with this, he’d have been a
goner.”

“Wish I’d thought of it then,” she said. “It’s a
man’s watch, Alex. It was given to my father after fifty years at his job. The
big size—and the large numbers—suit me well. I’ve worn it ever since he’s been
gone.”

“Fifty years,” Pridgen said to Mercer. “Today most
guys would be lucky to get a bologna sandwich and a pat on the back after
working someplace half a century.”

I examined the striking face of the old timepiece.
The famous French maker’s name written on the dial added value to the watch,
which appeared to be made of solid gold.

“He obviously missed the opportunity to take
this—it’s such a beautiful keepsake. I’m sure that would have been a terrible
loss to you. Were there any other things like this that you had hidden away?
Any reason for him to ransack your rooms?”

“Not a blessed thing for him to find, I promise
you.”

I turned the watch over in my hand and read the
inscription on the back of it.
To Joseph Peter Eliot with gratitude for
fifty years of devoted service. September 1, 1958. Trustees of the New York
Public Library.

I had begun to think the connection to Tina Barr
was a coincidence. But now my adrenaline surged.

“Miss Eliot,” I said, “your father worked for the
library?”

“Started there right out of high school, Alex, as
assistant to the chief engineer.”

“And you, did you have any direct association with
the place yourself?”

“My dear, I was born in the New York Public
Library during a snowstorm in 1928.”

“Not literally?”

“Yes, quite literally, young lady. There was an
entire apartment within the library where the chief engineer and his family
lived, till they threw us out. Needed the room after the Second World War.
Until I went off to college, Alex, the public library was my home.”

THIRTY-FOUR

“Have I tired you, Miss Eliot?” I asked. “I
think you’ve triggered some information that can help us figure out why you
were attacked.”

“I’m just getting warmed up for you. Do go on. I’d
like to be helpful.”

“A girl was murdered this week. A conservator who
used to work at the library but was involved with private collectors most
recently.”

“I heard something about it on the radio this
morning. Terribly sad.”

“Mercer and I have been all through the library.
No one said anything about an actual apartment within it. Is that what you
mean?”

“In 1908, even before the library opened, a man
named John Fedeler was named chief engineer. There was a seven-room apartment
built for him to live in with his family, and when it came time for him to
retire eighteen years later, that’s when my father got the job and we moved
in.”

“What was it like then?” I asked.

“Quite a spectacular space, really, especially
coming from a tenement in Hell’s Kitchen, where my parents had lived. It was an
enormous duplex, with an entrance on the mezzanine floor, facing the central
courtyard of the building. All paneled in the finest walnut. Big fireplaces and
leather armchairs that my mother used to sit in at night, reading to us.”

Jane Eliot seemed to delight in her reminiscences.
“It’s where I was raised, Alex. We were the envy of all the children at
school.”

“What’s become of that apartment, do you know?” I
asked, as Mercer drew his chair in as close to her as mine.

“I get invited back every few years, a bit like a
dog and pony show, to some of those luncheons. The president occasionally puts
me on display as the only baby ever born inside the place,” Eliot said. “But
the whole apartment is broken up now.”

“What’s it used for?”

“The top floor, where we children lived, that’s
all become administrative offices. There was a wonderful spiral staircase, so
we could go up and down without entering the library hallway. I suppose that’s
still in place. Our kitchen is the reproduction center—Xeroxing and that kind
of thing. And the family living chambers are where some of the special
collections are sorted out.”

“You’re saying the apartment was self-contained,
is that right?” Mercer asked. “But were you allowed into the library itself?”

“That was the great fun of it, of course. I mean,
we always had to wait until all the offices were closed for the evening, but
gradually, as time went by, Father let us have the run of the place. After
dark, mostly, when it was quite spooky, full of great shadows that came from the
streetlights outside, and an eerie quiet that settled over the enormous
hallways.”