Murder in Alphabet City (5 page)

6

B
ACK AT
C
ENTRE
Street, Captain Graves agreed to request an interpreter from the deputy commissioner of community affairs. Mrs. Constantine would be reading a report at some point and the less she had to criticize, the happier everyone would be. He put in the call to the DCCA himself, and before the day was over, Police Officer Roberta Chen called to say she was available tomorrow. She was a liaison to the Chinese community and language skills officer assigned to One Police Plaza, near enough to the Chinese community that she could respond if there was a need for her face and language skills. Jane gave her a time and place and a little background.

“They'll talk to me,” Chen said, “but they may not say much.”

“Anything they tell you is more than they told us.”

Defino sat at the typewriter and tapped out his Fives.

“I checked up on your super,” MacHovec said over the din. “He's clean. The Chinese laundry's had their problems. Lotta complaints against them a few years ago—the usual, lost shirts, damaged sheets—but nothing much recently.”

“Thanks, Sean.”

“And I called the owner of the building.” He pulled out a page of notes. “The renovation was on paper before Stratton died, but no one had been informed yet. It took them a while to clear the building, no surprise there, and then it was over a year till it was livable. I've got the names and new addresses of a couple of the old tenants.” He passed the sheet to Jane. “The one on top, Komiskey, I don't know if he's still alive. Landlord said he was pretty old when he moved.”

“We'll take a look. Thanks.”

“Least I could do while you were freezing your asses out there today.”

“That's what we were doing.” She read the list, written in MacHovec's large dark print. There were only three names. “Where'd the others go?”

“He thinks Florida for one, living with a daughter for another. This was all he had.”

“We can do it tomorrow. That and the laundry.”

“Then what?” MacHovec said.

“I don't know. Maybe we try prayer.”

Before they got that far, they would have to walk through the park with Stratton's photo and talk to the people there. Gentrification had brought young couples and families, most of whom hadn't been there when Stratton died. But there was always a chance that someone sitting in the park or jogging or taking a walk would remember him. Beyond remembering him, there was probably nothing, but it counted as a Five.

MacHovec left, Defino finished his angry typing and ripped the last Five out of the machine.

“Jeez, they don't weigh much.”

“A few more tomorrow.” She repeated her conversation with the interpreter and showed him MacHovec's list of tenants who had moved. “They're all right there.”

“Too bad. I thought maybe this time I'd get a trip to Florida.”

“You can have it. I'm going home and making a fire.”

“See you tomorrow.”

The fire roared and crackled. She had picked this apartment because of the fireplace. It was in the Sixth Precinct, where Jane had worked for ten years. An NYPD rule prohibited cops from living and working in the same precinct, so she knew her days at the Six were over. With that fireplace, she would never leave. Changed into a sweatsuit, she scanned her mail, tossing most of it without opening it.

After dinner she sat in the living room facing the fire and the TV. Nothing appealed to her on the screen so she shut it off, grabbed her book and a beer, and began to read. The phone rang soon after and she took it over to her seat.

“Jane? How the hell are you?”

“Flora, hi. I'm doing fine. Sitting in front of a real fire.”

“Don't rub it in. I take it you're back on the job.”

“I went back last week. I was getting antsy at home. You know me. And the police surgeon OK'd it.”

Inspector Flora Hamburg knew her better than almost anyone else on the job. “You staying with the cold cases?”

“Yeah.”

“You get tired of it, let me know. I still have a little power around here and I get a kick out of throwing it around. All your bruises gone?”

“I feel fine. I've been checked out from head to toe.”

“Just looking after you. How's your love life?”

“That's an unusual question coming from you.”

“I decided that, after twenty years of nonstop policing, maybe you should give a thought to something a little sexier.”

“Let's just say I'm between relationships. No one at One Thirty-seven Centre is even mildly seductive.”

“Seductive. I wouldn't think so. I hope they get their shoes on straight, that crowd. Except for Graves, but he's not available.”

“I don't go out with men who aren't available.”

“I'm glad to hear it. You feel like dinner next week?”

“Sure.”

“Put me in for Wednesday. I'll call you the night before.”

If anyone on the job was Jane's mentor, it was Flora Hamburg. Homely, brash, overweight, her weapon always flapping against her hip, Flora was dedicated to the betterment of women in the department. She had steered Jane in every right direction since they had met early in Jane's career. And Jane remembered clearly the day Flora had said she would never inquire about personal relationships. “Just don't fuck where you work,” she had said, her words, as always, ringing with the sound of a command.

What had made her ask that unnerving question tonight? Jane drank the beer slowly. She couldn't possibly know. When Jane had begun her affair with Hack ten years ago, they were together so often someone might have gotten wind of what was going on, but no one had. Hack had been super careful, occasionally canceling a date when it would be better to continue an impromptu night out with the boys. Now, with the relationship far less active, the chance of anyone learning anything was significantly lower. Hack was married and Jane had stopped him from leaving his wife. It was the reverse of the old story, the married man with a million excuses for staying married. It was this unmarried woman who didn't want to break up the marriage, what was left of it, who wasn't sure she wanted to commit to a permanent union.

But it was so hard not to see him. She got up and rinsed out the beer bottle. If Flora knew, if anyone knew, it would be the end of two careers. Neither of them wanted that. But it would be so nice to talk to him tonight. It was a cold night and he was the warmest man she had ever known.

“Think about the case, Janey,” she said aloud. If only there were a case.

MacHovec didn't care. As long as he sat in a warm office with a telephone nearby, as long as the checks came in regularly, he could be counting computers in a warehouse. Defino wanted to clear cases. Wasted hours and days ate at him.

And there's me, Jane thought. She was like Defino, but she kept it to herself. She had fallen into the role of peacemaker between the two men on the team. She could tolerate MacHovec's sloppy appearance and his bending of rules because he did his part of the job well. And she genuinely liked Defino. They hadn't been together long, only since last fall, but she sensed she could count on him the way she had always counted on Marty Hoagland, her longtime partner in the Six.

On her lap was a chunk of the Stratton file. At the moment, it was doing nothing more than keeping her lap warm. She opened it from the bottom and started flipping pages from the moment the call came in eight years ago. It was all so routine except that people don't sit looking out the window when they're hungry. They reach for the phone, they put something in the microwave, they open a can. They call their sister for help. Why hadn't Stratton done any of those things?

She wrote down the name of the psychiatrist. Like everyone else in this crazy case, he was worth a Five.

Officer Roberta Chen was waiting for them on the corner of Tenth and Avenue A. Medium height, halfway through her twenties, dark-eyed and gorgeous, she shook hands with the detectives and said, “Hi, I'm Police Officer Roberta Chen. Call me Bobby; everyone does. We thought it would be better if I didn't wear a uniform.”

“Good thinking,” Defino said. “These folks didn't want to give us the time of day when we started asking questions.”

“I grew up in that kind of family. I can handle it.”

They walked to the laundry. A woman with a stroller was just coming out, cooing to her baby. No one else was inside.

“Jane, you come with me. Three people will be too threatening.”

Defino put his coat collar up, grinned, and waved them in.

Inside, Bobby Chen began speaking fluent Chinese. She addressed the old woman in the corner and the younger woman behind the counter. Even not knowing the language, Jane could see how deferential she was being.

After a short conversation, Bobby turned to Jane. “It's the daughter you want to speak to, right?”

“Right.”

Another conversation with comments from the grandmother. The woman behind the counter shook her head. A man came out of the back room and added his voice. He sounded annoyed. A customer came in and all conversation ended till she left. Then Bobby began again.

Jane became aware that the man, who had returned to the back room, was talking to someone. The second voice was faint but definitely female. She wished Defino had gone around the back. Stores often had back exits, perhaps leading to an alley behind the store. She moved toward the door and stopped when she heard a clear female voice.

“Can I help you, Officer?” The person behind the voice was taller than either of her parents. She wore black pants, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, glasses, and a short haircut. She was slim and pretty and spoke like a New Yorker.

“We'd like to talk to you,” Bobby said in English.

“This is an inconvenient time. May I meet you in half an hour? In the coffee shop around the corner?”

Bobby looked at Jane.

“We'll be waiting.”

“I thought you'd never come out,” Defino said as they walked to the coffee shop. “My hands are like ice.”

“I'm sweating,” Jane said. “How do they do it in the summer?”

“They need the money,” Bobby Chen said.

“Did you get the girl's name?”

“She calls herself Rose in English. I don't think you'll have any trouble, but I can stick around if you'd like.”

“Stick,” Defino said. “You've done OK so far.”

The girl walked in exactly as promised and sat at the white Formica-topped table with them. “My parents didn't understand,” she said. “I heard you say ‘Stratton' and I realized you were talking about the man who died several years ago.”

“We were told you went to visit him sometimes in his apartment,” Jane said.

“I didn't really visit. I brought him his laundry. Usually, he took it in himself. Sometimes he picked it up. But most of the time he wanted it delivered.”

“How did it work?” Jane asked. “Did you leave it outside the door or did he open up for you?”

“At first he left an envelope with the money. It wasn't always the right amount but my mother straightened it out when she saw him. And there was always a quarter for me. I felt very rich.” She smiled. “Then I came one day and there was no envelope. I rang the bell the way I always did and started down the stairs when I heard the door open. Mr. Stratton was there and he called me. I went back upstairs and inside the apartment.”

“What happened?” Jane asked, feeling a little queasy.

“Nothing bad,” Rose said with her beautiful smile. “He was very nice. He gave me a chair to sit down in and asked if I wanted a Coke or something else to drink. He pulled money out of his pocket and gave some to me for the laundry. Then he asked me how I liked school.”

“You stayed and talked?” Defino asked.

“Yes. For maybe fifteen minutes. Then I got nervous and asked if I could call my mother. He gave me the phone and I told her I was on my way. She was very strict and she knew just how long it took for me to get there and back so she was already worried when I called.”

“So you talked about school and then you left,” Jane said. “What happened the next time?”

“The same thing. I went in, he gave me a glass of Coke and sat me down on the chair. He asked me what I had learned in school, what I was reading, what kind of music I listened to. I didn't understand who he was and why he was asking me these things. I thought maybe he was a teacher and he was testing me. It was very confusing. But I liked it. I liked being there. I liked him. And I learned a lot from him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He told me I had to work hard in school and go to college. He said you had to go to college to be a success. I'm probably not quoting him exactly, but the message got through to me, however he put it.”

“How long did this go on?”

“I don't know. Until he died, I guess.”

“How did you find out he had died?”

“My parents told me. I don't know how they knew. They were my parents and they knew everything.” She said it seriously, as though she still believed it to be true.

Jane took out the plastic bag with the tiny beads in it. She laid it on the table in front of Rose. “Do you recognize these?”

Rose picked it up and poured a few beads onto her palm. She shook her head. “They look almost like pearls but I don't think I ever had any this small.”

“They were found in Mr. Stratton's apartment after he died. We wondered who had worn them. Did he ever wear jewelry?”

She thought about it, sipping a cup of tea. “I don't think so. He was very plain. His clothes were casual. I don't remember ever seeing a chain or a bracelet or a ring on him.”

“A watch?” Defino asked.

“I'm not sure.”

“Wasn't the laundry heavy?” Jane asked. “You were just a little girl.”