Murder in Alphabet City (6 page)

“I didn't think about it. My mother asked me to take it to him and I did.”

“Was anyone ever visiting Mr. Stratton when you got there?”

“Just his lady friend, but she wasn't always there.”

“Stratton had a girlfriend?” Jane failed to keep the surprise out of her voice.

“I suppose you could call her that. They seemed to know each other well.”

Defino flipped a page in his notebook. “Do you know what her name was?”

“He called her . . . I think it was Bee-Bee. I thought it was a funny name.”

“Did she talk to you?”

“Just to say hello. I think I bored her. She would sit and read while Mr. Stratton and I talked or she would go into another room. She wasn't always there when I left.”

“You think you could help an artist make a sketch?” Defino asked. “We could get someone to work with you at the station house on Avenue C.”

“I could try. I remember what she looked like. She had dark hair, long, and kind of a narrow face.”

“Where can we reach you?”

She wrote a number on his notebook page. “It's my phone. If I don't answer, leave a message. It's the number my friends at school call. My parents don't answer it.”

“Could she have worn the little beads?” Jane asked.

“She wore a lot of beads,” Rose said. “Some of them were silver, some were colored glass or stones. I don't recognize these especially, but maybe they were hers.”

“We'll set up an appointment with an artist and one of us will call you,” Defino said. “Any time good for you?”

“I have no classes on Friday afternoon.”

“Sounds good.” Defino was suddenly upbeat.

“I have to go now. Are we finished?”

“Thanks for coming,” Jane said. “We really appreciate it.”

Rose buttoned her coat and said good-bye to each of them. Roberta Chen had said nothing. Now she spoke a few syllables of Chinese. Rose smiled and responded. Then she left the restaurant.

7

B
OBBY
C
HEN TOOK
off for the subway and Jane and Defino went back to talk to Larry Vale, the super.

“You see anything in the file about this Bee-Bee?” Defino asked as they walked.

“Nothing, and nothing about Rose either. I've been turning pages and there are damn few names besides the super, the pizza place, and the other tenants. Mrs. C. didn't rule out a girlfriend, but she didn't know one existed.”

“I remember.”

They rang Larry Vale's bell. It was still morning so he might be less annoyed at being disturbed.

The door opened. “It's you. What is it now?”

“A couple of questions,” Defino said, irritation back in his voice. He didn't like this guy and he let it show.

Vale let them in. “I'm listening.”

“Did Stratton have a girlfriend?”

“I wouldn't know. We didn't talk about women.”

“You ever see a dark-haired woman go up to his apartment?”

“I told you yesterday: I didn't see people go up to apartments. And I don't remember any dark-haired women.”

“Does the name Bee-Bee ring a bell?” Jane asked.

“No.”

“We think she may have been living with Stratton.” She left it open.

“Could be. He never mentioned it.”

“Give it some thought,” Jane said, making it sound like an order. She didn't like him any more than Defino did.

“I'll do that, Detective. Are we done?”

“For now,” Defino said. Everything that came out of Defino's mouth sounded like a warning.

MacHovec had called the psychiatrist. “He'll see you at noon tomorrow but don't expect much. Stratton saw him once or twice and never came back. It's so long ago, he had to dig out the file to figure out who I was talking about.”

“It's a Five,” Defino said.

“You sound like a broken record.”

“I feel like one.”

MacHovec passed the sheet with the name and address on it to Jane. “He'll be eating his lunch.”

“Sean, take a look through the names of the tenants and see if there's a woman whose name could be Bee-Bee.”

“I've got them all here. No one's name even starts with
B.
”

“Maybe someone they interviewed in the park.” She turned pages in the file till she came to those interviews. “There was a Barbara, but she had two children, not a likely girlfriend.”

“You really think a guy like that had a girlfriend?”

“She was in the apartment. The Chinese girl saw her. Whoever she was, she had some kind of relationship with Stratton.”

“Maybe she was Social Services.”

She didn't think so, but it gave Sean something to do. Bee-Bee, she thought. BiBi. B.B. She picked up her phone and dialed Mrs. Constantine's number.

“Hello,” she said, as though she were expecting a call.

“Mrs. Constantine, this is Detective Jane Bauer.”

“Detective Bauer, yes. Do you have something for me?”

“I have a question. We think your brother may have had a woman friend whose first name was Bee-Bee. Does that ring a bell?”

“Bee-Bee. No, I can't say it does. What do you mean by a woman friend?”

“She was sometimes in the apartment with your brother. During the day.”

“Hm.”

“She had dark hair and often wore beads.”

“The little beads. Were the beads hers?” A hint of excitement crossed the wire.

“We don't know.”

“Bee-Bee. Dark hair.”

“We're going to get a sketch on Friday. Maybe that will help. I just wondered if the name meant anything to you.”

“Nothing, I'm afraid. But I'm glad to hear you've learned something new.”

“I'll call when we have a sketch.”

Defino was looking at her. Jane shook her head. “I'm thinking she may have been a groupie in the park or in one of the buildings they were tearing down. She may have liked the idea of taking care of a man who couldn't quite take care of himself.”

“Happens.”

“And after he died, she decided to grow up, give up the love beads, and have an establishment life.”

“Let's hope the picture helps.”

“You sound as if you're starting to believe.”

“I'll believe when it's a fact.” He sat down at the typewriter and started banging out his Fives.

MacHovec set up an appointment for Friday afternoon with the artist, who agreed to meet Rose in the Nine. Jane called Rose's private phone and left a message on the machine. It was such a long shot, that an eighteen-year-old could remember a face she had seen as a ten-year-old, it hardly seemed worth it, but it was all they had. Maybe this bright young woman had a photographic memory that would activate someone else's imagination.

Jane went through the list of former tenants at Stratton's building and began making calls to their new addresses. The first to answer was an old man who didn't remember Stratton and probably didn't remember what day it was. The second was an old woman who remembered Stratton but hadn't known him well. She had heard of his death from her neighbor on the fourth floor. It was a long time ago and that was all she could say about it.

The next phone call was to Irma Bender, who had lived next door to Stratton and had called the police because of the smell.

“Mrs. Bender, this is Detective Jane Bauer of the police department. I'd like to ask you some questions about your former neighbor on Tenth Street.”

“The one who died?”

“Yes, Mr. Stratton. How well did you know him?”

“I knew him pretty good. I used to knock on his door sometimes and see how he was.”

“Why did you do that?”

“He seemed a nice young man, but he didn't get out much and he lived alone and I worried about him. My son was living alone around that time and I always hoped someone would be looking in on him too.”

“You said he didn't get out much.”

“He didn't have a job. He told me once he had problems and sometimes at night . . .”

“Yes?”

“I would hear him. I couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying, but it didn't sound right. It made me feel, I don't know, crawly. You know what I mean?”

“I do, yes. Tell me, Mrs. Bender, did you notice if he had visitors?”

“Oh sure. He had food delivered sometimes, but he never opened the door till they were gone. And now and then his friends would come.”

“Did you see a little Chinese girl come to deliver his laundry?”

Silence. “I wasn't home all the time and if she was very quiet, I wouldn't hear. My hearing isn't what it used to be.”

Which might be why she never told the police or Wally Shreiber about Rose. Jane had an image of the woman cracking the door when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Nosy people made good informants. “Do you remember any of those friends?”

“It's a long time. There was a long-haired man who always wore jeans. And a couple of girls.”

“Did you ever hear any names?”

“No.”

“Did you know where they lived?”

“How could I know that?”

“You might have seen them around the neighborhood.”

“Well, I don't think so.” She sounded offended.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Bender.”

“Can I ask why you're interested in this?”

“We're just reinvestigating his death.”

“You mean it wasn't natural causes?”

“We aren't sure. Do you have any reason to believe that someone might have killed him?”

Another silence. “How could I know that? It wasn't my food that killed him, I'll tell you that. Everything I gave him I ate myself.”

“I'm sure it was great,” Jane said. She marked the name on her list. If they needed to beef up the file, they could go over and talk to Irma Bender.

None of the other names yielded anything. She sat looking over the names and her notes. “Sean,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Can you find out if Stratton had a relationship with Social Services?”

“I can try. It'll probably take them a month to dig out a file that old. But I can go down there.”

“Thanks.”

That was the only kind of legwork MacHovec could tolerate. He even knew how to charm the people over at Motor Vehicles, generally considered uncharmable. And when records from One PP were needed, he somehow managed to extract them from their drawers and boxes in less time than anyone else Jane knew.

He was on the phone now, sweet-talking someone who would as soon eat him alive as give him the time of day. “Mrs. Hartwell,” she heard him croon, “this is Detective Sean MacHovec at One Thirty-seven Centre Street. I wonder if . . .”

Jane smiled and went out for a cup of coffee, stopping to chat with Lieutenant Ellis McElroy, the second whip. He was up to speed on the case although he hadn't participated in any discussions. Built like a tank, McElroy lacked Graves's natural good looks and appeal, but he was a straight shooter.

When she got back to the office, MacHovec was putting down the phone with a grin. “She'll do a rush job and let me know in three weeks.”

Defino laughed.

“So I guess I'll take a look myself tomorrow morning.”

Remembering a past incident, Jane said, “Let Annie know, OK?”

“Would I go anywhere without telling Annie?”

It didn't deserve an answer.

Steak, baked potato, salad, half a pink Florida grapefruit to start with. It was good eating and little work, a winning combination. After dinner, she called two numbers that hadn't answered this afternoon, people who lived near Stratton. Neither answered tonight. Where did old people go at night in the winter? Maybe to church. Maybe to the hospital. Maybe to Florida.

When she hung up, the phone rang almost immediately. “Hello?” She drew her legs up onto the sofa.

“Jane.”

Her heart flipped. “Hi.” It was a voice she would know in a coma.

“Just thinking about you. I can't see you tonight.”

“How are you?”

“Bored. Working my tail off. You're on the Stratton case?”

“The Stratton death by starvation case. Only a sister could see a homicide here.”

“She's made a lot of trouble for us. Give her a pound of paper.”

“That's what Graves wants.”

“You think there's a chance she's right?”

“No.”

“You can't end up a hero every time.”

“Don't want to. Flora Hamburg called, Hack. She asked me about my love life.”

“What's eating her?”

“I don't know. We're having dinner next Wednesday. Maybe she'll say something. I won't.”

“She doesn't know anything. She's just putting out feelers. I miss you like crazy.”

“Me too.”

“Maybe I'll see you after your dinner. I'm staying overnight in the city. Got a meeting at dawn on Thursday.”

“I'll skip dessert.”

“We'll have it together.”

“I'm glad you called.”

The nature of the relationship had changed in the last couple of months. It had been on for ten years and then Jane had turned it off, partly because Hack's daughter had started asking questions. It had been resurrected by circumstances and now had a sporadic quality. Meetings were less frequent and less planned, more volatile when they happened. She wondered sometimes what she would do if Hack's wife decided to leave him. There it would be, the golden opportunity, but would she take it? It was a question she never answered. She smiled thinking how good it would be to see him next week.

It was later on, while she was getting ready for bed, that a different question posed itself. She had been rummaging through the Stratton file since talking to Hack, nothing leaping out at her. Now, as she settled under the comforter, just the lamp beside her bed lighting the room, something about the super, Larry Vale, set off a silent alarm. He had seen the little Chinese girl delivering Stratton's laundry. From his front window, he had a view of the sidewalk and he could see at least the bottom half of anyone who arrived at the outside stairs. How did he know she was taking the laundry to Stratton?

She recalled that after he mentioned it to them, he had screwed up his face as though a flicker of pain had passed through him. He hadn't told the police or Wally Shreiber about Rose even though he knew about her. Maybe he had made a slip. Maybe he had told her and Defino something he had intended to keep to himself.