Same difference, p.10
Same Difference, page 10
On first glance I thought he was advocating for the band. You don’t see that logo a lot anymore, but it does pop up and some people just like retro clothing. So I didn’t register the periods between the letters: ‘W.H.O.’
Not until he approached me at the 42nd Street station did that logo make it into my brain, and it was too late. Before I looked at the man – thirties, mop of curly hair, medium height and weight – I heard him. He spoke in hushed tones, not an easy thing to make audible as people are heading for the exit on an MTA subway car.
‘Look in Spain near Madrid,’ he said. ‘That’s where they ought to be.’
And with that he ducked out of the train, half a second before the doors closed again. But I couldn’t stop myself from calling after him: ‘Malcolm?’
He was in the station and walking away at a brisk pace, so not only couldn’t he hear me, but even if he did, he couldn’t respond. I’d probably never see him again.
The only thing left to do was text Ken: I think Malcolm X. was on the subway with me.
I was in the subway so there was no way of knowing when he’d answer. I got out and walked to the New Amsterdam offices.
‘So you’re telling me there is no such person as Rainbow Zelensky.’
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not against the occasional emotional outburst to get the information I need on a case. But I knew for a fact that Harold Lembeck, the assistant dean of students in charge of records, was not telling me there was no such person as Rainbow Zelensky. I knew what he was telling me was that he couldn’t confirm or deny whether such a person was a student at New Amsterdam University, but I was tired of people not confirming or denying things. And the fact was, I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be right now and I could easily outlast Harold until it was time for him to go home and explain to his wife why he hadn’t been taking her phone calls all afternoon, that he’d had to deal with the enormous crazy lady.
‘No, Ms Stein,’ he said with slightly less patience than the time before. ‘I am telling you no such thing. You have no authority to access our student records and so I’m trying to explain as plainly as possible that I can’t give out that sort of information.’
The records office was not exactly a hub of wild activity. There was a central office, through which I had entered, and then two smaller private rooms, one that was assigned to Harold and the other, if the nameplate could be trusted, that housed Felicia Carteret, Ph.D. I bet it rankled Harold that he had no such degree listed after his name. No one else had been in the outer office when I’d gotten here, and there didn’t seem to be any sound coming from outside now. So Harold had time to talk to me whether he liked it or not. And he didn’t. Like it.
‘I’m asking whether a person exists, Mr Lembeck,’ I told him. ‘I’m not asking for academic transcripts, disciplinary records or even Rainbow’s middle name. I just need to find this person because the life of another one of your students is on the line and I think Rainbow can help me find her. Do you want to be responsible for withholding valuable information while the clock is ticking on Eliza Hennessey?’
(For the record, I had no idea if a clock was ticking on Eliza or if she was snorkeling off the coast of Aruba. But if I’d suggested the latter, I was fairly sure Harold would have been a little less motivated to help.)
‘You’re trying to manipulate me emotionally, Ms Stein.’ Well, Harold definitely had my number. ‘It’s not my fault that Ms Hennessey is missing and my telling you anything that is clearly protected information will not change that. Under city and state law, I’m not allowed to give you any information, including letting you know whether a person by some random name you mention is or is not a student at this institution.’
My phone buzzed and there was my brother texting a response to my message from underground. Sometimes subway texts take a while to reach their destination, which is a metaphor for the subway. What? What did you say to him? Should I come to where you are?
Ken thought I was in danger when I could have easily flung Malcolm X. Mitchell on to another subway train from across the tracks if there had been a need for it. And if I were still on the subway and Malcolm was in some way threatening me. I texted back No and put my phone back in my pocket.
‘I have information that has already been shared with the police,’ I told Harold, ‘that would indicate there was an active trade in certain prescription medications being sold on the black market on this campus, and that a young man who was a student here was not only doing some of the dealing, but ended up murdered yesterday. There is a sense of urgency here and I’d hate to have to let the New York Post know what I know.’
Harold, despite the black-rimmed eyeglasses and the short-sleeve dress shirt that was dying for a pocket protector, was not going to be a pushover. ‘I’d prefer that to you telling them I gave you protected information I was not authorized to share,’ he said.
The Force was strong with this one. I changed tactics. I coughed drily, in case I needed it. ‘I’m willing to bet that if Rainbow Zelensky was not a student here, you’d be thrilled to tell me that so I would go away,’ I said. I cleared my throat audibly.
‘You are free to bet on anything you want, as long as it’s legal in the state of New York.’ Now he was being a wise-ass. That was a condition to which I could relate.
But he also had a stance from which he would not break. I broke into a coughing fit, leaning over and making the most grotesque noises. When I took in a deep breath, I looked over at the man behind the desk, who looked a mite alarmed. ‘Water,’ I croaked.
‘What?’ He truly hadn’t understood. I’d been overplaying my role.
‘Water,’ I said more audibly and then coughed loudly again. This had better work or my throat would spend the next two days being scratchy for nothing.
‘Yes, of course.’ Harold got up and didn’t exactly run (thanks a lot, buddy) but did walk briskly to the door and out into the hallway. I was glad he didn’t have a bottle of water on his desk.
As soon as he was gone I rushed behind his desk, pulled a thumb drive out of my pocket and stood behind his screen (sitting in his chair seemed too much a violation of his privacy). I don’t have Ken’s computer skills, but I could find student records easily enough. I hustled what I thought were relevant files on to the drive and rushed back to my chair just in time for Harold to find me ‘catching my breath’ while looking what I hoped appeared to be anxiously toward the door. He was carrying a bottle of spring water and held it out to me.
I nodded gratefully as if incapable of speech, opened the bottle and took a long drink. What the hell, I’d been thirsty anyway. ‘Thank you,’ I breathed out when I came up for air.
‘Not at all. Are you all right?’ Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
I had to remember that I’d just had a major coughing fit and was probably hoarse as all get-out. I nodded. ‘I think so. That happens sometimes.’ Not to me, but I’m told it happens sometimes.
‘You should see a doctor,’ Harold said. ‘Is there anything else you need?’
It was necessary to maintain the illusion that I had not just stolen the information I’d been nagging him to give me. ‘How about Rainbow Zelensky’s student file? I don’t need to know her grades, just some contact information.’
‘I am not permitted to confirm or deny any information about a person, whether they be a student here or not.’ It was so comforting to have things back to normal.
‘You can’t blame a girl for trying,’ I said.
‘Sure I can.’
FIFTEEN
‘So … wait,’ Ken said. ‘You saw Malcolm on the six train and he told you to look in Spain? For our parents?’
I was sitting on Ken’s bed in our apartment and he was at his little pull-down wall desk (really a shelf) looking at his laptop screen. But we were at cross purposes here because I wanted Ken to perform his magic on the files I’d just … borrowed … from Harold at New Amsterdam, and all he wanted to talk about was the alleged WHO representative who somehow knew which subway train I might be taking and, for that matter, what I looked like. I preferred not to think about that for the time being.
‘He wasn’t that specific,’ I told him for the third time. ‘He said to look near Madrid because that was where they ought to be. He wasn’t clear about who or what should be there, or why, or why he was telling me that, or at least fifty other questions I could have asked him if he hadn’t disappeared into the Forty-second Street station. Sorry I hadn’t expected to find our mystery man on the train this morning. I guess my paranoia isn’t what it used to be. Now, how about Rainbow?’ I pointed to his screen, as if he wouldn’t have known where to look.
‘I can hold two thoughts in my mind at the same time,’ my brother said, which put him at least one ahead of what I’d have suspected. But he did start to click away at his keyboard and I saw things moving around on the screen. It’s not that large a screen and I didn’t want to lean over his shoulder because it makes Ken cranky. You wouldn’t like Ken when he’s cranky.
‘Rainbow,’ I reiterated.
He continued clicking away. ‘Are we sure Rainbow is her real name?’
‘The only thing I’m sure of today is that we’re sitting here in this room trying to figure out two things at the same time,’ I told him. ‘Don’t hold me responsible for anything else.’
‘There’s something like twenty-three thousand students in these files,’ he grumped. ‘Don’t expect instant results.’
‘How many Rainbow Zelenskys can there be?’
‘Why would Mom and Dad be in Madrid?’ Ken asked. But he was using the touchpad to do something on the screen, so I could assume he was still involved in his task.
‘Maybe they’re into bullfighting all of a sudden,’ I said. ‘We don’t know that this guy is for real and we don’t know why he’d be wanting us to look for our parents for any reason other than to help him find them. The last thing I want to do now is search Madrid. And while you’re at it, look for Damien Van Dorn and Laura Rapinoe.’
Ken groaned a little for effect. We love each other, don’t get me wrong, but a little sibling irritation is natural – far more than we are, now that I think of it. ‘You sure you don’t want me to find the Ark of the Covenant and the Holy Grail while you’re at it?’
‘And our parents, if you get a minute.’
‘I don’t think they went to New Amsterdam,’ Ken said. But he was engaged in the task, staring at his screen with a look of complete intent. ‘I did some pretty deep searches into Malcolm X. Mitchell and guess what I found.’
He didn’t sound happy. ‘I’m going to guess nothing,’ I said.
‘Right. First time today.’ He pointed at his screen. ‘Now this might be something.’
I didn’t want to, but I leaned forward to look. Ken needed to get a bigger laptop. ‘What am I looking at?’ I asked.
‘There is listed, in a survey of European literature class, a Janice Zelensky.’ Ken was already splitting the screen to compare two pieces of data I couldn’t have even located in front of my eyes. ‘Janice would appear to be about the same age as Eliza, about a year younger than Damien.’
‘They’re college students. How much different are their ages going to be?’ OK, so it was a cheap shot, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up.
‘Janice appears to live in Jersey City, not in the city, and doesn’t take any classes with Eliza or Laura,’ Ken said. ‘In fact, she only takes two classes, which makes her a part-time student. I’d be surprised if she wasn’t just a coincidence, but I’ll keep checking.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, because I agreed that Janice probably had no involvement and therefore he could check in on her so I wouldn’t have to. (It turned out later she was taking classes remotely and worked at a local movie theater in Jersey City. Ken called her and her response was, ‘Eliza who? I never go to campus.’)
‘Well, I can search for Rainbow all you want, but so far there hasn’t been a … hang on.’ He did not point this time. He just pursed his lips in an expression that anyone else would have determined to be my brother kissing the air an inch in front of his face but I knew meant he was thinking.
‘I’m hanging on,’ I said after a few seconds. I didn’t want him to forget.
‘Laura said that Rainbow lived in Queens, right?’ he asked out of nowhere.
She had, so I acknowledged that, wondering where he was going with it.
‘Real-estate records are public information.’ Ken started back on his keyboard and the information I’d done such a convincing job of fainting for left his screen. ‘Queens gives us a lot less space to cover, and the fact that they’re all college students means they’d have rented pretty recently. So … there.’
‘Where?’ I asked, but I was already kicking myself for not having thought of this before.
‘In Long Island City,’ Ken said. ‘Here.’ He pointed at the screen.
Sure enough, against all odds, there was a lease agreement that had been filed in Long Island City (which is not on Long Island but in Queens and don’t ask me why) between a holding company and one Rainbow Zelensky, dated eight months earlier.
‘So there really is a Rainbow Zelensky,’ I said.
She was not living near the college, probably because that neighborhood would have been pretty pricey for the vast majority of college students. In fact, Rainbow was living in an apartment in Long Island City, in Queens. I’d have to change trains at Grand Central Terminal and would probably be keeping an eye out for Malcolm X. Mitchell the whole way. The life of an investigator. OK, this investigator. ‘You want to come with me?’ I asked Ken.
‘Not really. Do you need me?’
I wanted to say I did, but I couldn’t make a convincing case of it. If the guy I’d seen on the subway this morning had in fact been Malcolm, I could literally take him with one arm tied behind my back. He wasn’t exactly imposing. Ken wasn’t necessary for backup. So why was I nervous about this guy who had appeared from nowhere? Was it because of the last time (see Ukulele of Death)? ‘No,’ I said to my brother and the pause between the question and the answer compelled him to look me in the eye.
‘You sure?’ he said.
‘I’m sure, but thanks. I’ll keep in touch.’
‘Yeah. Send a postcard.’ Our touching moment was over. I picked up my bag and left.
I had learned that when I wanted to check behind myself on the street without being obvious about it, I could FaceTime someone and look at the part of the screen that showed my own image. But I’d just left Ken and I didn’t want to call Mank right now (I was sorting out a few things there). Aunt Margie was working a shift at the radio station, reading news copy every twenty minutes and preparing it the rest of the time, so she was rarely accessible.
So I broke my own rule about not nagging people and called Shelly Kroft. For one thing, I wanted that rear-view mirror, but I also wanted Shelly to know I didn’t just call her when I needed someone with access to the federal government to help me. I only had a three-block walk to the train and I knew Shelly wouldn’t mind if I kept it quick. She answered on the second ring.
‘I haven’t found your buddy Malcolm X. yet,’ she used as an opener.
‘I’m just calling to talk,’ I said. ‘I don’t know anything about your life anymore.’
‘We talked about that a few months ago,’ Shelly said. ‘My life has changed so drastically in that time; I have a husband and three kids. Are you walking to the subway?’
‘Guilty,’ I said.
‘That’s OK. But I can’t report much. I’m still marshaling like it’s going out of style.’
I grinned, and I know that because I could see my face. I had to angle the phone backward more efficiently. ‘Are your bosses still misogynists?’
‘No,’ she answered. ‘They’re just sexist. They don’t hate women; they just think they’re better because they’re men.’
‘Come to New York and be a private investigator,’ I offered. ‘I won’t be the least bit sexist if you work for me.’
Shelly laughed. I hadn’t been a hundred percent kidding. ‘I lied before. I actually do have something on your alleged WHO guy.’
Malcolm! ‘You don’t have a picture of him, do you?’ Then I’d know if my ‘pal’ on the train had been who I’d thought he was.
She laughed again at my enthusiasm. ‘Afraid not,’ Shelly said. ‘Most of what I can tell you is negative. He’s not in any way an employee of the World Health Organization, although I don’t have complete access to their employment data, and he is not an employee of the federal government, at least not the ones they keep on the books, like me.’
Damn! All I could find out about this guy was who he wasn’t. ‘So he’s probably using a fake name?’
‘Or he’s an accountant from Milwaukee who wants to have some fun with your brother’s head,’ Shelly suggested. ‘He probably has no idea at all what he’s talking about. But I do have one lead to follow and I’m giving it to you because I know you don’t have enough to do yet.’
No one behind me seemed the least bit suspicious and I was getting tired of holding my phone up near my head. ‘You’re too good to me,’ I said.
‘I know, but it’s OK. Here’s the lead. There is, believe it or not, a Malcolm X. Mitchell who lives in New York. I’m guessing it’s the person your guy saw listed online one day and decided to use his name.’
I stopped at the subway station because reception in the tunnel is just impossible, no matter what the MTA says. ‘Who is he?’ I asked.
‘As far as I can tell, he works at a Duane Reade.’
OK. ‘The drug store?’ Why not? He claimed to know about health care. Maybe he was a pharmacist.
