Same difference, p.11
Same Difference, page 11
‘No, Duane Reade the ice-cream counter. Yes, the drug store. As far as I can tell, he’s there stocking shelves as part of a cooperative employment program.’
‘So he’s got some kind of a disability?’ Probably not the guy I saw on the subway, then.
‘Yeah. It’s not clear but it seems like a developmental issue. Even I can’t dig into HIPAA files.’
Shelly was probably right; this version of Malcolm probably was not the one who had contacted Ken or unsettled me on the train. He’d probably just seen the name somewhere and thought it would be fun to use it. But you have to follow up on every lead you have until you get an answer. ‘Where does Mr Mitchell live?’ I asked.
‘I told you I was giving you the lead for you to follow up on,’ Shelly said with a grin in her voice.
Just for that I walked down the stairs into the subway. I’d text Shelly when I got to Queens.
SIXTEEN
I didn’t bother telling Ken about the possibility of a Malcolm X. Mitchell in the city before I went to find Rainbow Zelensky. The lure of finding the guy that our guy stole his name from (after yet another guy, who clearly wasn’t involved in this case) wasn’t exactly tantalizing.
Long Island City wants you to think it’s on Long Island, which it isn’t. It wants you to believe it’s as chic as areas of Brooklyn, and hasn’t quite gotten there yet. It really wants you to buy in on it being as cool as Manhattan, and let’s be real.
I got off the seven train at Hunters Point, which is the seat of gentrification in Long Island City. Pretty soon we riffraff who don’t have millions at our disposal won’t even be able to have dinner at a restaurant in Hunter’s Point. You already can’t buy an apartment there unless you have a very large amount of working capital on hand.
Wine bars, coffee bars and just regular bars were everywhere, but the building in which Rainbow Zelensky was living wasn’t all that different from the one in which Ken, Aunt Margie and I lived. It had four floors, because if you have five you need to install an elevator and that’s expensive. That’s if your building was put up after 1960. Before then, you could have all the floors you wanted and tell people they were getting exercise when they brought groceries home.
The information Ken had given me indicated Rainbow was on the third floor of the building just two blocks from the subway, which would have made it easier for her to commute to New Amsterdam. Long Island City is as close as you can get to Manhattan without actually paying Manhattan rents, but it didn’t offer the same rates as say, Sandusky, Ohio, either.
Their building was brick, no surprise there, and had a door with very serious locks, which also wasn’t a shock. Luckily Ken had given me the apartment number because there were no names listed on the buzzers outside the main entrance. I pushed the one for 3-C and waited.
Nothing happened. Perhaps Rainbow was out. On the other hand, the way this case had been going I had to recall that the last time I looked for a friend of Eliza Hennessey’s he had recently been strangled with an extension cord.
I was probably strong enough to force the door open, but that would set off any number of alarms and I didn’t need to be surrounded by cops today. The paperwork is excruciating and they tend to get antsy around the sight of a larger-than-life woman. Or so I’ve found.
The usual option is to wait for someone to walk out of the building and hold the door when they open it. But it was a quiet part of the day, just after lunch for most people, and traffic in this area was not exactly hopping right now. I could wait an hour for someone to exit or enter.
Of course, the time-honored ploy is pushing all the buttons and hoping someone in one of the apartments won’t buzz down to find out who you are and instead simply unlock the front door. That’s not as effective as it was pre-pandemic, because people were in their apartments and angsty, and those feelings have not entirely vanished as the rest of the protocols have loosened up. But it was worth a try.
There were twelve buttons and I pressed all except the one to Rainbow’s apartment, which I’d already tried and come up dry. No one buzzed me in, which I found a disheartening commentary on the state of community in New York City. I mean, not one person took a chance that their doorbell had beeped because someone needed something other than to commit breaking and entering. I mean, that was what I was trying to do, but they didn’t know that. I tried again, and once again got no response. People just don’t trust people anymore.
I didn’t take the time to lament this fundamental deterioration of comradery in my town because there was still the problem of getting into Rainbow Zelensky’s apartment and seeing if Rainbow was, you know, alive and home at the same time. So I assessed the building again.
It was a brick building, fairly unremarkable, with the usual concrete foundation and concrete extensions a few inches out under each window to support people’s window boxes, air conditioners or the occasional pie on the sill (back in the day the building was designed). There was a basement apartment, which as I studied the building seemed to make the plan forming in my brain more plausible. But that would only work if there was the same configuration at the back of the building.
I walked around the corner, casual as could be, and noted with some relief that the building stood alone, not attached to the one next door or in the back. Behind it was an alley that didn’t have any direct view from the street or the far side. I could operate with a decent expectation that I wouldn’t be seen.
As I’ve hopefully made clear, Ken and I are bigger and stronger than most. I do belong to a gym to help tone my muscles and keep them strong, but I go easy on the weights because I don’t want to attract attention. I knew, though, that my arms and legs were sufficiently strong to accomplish my task.
The windows of each apartment were visible, and a few of them were open, but there was another one at the end of each hallway that would become my target. I didn’t want to barge in on someone in their living room, or worse, anywhere else in a New York apartment.
Standing at the far side of the building to keep my visibility low, and using a wooden box that someone had helpfully deposited in the alley, I started to execute my plan, remembering that under no circumstances should I look down. I have a thing with heights.
You guessed it.
The basement apartment actually started me off well because there was that thin protrusion under each window to use as a foothold. I put my left foot on the box and pushed to give my right some momentum. Then it was half-jump, half-lift to the next concrete protrusion on the floor above, and my feet were on the window sill and off the ground. I was up to the first floor. Two to go.
I’ve never done any rock climbing – because of the height thing and because it just doesn’t appeal – so I didn’t have any experience to (pardon the expression) fall back on. My instincts told me to keep looking up and not jump to the next level so much as motivate myself toward it. Although some spring in my knees did help propel me, I won’t lie. I was equally buoyed by the fact that I’d worn jeans today. A skirt would have been, let’s say, awkward. I also had the knowledge that no one was directly below me. Or there hadn’t been when I started. I wasn’t looking down now.
The climb actually went pretty smoothly. I did scrape my fingers and palms up a bit and put my hand into something that I’d prefer not to identify, but I made it to the third level, where Rainbow’s apartment would be, before realizing I could have climbed to the first-floor window, let myself in, and taken the stairs. I might be a large person but I’m not necessarily a giant intellect. And the fact of the matter is I probably wouldn’t have done it anyway because the first-floor window was closed and I wouldn’t have wanted to break the window. Some poor super would have had to replace it. I climb up for the working man.
My luck held when the stairwell window on the third floor was open. I was holding myself very close to the wall because falling was not an option, so being able to open it with just my right hand was especially useful. I made it into the stairwell without a major incident but was lamenting my lack of wipes to get whatever that was off my hand. I had slung the straps of my bag over my head so I wouldn’t have to do without any of my other things. I put my feet down on the stairwell and heaved the traditional sigh of relief.
Inside it was cooler and I suddenly realized I’d been sweating pretty heavily on my climb. Even superbeings react to exertion. I reached into my bag after I released it from my neck and pulled out a packet of facial tissues, which were sadly inadequate to the task on my hand but blotted the perspiration from my neck just a bit.
I walked down the hall until I saw the door marked 3-C. I stopped at the door for a moment and thought about what I might find. I do better if I prepare for the worst and then adjust up if possible. If Rainbow was dead, that meant someone had it in for this whole group of students and Eliza was either already gone or could be next. If Rainbow simply wasn’t home, my only option was to wait until she got here. I didn’t climb up a building to go back to the seven train and head home.
The first move was to knock as if I was just there to visit. Whoever was inside would know they didn’t buzz me in, but one must at least try to respect social norms. And breaking down the door with one kick, even after the climb, would have been easy but way too loud. So I knocked.
You’ll be shocked to find out that no one answered. But I could hear someone moving around inside there, trying to be quiet. A person with normal ears wouldn’t have known.
I knocked again, more insistently. ‘Hello?’ I said.
A voice came from inside, muffled as you might expect. ‘No one’s here.’
It seemed silly to point out that I had evidence to the contrary, specifically that someone inside the apartment had said there was no one inside the apartment. I decided not to sound threatening, but knocked again. Then I decided that probably had sounded threatening.
‘Can I come in?’
‘She’s not home.’ That could mean a lot of things. I decided to press on.
‘My name is Fran Stein,’ I said. ‘I’m here to help.’ That seemed general enough. I could have been there to help with their internet connection.
‘Go away.’ That was direct.
‘I really can’t. I need to talk to you. That’s all I’m going to do, I promise. Can you open the door so we don’t have to shout?’ It’s baby steps. Rainbow probably had a chain on the door. Get her to open it and you can talk more quietly and soothingly than you can through wood. Investigator 101.
There was no answer, but after a moment I heard the locks being opened in the door. There were three, at least one of them a deadbolt. You think that’s unusual. That’s because you don’t live in New York.
What I wasn’t expecting was for the door to swing open; I’d expected the conversation-through-the-chain thing, and had promised myself I would push the chain off of its screws with my palm. It was a little disconcerting because there was no one in my direct line of sight when the door opened. It had been left to swing into the room in order to give the person who opened it time to get out of the way, and out of my eyeline.
I don’t carry a weapon with me, although Ken owns a gun and sometimes takes it with him when we’re on a case. I wasn’t wishing I had one now, because I can generally take care of myself without help, but I did start to understand the feeling of (probably false) comfort that could come with having something in my hand. I stepped inside carefully, like I’d been taught at the police academy before my very brief job at the NYPD.
Of course, the NYPD would have been disappointed with me for not having a gun. That’s only one of my complaints about the NYPD.
‘Hello?’ I said again when I was inside. I closed the door behind me, which was likely foolish; suppose I had to get out in a hurry? Climbing back down after jumping out the window didn’t seem like the best plan.
‘What do you want?’ The voice was indistinct in so many ways, but the one certainty was that it was scared.
‘Can I come in to wash my hands?’ I thought that would get me in to look around and get my hands clean. Win-win.
‘No.’ Lose-lose.
‘I’m not here to hurt anybody.’ Was that a bad choice? Why even bring it up if you’re not going to do it?
‘Uh-huh.’ The voice was coming from another room, maybe a bedroom in the back. It wasn’t a large apartment and the living room I was in took up most of it. There was a galley kitchen to my left and a bathroom behind it. The only other room had to be the bedroom and it was quite probably close to microscopic. I could hear a cat complaining about being behind the closed bedroom door. I’d been in apartments like this before.
‘I’m really not. I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired to find Eliza Hennessey and I thought you might be able to help me. Her father is very worried.’ That last part was in case Eliza had indicated that Brian was a less than sympathetic character.
‘Why?’
OK, that was a stumper. ‘Because Eliza’s been missing for days now and he doesn’t know where she is. Because a friend of hers from school is in a lot of trouble for dealing pills and he’s afraid she might be involved. Because he wants to help and he doesn’t know how.’
You’ll note I did not mention Damien’s murder. This was already a terrified person and they would have had no idea whether I was involved in what happened to Damien or not. No sense complicating the situation if it wasn’t necessary.
‘I don’t believe you,’ the voice said, but it was from the hallway to the bedroom. And it was being said from behind a pistol. That was all I could see at the moment. Moving quickly seemed like a remarkably bad idea, so I anchored my feet to the floor and put my hands down at my sides so they could see I was holding no weapon.
‘Everything I said is true,’ I reiterated. ‘Can you help me?’
The figure in the hallway took a step into the living room, and therefore into the light. And the gun was the least stressful thing I had to deal with now.
‘You’re Eliza Hennessey,’ I said.
‘I know that,’ Eliza answered. ‘Wow. You’re really big. What are you doing here, really?’
SEVENTEEN
‘You don’t need the gun, Eliza,’ I said. That seemed reasonable. To me.
‘I don’t know that just because you say so.’ Her voice was getting out of terrified mode and more into something approaching swagger, which seemed inappropriate if she wasn’t planning on firing that pistol. ‘He hired you to get me and bring me back.’
‘Not if you don’t want to go,’ I told her. ‘Only if you do. But it’ll help if you’ll tell me where Rainbow is and why you’re here. It would also really relax the situation if you’d put down the gun. As you can see, I’m a lot bigger and stronger than you so, believe me, I can take it away from you if I want to.’
‘Only if I don’t shoot you first,’ Eliza said. It was a valid point, but not one I preferred to dwell on at the moment. Ken and I are strong but we’re far from invincible.
‘What reason would you have to shoot me?’ I asked. I thought the question made sense.
‘What reason would you have to try to grab my gun?’ she countered.
‘Not getting shot,’ I said. ‘It’s a life goal for me not to get shot.’
Eliza gave me a very interesting look, one that indicated she was taking me seriously and weighing the point I was making, which had started as a way to lighten the mood a bit. She was a thin girl with relatively short hair, not surprising since she’d just come out to her father a few months ago, and a very generic face. She was wearing makeup, perhaps just a bit too much but that’s a matter of taste. Her arms looked like she worked out fairly regularly and her gaze held no trace of nonsense. She was a serious person, probably in a desperate situation. But I didn’t know if she was aware of that.
After that long moment she put the gun down on a table next to the sofa and sat on the sofa, where it would be within arm’s length if I decided to rush her, I guessed. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘What are you really doing here?’
I kept standing. For one thing, the sofa was the only seat in the room and plopping myself down next to Eliza like we were going to watch Netflix seemed unbusinesslike. Also, emphasizing my height advantage seemed like an intelligent ploy. I ignored the fact that my palms had small dots of blood on them from climbing up the building. A little antibiotic cream would do all that was needed.
‘Just what I told you,’ I said. ‘Your dad hired my firm to find you because you haven’t been home and you’re not answering your phone or your email. He’s worried about you. I told him you were above the age of majority, legally an adult, and I wouldn’t try to bring you back if you don’t want to go. But I need to know why you’re here and what your plans are, because there are some very bad people out there who might very well be looking for you right now.’
Eliza’s eyes went dead, emotionless, which made her look angry. ‘You’re just trying to scare me,’ she said.
‘I promise you I’m not. Look. I didn’t want to have to dump this on you, but Damien is dead. Someone killed him.’
She stared at me. For what felt like a very long time. When her voice came it was like a hiss. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I wish I were, but I’m not. Laura Rapinoe says he was planning on ambushing two guys who were following him around and threatening him. He went to an apartment building in the Bronx and my brother and I found his body in the basement. Someone strangled him.’
Eliza wanted not to believe me; I could see that on her face. But she knew what I was saying at least held the circumstances of the truth. I knew about Laura. I knew of the two men following Damien. Did she know about the building in the Bronx? She might. So she couldn’t banish the thought just because she didn’t trust me.
‘Why?’ she asked finally, in a small voice.
