Murder in Alphabet City (17 page)

Less than a week after the body was discovered, Rinzler had moved out of the Murray Hill apartment and up to Chappaqua. So we're about up to November 23, give or take a couple of days, Jane thought. The date of Rinzler's death was December 19, just over three weeks after she moved to her sister's, slightly more than a month since Stratton's body was discovered.

Jane's eyes moved left, to the earlier part of the time line, before Mrs. C. went to Paris. That had to be the period when Rinzler stopped visiting Stratton. He needed a good two weeks to die. In the middle of October of that year something happened to make Rinzler give up her visits to Alphabet City. Things happened daily in New York that were so terrible, so incredible, that any of them might frighten a social worker. Hack had suggested tainted drugs, sudden multiple deaths of users, a good possibility. Whatever the event was, it affected Rinzler or Vale or both of them. Or maybe Stratton. And that was the task of the team, to figure out what the hell it was.

22

T
HAT EVENING
, J
ANE
called the number MacHovec had located for Miss Margaret O'Neill. The woman answered quickly.

“Miss O'Neill, this is Detective Jane Bauer of NYPD.”

“Has something happened?”

“No, ma'am. I'm part of a team that is investigating the death of one of your former employees.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Miss O'Neill, I haven't even told you who I'm calling about.”

“You don't have to. I'm retired, my tenure at Human Resources is over, and I don't want any involvement in the lives of people who worked for me.”

“It's about Erica Rinzler.”

“I assumed as much.” There was a tired sound to the comment.

“I wonder if we could get together and talk tomorrow. It's quite important.”

“I go to church in the morning,” she said archly, a reminder of where her caller should be.

“Of course. I didn't mean the morning.”

“I don't want you coming to my apartment. I don't need police there.”

“I'll meet you anywhere you choose.”

“There's a coffee shop on University Place.” She gave an approximate location. It was not far from Washington Square and the NYU campus. Jane could walk there if the weather was nice.

“That's fine. What time?”

“One o'clock.”

“I'll be there.”

Later, Hack called.

“I'm going up to Rodman's Neck with Marty next Saturday.”

“It's that time of year, isn't it? Maybe I'll see you there. How's the case coming?”

“Remember I told you about the little beads? Rinzler's sister called and said she was wrong; they weren't her daughter's. So we're back at square one.”

“I heard about Defino's daughter. Were you there?”

“Yeah. She wasn't raped but she's scared to death. We all are. It's connected to the case, Hack. Did you know that?”

“Tell me.”

She went over it, concluding with the letters of the alphabet.

He gave a short whistle. “I hadn't heard. Carry that cell phone with you, Jane. Put your weapon in a holster. Don't leave it in your bag. If they're after Defino's family, they could be after you and the other guy. MacHovec?”

“Yes. He said he has no kids at home.”

“I don't like this,” Hack said. “You don't go after a cop's daughter unless you're very stupid or very desperate. Is Defino in control?”

“Would you be if it were your daughter?”

“I withdraw the question. You have any lead on what that Rinzler woman was doing?”

“Nothing yet. We'll go after her work and personnel records on Monday. And I'm talking to the retired woman who was her supervisor tomorrow afternoon.”

Hack laughed. “If you squeeze anything out of her, let me know. She won't tell you a thing.”

“I have to try.”

“I know.” Jane heard a click and realized he was talking from a pay phone. “Talk to you again.”

She went to the closet and pulled out a belt-carried pancake holster. She hadn't worn it for months, but Hack was right; keeping the gun in her bag was a mistake.

The holster was fairly new, still stiff, and still smelling fragrantly of leather. She sat down at the kitchen table and used some saddle soap on it. Tomorrow, when she met the infamous Miss O'Neill, she would wear it. You couldn't be too careful when interviewing an informant.

The coffee shop wasn't exactly where Miss O'Neill had placed it, but Jane found it. She had alternately walked and run from home and felt surprisingly refreshed when she arrived. When she went inside the little restaurant, she picked the woman out immediately. The hair was short and white, the face set, the bearing regal.

“Miss O'Neill?”

“Show me your identification.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The woman pored over the shield and glanced at Jane's face to compare it with the photo before she handed it back and said, “Sit down.”

A waitress came and took their coffee orders. Jane added a piece of Danish; the trek over had whipped up some appetite. Miss O'Neill looked at the pastry with disdain. Sugar was surely not part of her Sunday diet.

“For how many years were you Miss Rinzler's superior?” Jane asked.

“I don't remember the number of years, but for as long as she held a supervisory position. When she was promoted, she began to report to me.”

“Did she ever present any problems to you or Social Services?”

“Aside from an occasional tardiness, I had no complaints.”

“Was she fired or did she resign?”

“She left by mutual agreement.”

“What was the reason on your side?”

“Her client died.”

“And that client was—?”

“Mr. Stratton. I knew there would be hell to pay. His sister was always after us. She's a very influential woman, knows everyone from the governor down, it seemed. It was Miss Rinzler's duty to observe and report. She did neither.”

“How often did she visit him?”

“More often than most clients. I couldn't tell you exactly and you won't find it when you subpoena the records because she falsified them.”

“How do you know that?”

“If she had seen him two weeks before his body was found, she would have found the body.”

“Perhaps she went and he didn't answer. How would she know something was wrong?”

“There was a super in the building. He would have the key. And she could have notified Mr. Stratton's sister.”

“The sister was out of the country,” Jane said, watching the stony face.

“There are other avenues. Miss Rinzler was not an inexperienced person.” Her voice rang with anger.

“Did you ask her to explain herself?”

“When I asked, she resigned.”

And that was the meaning of mutual agreement. “Was that it?” Jane asked. “Or was there more?”

“I conducted a thorough investigation after she left. Miss Rinzler had documented visits she never made. Two clients called, asking for her, and said they had not seen her that month. Their records claimed she had visited them both. She lied, she betrayed her clients, she deceived me and the city of New York.” It wasn't clear which was worse. “She did not deserve to work for the Department of Human Resources.” Miss O'Neill would have had a fine career as a hanging judge.

“I sympathize with your point of view,” Jane said, hoping to ingratiate herself with the woman and realizing it was a task too difficult to accomplish. “Can you tell me if Miss Rinzler was involved in outside activities that may have bordered on the illegal?”

“I don't know what she did outside the department. I was concerned only with what she did and didn't do on department time. But I have reason to believe she was. I think she may have been using her visits to Mr. Stratton for reasons other than those she was empowered to do.”

“What would make you think that?”

“She went there too often.”

“I thought you said she didn't go there often enough.”

Miss O'Neill's face flushed. “That was at the end. Before that, months before that, she may well have been visiting Mr. Stratton at the expense of other clients.”

“To what end?” Jane asked, wishing the woman would open up and speak ordinary English. If Rinzler was fucking Vale, O'Neill could think of a polite way to say it, even if Jane couldn't.

“I think I've said enough, Detective Bauer. I'm sure you'll be reading the records, if you haven't already. Perhaps you'll find something I overlooked.”

Jane signaled for the check and took her wallet out. “Thank you for meeting me. It's been very helpful.”

“You didn't ask me about her suicide.” The tone was more than accusatory; it was damning.

“Is there anything you can tell me about it?” Jane asked, playing the good child.

“I believe she came to terms with her problems. I do not endorse suicide but I believe in Miss Rinzler's case it represented an admission of a guilt she could not bear to live with. She should have taken advantage of the mental health resources that were available to her as well as to her clients.”

“Then you believe she took her life.”

“Didn't she?”

“Apparently she did.” Jane waited for the next piece of wisdom. When none was forthcoming, she picked up the check and walked to the cashier.

What was bothering her was a missing point on the time line. At home, she spread out the sheets once again and observed the events from left to right. Finally, she called Mrs. Constantine.

“Are you working on a Sunday afternoon?” Mrs. C. asked.

“I am, ma'am. And I have a question. We have the date you left the country before your brother's death and you told Detective Defino and me that you tried to call your brother before you left and didn't get through to him.”

“That's correct.”

“When was the last time you were in contact with Anderson?”

“Mm. I can't give you an exact date, Detective Bauer.”

“I understand that. I just want to know whether it was days, weeks, or months before you left the country.” She laid it out so there would be no ambiguity.

“Probably a week or more.”

“Was that your general practice, to call every week or two?”

“I had no general practice. I called when I wanted to, when I felt it was time to call. There was a time after Andy moved into the apartment when I called almost every day and he asked me to stop. He said I was hovering; he could take care of himself. Whether he could or not remains to be seen. I knew I wanted to talk to him before I left for Paris, but I was very busy and didn't find the time to get down to his apartment.”

“And you weren't concerned about leaving him without having spoken to him for a week or more?”

“The super looked in on Andy and the social worker came every week. I felt he was well taken care of.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Constantine.”

“About the case?”

“Captain Graves is making all the decisions. He'll be in touch with you.”

“Thank you for calling.”

OK. Mrs. C. hadn't spoken to her brother for “a week or more” when she left the country. Make it more rather than less. That gave him four weeks to starve to death. If Rinzler stopped coming around the time Mrs. C. stopped calling, and if Vale stopped checking on Stratton, if he ever had, no one saw Stratton until Mrs. Bender smelled his decomposing body, a total of six weeks from the last personal contact.

Jane penciled in the presumed dates: last phone call from Mrs. C., Rinzler's last visit. When Jane and Defino had spoken to her at her apartment, Mrs. Constantine had been careful not to disclose her last contact with her brother. Perhaps it embarrassed her that she had not tried harder to speak to him or visit him. She didn't know that Rinzler would never come again, that Vale was irresponsible, that Andy was so weak or depressed that he felt he could not or would not respond to the phone. It was looking more and more as though he inadvertently starved himself to death, unless they could show that Rinzler or Vale intervened to see that Stratton did not eat. And at this point, it would be difficult or impossible to determine whether someone prevented him from taking his medication or whether he just gave it up of his own volition.

Jane gathered the pieces of the time line and put them in the folder she had taken home with her on Friday. She didn't fault Mrs. Constantine; it had to be difficult looking after her brother while trying to live her own life. He had spurned assistance and psychiatric care, occasionally acted irrationally, complained about professional help. She had had her hands full. It was just bad luck that a confluence of events occurred at a low point in Stratton's life: she left the country, Rinzler bowed out, and Vale didn't bother.

And then there was the Chinese laundry. What had little Rose been delivering in those packages wrapped in brown paper and string? And for whose benefit?

23

EVERY DETECTIVE ON the squad had heard about Defino's daughter by Monday morning, and many came to express their sorrow and outrage. When the furor died down, Graves called the team into his office. On the agenda were getting a subpoena for the records from Social Services, which would be done immediately, reclassifying Rinzler's suicide as a homicide, and informing Mrs. Constantine that the investigation was continuing.

“And I want you all on your guard,” the captain said. “If someone got that close to Gordon's family, they can get that close to you and yours. Get up to Rodman's Neck and do some shooting. If you're not qualified this year, do it now. Anything else?”

“I was looking at the time line Sean drew over the weekend, Cap. I called Mrs. Constantine and asked when was the last time she talked to her brother. She's vague about it, I think intentionally. It sounds like she left the country one to two weeks after the last time she talked to him.”

Graves had a copy of the time line on his desk, the pieces neatly taped together. He unfolded it, put on his glasses, and looked at the crucial section. “So she could have been out of touch close to a month before he died.”

“Right.”

“And Rinzler may not have been there anytime during that period.”

“Yes.”

“So he could have starved to death without any assistance is what you're telling us.”

“Precisely.”

“I won't mention that when I talk to her. But it looks likely. In any case, we're centering our investigation on Rinzler now.”

“And the Chinese laundry,” Defino said. “I'm not sure where we are after Friday, but Jane thought the
L
in the notebook may have referred to the laundry, not to Larry Vale.”

“Uh, yes, I think I have that. So the Chinese laundry may have been a center of operations for whatever Rinzler was involved in.”

“And that prick Vale.”

“And there could have been drugs in the laundry packages.”

“Or whatever,” MacHovec said.

“Right, whatever. Tompkins Square Park, you think drugs. OK. Annie's getting a subpoena prepared for the Human Resources files. Sean, have you had a chance to check out this Bill Fletcher?”

“I'll do it this morning.”

“It's probably not his name so I don't expect you'll find anything. Any questions?”

Three heads shook. They got up and went.

The transformation of the cold case into a hot one put pressure on everyone. Someone out there was threatening the detectives in the most personal way.

“I talked to Rinzler's boss yesterday,” Jane said when they were back in their office.

“With the Irish name?” Defino said.

“That one, yeah. I almost went to confession after I saw her. Man, does that woman know right from wrong.”

Defino laughed. “Like the nuns.”

“Just like the nuns. She couldn't tell me anything but I had to try. Oh, I almost forgot. I saw Rinzler's friend Mimi on Saturday. Met her at the Harvard Club.”

“Oh-ho,” MacHovec said. “You're movin' in high circles.”

“Why not? It was free. Anyway, she thought Rinzler never used anything stronger than grass and didn't deal.”

“What else would she say?” Defino asked. His phone rang and he picked it up. It was his wife and they spoke briskly for a minute. “She's a wreck,” he said, hanging up.

“So are all of us. We'll work fast when the records come. Where was I?”

“Dealing grass at the Harvard Club,” MacHovec said.

“Mimi says she wasn't the friend who had lunch with Rinzler that last day. Rinzler had boyfriends from time to time but nothing panned out. Erica wanted to have a baby, but she never did anything about it.”

“Shit, she could have had one with Vale. She had enough time,” Defino said sarcastically.

“I don't know if there was anything there, Gordon. Wait a few days, Vale'll come up with another story.”

“So Mimi's a zero. The California friend is a zero. Washington was a zero. Everyone else in the damn address book moved or changed their number. If this case comes down to breaking the Chinese folks, we're not on the winning side.”

“And we won't get any help from Rose. Those are her parents and grandmother. And she doesn't know what she was carrying in those packages.”

“It's gotta be in the spiral notebook.” Defino sounded discouraged.

“Sean,” Jane said, “ask the Nine if anything happened around October fifteenth, give or take a week. That's when Rinzler stopped seeing Stratton.”

“Uh-huh.” He sounded distant. “I'm just checking on this Fletcher character. Lotta Fletchers in the system, including a William B. He's over fifty. How old was that guy?”

“Late twenties, thirty. Good-looking, good dresser. What else would my daughter fall for?”

“Guy's probably got ten aliases. Sorry. What was that date, Jane?”

“October fifteen, plus or minus a week.” She turned to Defino. “I need the typewriter. Write up my Fives for Mimi and Miss Goody Two-shoes.”

“It's all yours.”

Getting the Social Services documents required a dash over to 100 Centre Street to swear the subpoena before a judge, then a quick trip to Water Street to serve the papers and conduct a search, after which they had to return to the judge's chambers to demonstrate their need for the seized records. Finally, they made it back to 137 and Jane and Defino fell on the documents like hungry dogs, Jane taking the work files. The two complaints Miss O'Neill had mentioned were up front among the latest items in the Rinzler file. Defino found the same complaints in his file. Personnel took a dim view of social workers who falsified visits.

One of the clients was a woman named Olga Federov. From the name and address in the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn, Jane decided she must be a Russian immigrant. She dialed the number.

The woman who answered still had an accent.

“Ms. Federov, this is Det. Jane Bauer of the New York Police Department.”

“Oh my God, police. What's the matter? I didn't do nothing.”

“Ms. Federov, we're investigating a problem at Human Resources and the name of your caseworker, Ms. Rinzler, came up. This was a few years ago.”

“Rinzler? From social work?”

“That's right.”

“She's gone. I don't see her long time. I don't know what happened to her. We had deal and then she didn't come.”

“A deal?”

“I mean like she was supposed to come and help me but she never did.”

“She was your caseworker?”

“Yeah.”

“Did the checks keep coming?”

“Yeah, I got checks. No more though. I got work.”

“That's very nice. And you don't know why she stopped coming?”

“No idea. I call, I tell them, somebody else comes.”

“Thanks, Ms. Federov.” She made a note next to the name and called the other one, Sunny Kim. The woman who answered had a soft, almost wispy voice.

Jane went through the introduction.

“You are police?”

“Yes, Ms. Kim. I have some questions about a social worker who visited you several years ago, Ms. Rinzler.”

“Rinzler, yes, I know her.”

“You complained when she didn't visit you.”

“My mother call, not me. She supposed to come. She never come.”

“Did you get your checks?”

“Checks?”

“From the Department of Social Services, your welfare checks.”

“Oh yes, I get checks. But I need Mrs. Rinzler and she not come.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kim.”

“Anything?” It was Defino.

“Two women. They wanted Rinzler and she didn't show up. They got their checks; they just didn't get her.”

“What were their names?”

Jane read them off.

Defino turned pages in the notebook, running his index finger down the pages. “The Russian woman is here.”

“What does it say?”

“O.F.”

“And Sunny Kim?”

“Not here.”

She took the book from him. “It doesn't compute. According to the complaint, Rinzler was supposed to visit Olga the second week of October. The date here was months before, looks like March or May, I can't read her handwriting. Why the gap? Did she get off welfare in the spring and go back on in the fall?”

“It happens.”

She went backwards through the book, looking for
S
or
K
for Sunny Kim. It wasn't there. “Maybe it was too recent. Maybe she made the appointment just before she left the department.”

She went back to the file, pulling out another name, Maria Brusca. She dialed and heard a woman answer.

“Is this Maria Brusca?”

“Who's this?”

“This is Detective Jane Bauer of the New York Police Department. Maria's not in any trouble. I just need some information from her.”

“She's not in trouble?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Then I think you got the wrong Maria.”

“Are you her mother?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell me where I can find her?”

The woman muttered something. “I haven't seen her for three, four months. I haven't heard from her for a coupla weeks. You wanna know where I think she is?”

“If you can tell me.”

“What do you want her for?”

“I have some questions about a social worker who saw her several years ago, a woman named Erica Rinzler.”

“Rinzler! She was the one made all the trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I can't talk about it. If Maria wants to tell you, it's her business. But I don't know if you'll find her.”

Jane asked again where she was.

“Give me your number. I'll try to find her.”

Dead end, Jane thought. She gave the number and hung up. If they found no one else, she could pay the woman a call. The phone number was the same; it was likely the address was.

She turned to Defino. “You know what's funny? I've called three women. Not one of them is black. What are the chances of that, calling three welfare recipients and getting no blacks?”

Defino looked interested. “Not very good. Maybe white folks were Rinzler's specialty.”

“Kim must be Korean. The first one was Russian. This last one has an Italian name. Let me try another one.”

“There's an M.B. in the book.”

“Could be the same one. Let me try a man this time.” She keyed the number for Tobias Goldsmith who, from the record, had been in his seventies eight years ago.

A woman answered.

“I'm trying to reach Mr. Tobias Goldsmith.”

“That's my father. Can I ask who this is?”

She explained.

“My father died last week. I'm at his apartment, cleaning up. Can I help you?”

“I'm sorry for your loss. We're investigating a social worker who visited your father eight years ago, a woman named Erica Rinzler. Do you recall that name?”

“Yes, I do. She came to see my father many times. She was very helpful. He appreciated it. Someone replaced her, I remember, but Dad always wished she hadn't quit her job.”

“Did she ever disappoint your father? Did she fail to come when he expected her?”

“Not that he told me. It's just one day someone else came and said Erica had left Human Resources.”

“Thank you very much.”

“No problem?” Defino said.

“Maybe she was better to men than women. This guy thought Rinzler was great.” She pulled another woman's name. The address was in Manhattan, not too far from where Jane lived. A man answered and Jane asked for Jackie Warren.

No response. He dropped the phone and called, “Jackie?”

“Hello?”

“Ms. Warren?”

Abruptly, “Who's this?”

“This is Detective Bauer of the New York Police Department.”

“Why?”

“I have some questions I'd like to ask you concerning a social worker who used to visit you.”

“What kind of questions?” Her voice was hostile.

“We're looking into her career and some questions have come up. Do you recall a Ms. Rinzler?”

“When was this?”

“Several years ago.”

“I can't remember. Is this important? I'm very busy.”

“Suppose I drop by this evening.”

“At night?”

“Is that a problem?”

A sigh. “No, it's not a problem. Don't come before eight. What's your name again?”

Jane gave it, confirmed the address, and promised to come at eight.

“Black or white?” Defino asked.

“I'll know better when I see her, but I'd bet she's white. She's single, has a child. Sounds like she has a guy who answers the phone too.”

“Everybody needs a secretary,” Defino said.

“Right. She in that spiral book?”

He started through it from the back. “There's a J.W.”

“That's it. Rinzler must have specialized in young non-black females. And Stratton. I don't think it's drugs, Gordon.”

“I never thought so,” MacHovec chimed in. “Maybe she was selling them guns for protection.”

“It's as good as any other idea. Let me see if the Xerox is free. I'll make some copies to take home.”

When she came back, MacHovec was gone.