Murder in Hell's Kitchen Page 11

  After reading through the report as carefully as she could, she left the apartment to explore the streets of her new neighborhood. There were plenty of restaurants within a radius of a few blocks, although several of them looked expensive. But there were more reasonably priced places too: bars, coffee shops, ethnic eateries that would give variety, and a certain spice, to her life. Just walking past one of them made her wrinkle her nose with anticipation at the fragrance flowing into the street: cinnamon, nutmeg, maybe a whiff of allspice.

  In a supermarket window she spotted packages of firewood. She hadn’t expected a forest in the middle of a block, but she would prefer to have a bigger supply than half a dozen pieces of wood.

  Sean was on time Monday morning, and both McElroy and Graves wanted the team in Graves’s office first thing.

  “Sounds like you had a busy weekend,” Sean said, opening his coffee. “I thought you were moving.”

  “I did. And it was busy. When do they want us?”

  “ASAP,” Defino said. “Got your coffee?”

  “I’ll get it and meet you there.”

  Graves’s office had no more amenities than the offices of the teams, but it was less crowded. Jane sat in the last empty chair and looked out the window beside Captain Graves. The view was substantially the same as hers. Graves was his usual gorgeous self, well turned out, eyes sparkling. He reached across the desk and shook Jane’s hand.

  “Sounds like you had a busy weekend,” he echoed MacHovec. “You want to bring us up to speed?”

  She did it quickly, not making a big deal out of her trip to the loft on Friday night. “Bottom line,” she said, finishing, “Det. John Grant has an address for Cory Blanding but hasn’t seen either her or Jerry Hutchins.”

  “But he assumes at least the woman is there?”

  “She’s got a phone at that address and a mailbox.”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “Jane,” McElroy said, “tell us about Soderberg.”

  “Right. I noticed a resemblance between his picture and that of Arlen Quill.” She took them out of the folders on her lap. “I think there’s a good chance the killer of Quill hit the wrong man.”

  Graves rose to take the pictures. “Amazing,” he said. “They could be brothers. I bet you couldn’t tell them apart in profile. Especially on a dark night.” He passed the pictures to McElroy, who made the appropriate noises. The pictures then went on to Defino and MacHovec. They made MacHovec smile.

  “What do we know about Soderberg?” Graves asked.

  “Nothing,” Jane said. “The ME ruled his death an accident. There was no crime, no file, no investigation.”

  “But there should be something in the Quill file,” Graves said. “He was interviewed after the Quill homicide.”

  “We’ll look at it today.”

  “And meanwhile we’ve got a good lead on Hutchins.”

  “I think someone should go to Omaha,” McElroy said. “I’d rather see our people talk to Hutchins than theirs.”

  “We don’t know that Hutchins is there. We think his girlfriend or whatever she is is there.” Graves looked at the notes he had made when Jane was briefing him. “He could be in another state for all we know.”

  “He could be in New York,” Defino said. “The guy who sent him the license said Hutchins was coming back. We’re assuming he was lying, but maybe he wasn’t.”

  “True.” Graves frowned briefly. “But the woman is the key. Unless he’s been using credit cards, and he seems to be too smart for that, she’s our best bet for finding him. I think Ellis is right. Someone should talk to Cory Blanding. If Hutchins is living with her, that’s easy enough to find out. If not, she has to know where he is because she sent him the driver’s license. She knows he’s got problems and she’s careful not to let people know anything about him. But he’s gotta have a job, even if he’s using another name. And they probably go out together.” He looked at Jane. “You want to go to Omaha?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  There was a knock on the door, and Annie stuck her head in. “Detective Bauer, you’ve got a call from Omaha. Sounds important.”

  Graves waved her off and she went to her office and picked up. “Bauer.”

  “Jane, John Grant. I got a look at our friend Cory Blanding. Don’t worry; she didn’t see me. I watched her door early this morning and saw her come out about eight o’clock our time. That’s just a little while ago. I got a snapshot of her but it may not be too good. But I know what she looks like now. Twenties, light straight hair, glasses, nice-looking but no model.”

  “That’s great. What about Hutchins?”

  “I stayed a few minutes but he didn’t come out. But if she comes out with him at night or something, we’ll be able to nab him.”

  “Good, but don’t do it. I’m probably going to fly out.”

  “Well, that’s just fine.” He sounded ready to roll out a red carpet.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”

  She returned to Graves’s office and gave them the news. “Get yourself on a plane,” he said. “The sooner the better. If we’ve got cops hanging around where she lives, she’s gonna get wind of it sooner or later. Tell Annie to get you a ticket and get the paperwork going. We’ll have to expedite it right away.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “And you two better come up with something good on this guy Soderberg or we’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “Right away,” MacHovec said. He crushed his Styrofoam cup with a crackling sound.

  The meeting was over.

  Annie booked her on a late-afternoon flight, and John Grant gave her the name of a hotel halfway between the airport and the city. “About five minutes either way,” he said. “We’re not New York.”

  While Annie was getting the paperwork started, Jane sat with Defino and MacHovec as they looked at the Five for Soderberg in the Quill file. Soderberg had discovered Quill’s body and left for work before the police could interview him. But Bracken had talked to him that evening, eliciting very little personal information. On the night of the homicide he had been at home from about eight o’clock on and gave the name of the restaurant where he had dinner—alone. It was an inexpensive local place, and Bracken had checked it out. Soderberg ate there frequently and was known there. No one could put a time on when he left, but it seemed to be on the early side.

  He was a salesman for an electronics company that checked out, too. He got in to the office early, made calls during the day, and was often, but not always, he was careful to point out, home in late afternoon. That would explain how he came to be changing a lightbulb many months later before the other tenants got home from work. Not that he knew at the time that he was providing this explanation.

  Otherwise there was very little in the file on Henry Soderberg. While they were talking, MacHovec picked up the phone and dialed a number from the Five. He listened for a few moments, then hung up.

  “Whoever Soderberg worked for, they’re not at that number anymore, and there’s no forwarding number.”

  “Terrific,” Defino said. “We got nothin’ and nobody. This guy must’ve been involved in something dirty. I hope Hutchins knows something. I hope he did it.”

  Jane looked at her watch. “I better go now. I’ve got a lot of paper to process, and I don’t own a suitcase, if you can believe that, at least not one I can use. So I have to buy one and get it packed.”

  “You want me to pick you up and drive you to JFK?” Defino asked.

  “That’s gotta be out of your way, Gordon.”

  “Gives me an excuse to leave early. Let me have your address and I’ll be downstairs whenever you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  She got about two pounds of paper from Annie, some of it with Graves’s signature still damp, and started to make her rounds. There were three offices she had to visit, all at One PP. Annie had called ahead that this was top priority, so Jane finished in a couple of hours, probably a re
cord. This kind of procedure usually took forever. Next she took the subway to Bloomingdale’s and bought a medium-sized wheelie. She could get enough in there for several days, although she didn’t think her trip would last more than two or three. Then she juggled it on the subway back to her apartment, emptied her mailbox, wondering what would happen when the mail piled up, decided not to think about it, and went upstairs to pack. Defino called before she had finished and checked to make sure the time was right. She said it was fine, and when she hung up, she suddenly started to feel very good. She was glad to be getting away from the MacHovec–Defino tension, glad to be going somewhere she’d never been, and glad to be the first to get a crack at Hutchins. If Hutchins was there. If Hutchins was still alive.

  12

  JOHN GRANT WAS at the gate when she walked off the plane, a lean man with pale, thinning hair, a nice smile, and a firm handshake. He led her to the baggage carousel and lifted her new suitcase off the belt as though it were weightless. They walked out into the dark night and into a parking lot.

  “It’s just up here on the left. How was your flight?”

  “I guess it was fine. They fed me something edible and they got me here.”

  He laughed. “You can’t ask for much more, can you? Here we are.” He stopped at a maroon van that had enough room for two big families.

  “You have a lot of children?” she asked.

  “Three and one’s off to college. My wife wanted this. Said she couldn’t live without it.”

  She clambered into the front seat and looked down at the world below. “Nice view.”

  “That’s what she likes best. What’s the plan for tomorrow? We going to try to take Hutchins first thing in the morning?”

  “Are you sure we can see the door to the apartment without Cory Blanding seeing us?”

  “Sure as I can be. In fact, she turns the other way to go downstairs, so her back’s to me. What are you thinking?” He stopped to pay a laughably small fee for parking, then continued out of the airport.

  “Hutchins is a suspect in four homicides, possibly five, but I think the old woman who died first was natural causes. Still, nothing links Hutchins to the murders except the fact that he’s still alive.”

  “And he fled New York, tried to get a New York State driver’s license illegally, seems to be hiding out. . . .”

  “It’s very circumstantial. I don’t want to screw this up. Let’s stand by and watch the apartment after Cory Blanding leaves tomorrow morning. If he has a job, he’s got to come out at some point. Then we can move in on him.”

  “We can do that. I’ll pick you up at the hotel at seven-thirty and we’ll drive over.”

  “Will that give us enough time?”

  “Plenty of time.” He made a turn, and Jane saw that they were in the parking lot of her hotel.

  “That was fast.”

  “Exactly my point.” He hopped down to the pavement and came around to help her but she was already out. He took the suitcase out of the back and pushed the hatch door down. It moved slowly, thumping itself shut.

  The hotel had her reservation, and she signed in while John waited nearby. With the key in her hand, she went to get her suitcase.

  “How about you take that upstairs and I’ll meet you in the bar?”

  “That sounds good. I’ll be down in five minutes.”

  “Don’t hurry.”

  She called her dad, who was waiting anxiously for her call, and told him the little she knew about Omaha and Nebraska. He liked hearing what she said. He hadn’t traveled much in his life, and she was his lifeline to the world he would never see.

  Downstairs, wearing a different pair of shoes, she found her way to the bar, where John Grant sat at a small round table nibbling at nuts. He rose as she approached, a Midwestern gentleman.

  “What’s your pleasure?” he asked, signaling to the waitress.

  “Scotch on the rocks with a twist, a little water on the side.”

  “That makes two of us.” He gave the order to the waitress, a woman in her fifties with a cheerful demeanor. She walked over to the bar, stopping on the way to say a word to three men at another table.

  “Very relaxed,” Jane said, taking a handful of nuts from the bowl.

  “Who’s in a hurry at this hour?” He smothered a yawn. “Just a little tired. It’s been a long day. How’d you get involved in a case this old?”

  She told him, pausing to toast their hoped-for success when the drinks came.

  “Interesting idea, looking into cold cases. We’ve got a few ourselves, one of them dating back to the Second World War.”

  “For all I know, we may have some of those, too. But we may be onto something here, now that we have a lead on Hutchins and the possibility that Arlen Quill was killed in error.”

  “Poor fella. Walks into his house and gets stabbed because he’s got the wrong profile. How long’ve you been with NYPD?”

  “Almost twenty years.”

  “That’s the magic number, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve got a new job lined up for when I hit twenty. Insurance.”

  “Well, that should keep you busy in a quieter way.”

  “I hope so. And it pays more.” She told him about the new apartment and the fireplace that actually worked.

  “A working fireplace right in your apartment. That must be unusual in the big city.”

  “It is. I looked for a long time before I found it.”

  “You chop down your own trees for firewood? In Central Park or wherever?”

  “I’m looking for a source.”

  “Well, we’ll send you some of ours. Got lots of trees where we live.”

  “You look very tired, John. I think you should go home and let me get unpacked and into bed.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” He waved to the waitress and settled the bill.

  They agreed she would wait outside the hotel for him to drive by in the morning. When she got upstairs, she knew she was even more tired than he had seemed. It had been a twenty-five-hour day.

  The waitress poured coffee, shielding the cup from Jane so it wouldn’t splatter. There were many acts of simple courtesy that would be rare in a New York coffee shop. She had slept well, the bed comfortable and her fatigue overwhelming her concern that the clock might not wake her at six-thirty.

  At twenty-five after seven she stepped out the front door of the hotel into a brisk, sunny morning to see John Grant at the wheel of a black Ford. She was rather glad she would be spared the gymnastics of climbing into the van.

  “You’re early,” he said cheerfully.

  “Likewise. Nice hotel. Good breakfast.”

  “Sleep well?”

  “Like a baby.”

  “We can’t be sure when we’ll get our next meal, so I have some munchies and soft drinks in the cold pack.” He motioned his head to the backseat and Jane saw a Styrofoam picnic container resting there.

  “I hope things move fast. I’m better at moving than waiting.”

  “Least you don’t fall asleep.”

  They drove a short distance and entered the city. John made his way, avoiding the main part of downtown Omaha. At a quarter to eight they were driving slowly down a street with low apartment houses, a few stores, and people already walking purposefully along the street, getting into cars, driving off to work.

  “That’s her car,” John said, pointing to a dusty blue two-door that would never stand out in a crowd.

  “Registered in her name?”

  “You bet.” He pulled into a space across the street and they got out. “Let’s stay on this side. The stairs to her apartment are right over there.” He nodded toward a break between one building and another. “There are other stairs back the way we came. I think, from where she parked her car, she’ll come down these. We can stand under the stairs to the next section and watch for her. Then we’ll go on up and start our wait. Unless, of course, he comes out with her.”

  “That would be nice.”


  They passed the stairs, crossed over, and walked to the next set nearby. Standing under them, they had a view of Cory Blanding’s stairs and, in the other direction, the interior grounds of the buildings, including a swimming pool. The water had been drained but it looked nice, with steps down to the shallow end and a diving board at the deep end. Jane turned around to watch for Cory Blanding. For a minute or two, no one at all came down. Then they heard the click of heels.

  “That’s her,” John said in a low voice. He stepped out from under their hiding place and moved toward her. Then he shook his head. “No luck. She’s alone. Come on. Let’s go up and keep an eye on the door.”

  Upstairs, John pointed to Cory’s door. He stood next to it and put his ear against it, then walked away. “If he’s inside, he’s not making any noise. We can park ourselves down at both ends. There are seven doors. Blanding’s is third from this end, fifth from the other end. As long as you can count, you’re OK.” He left and took up a position at the far end of the corridor.

  They began a long wait. At nine o’clock, she sat down on the concrete landing at the top of the stairs, her back wedged into the corner the wrought-iron bars made. When a door opened that was not Cory Blanding’s apartment, she got up quickly, trotted down the stairs, along the sidewalk to the next set, and then up to where John was waiting.

  “There’s a gas station about a block back if you need a bathroom,” he said.

  “I will soon. Want anything from the car?”

  “Maybe a bottle of iced tea would be nice.” He pulled a ring of two keys out of a pocket and handed them to her. He was driving an unmarked police vehicle.

  “You have Cory’s phone number?”

  He wrote it down.

  “I’ll try from the gas station.”

  She enjoyed the walk. It was long enough to stretch her legs and wake herself up. She called her father from a pay phone and he was thrilled.

  “A stakeout, huh?”

  “A pretty boring one, Dad,” she said. “I don’t think he’s home, and it’s going to take us a while to find out for sure.”