Sitting up straight, he looked back at the Bannon house, with its new paint job and new roof tiles, plus the new Ford F-150 in the driveway. It was obvious the Bannons had had a payday, and Jack could guess the source. With his suspicion that money had changed hands, he wondered if it was time to turn the whole caboodle over to law enforcement, such as the FBI. But as soon as the idea occurred to him he saw the negative side. The biggest negative was selfish. He needed the distraction and had nothing to take its place. With sudden resolve, he decided he’d hold off on letting the authorities in on what he suspected until he knew more.
With that thought in mind, Jack again consulted Google Maps. He knew he needed to get back to the OCME after having spoken to Laurie, but there was one more stop he wanted to make.
Jack started the SUV, put it in gear, and drove off. He wanted to make a quick stop at Carol Stewart’s apartment in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, and try to figure out why no one had missed her when she died. Since there had been no subsequent sudden pulmonary deaths, he thought the exposure risk was small.
24
WEDNESDAY, 3:05 P.M.
Visiting Brooklyn provided an additional layer of surprises in a day that had been full of them. First of all, Jack had had no idea Sunset Park was home to one of the largest Chinese American communities in the country. Most of the commercial signage was in Chinese.
The hardest part of the trip, which required going over the impressive Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, was finding a parking place once he had arrived outside of Carol Stewart’s building. With no other choice, he had to settle for a commercial spot and risk getting a parking ticket. It was another stimulus to make the visit as short as possible.
Carol’s building was a relatively modern five-story brick structure. He was glad to see it was large enough for a live-in superintendent. His given name was Ho and his family name was Chang, but on the buzzer it was writtenCHANG HOin the Chinese order. Jack rang the buzzer while nervously looking over his shoulder at the SUV, half expecting a metermaid to appear spontaneously. Jack knew that Warren would not take kindly to getting a parking ticket. Warren felt strongly that the more you got, the more problems you had with the city.
Ho was a man of indeterminate age and slight habitus, in sharp contrast to Wei Zhao’s muscular bulk. He also acted nervous and wary, which was equally as variant from Zhao’s commanding assertiveness. Without saying anything, Jack held up his ME badge in front of the man’s face and kept it there long enough for Ho to see it was a New York badge. It was immediately apparent that the badge had an unsettling effect on the super.
“What problem?” Ho asked with a heavy accent.
“You have a tenant by the name of Carol Stewart,” Jack began. He had already seen her name next to the buzzer for apartment 2A, confirming the address. “Unfortunately, Miss Stewart has passed away.”
“No, she still here,” Ho said.
For a second Jack thought he was about to be confronted with another shocking revelation, until he realized that Ho had misinterpreted the meaning of the expressionpassed away. Jack rephrased it: “What I meant to say is that Miss Stewart has died. She is no longer with us.”
“Ah, I see,” Ho said. “Very sorry. She was a nice person.”
“I’m sure she was,” Jack said. “I would like to take a quick look in her apartment. Would you be able to open it for me?”
“Yes, I can open apartment,” Ho said. He stepped aside so Jack could enter.
After one more reassuring glance over his shoulder at the Escalade, Jack stepped past Ho and started up the stairs. Ho followed close behind, getting out his keys in the process. At the top of the stairs, Ho pushed past Jack, who had paused, not knowing which direction to go.
A few minutes later, Jack entered a pleasant one-bedroom apartment that looked out onto 45th Street. Jack took the opportunity to glance yet again at the Escalade. So far, no metermaids.
Directing his attention back inside, Jack noticed that the furniture, although new, had a distinctively generic appearance, making him believe it was probably a rental. To Carol’s credit, the apartment was neatand spanking clean. On the coffee table were a MacBook Pro and several copies ofAdweek,a professional advertising magazine. A book titledThe Miseducation of Cameron Postsat on a side table. There was no bric-a-brac.
“Did Miss Stewart live alone?” Jack asked, as he walked into the kitchen area. There were no dishes in the sink.
“Yes, she live alone,” Ho said.
“How long was she a resident here?” Jack asked. He opened the refrigerator. It contained a moderate amount of food. Clearly, she was cooking for herself. There was also food in the pantry cabinet.
“Just a few months,” Ho said.
“Did you notice if she had many visitors?” Jack asked, as he walked back into the connected living area.
Ho didn’t answer immediately. Jack looked over at him. He seemed conflicted as to how much information he should reveal. “I’m not police,” Jack assured him. “I’m a medical doctor trying to understand why she died.”
“I see,” Ho said. “She had visitors the first month. A man and a woman. They came at night and play music too loud. I have to tell Miss Stewart. But then the man and the woman didn’t come back, so everything was good.”
“Has there been any sickness in the building that you know of?” Jack asked.
“Last winter many people had the flu,” Ho said. “This year so far okay.”
“How about problems with pests, like mice or rats or insects?” Jack asked, just to cover all the bases.
“No trouble with pests,” Ho said.
