Jack walked into the bedroom. Ho followed at his heels. The bedroom was as neat as the living area. The queen-size bed was made. Jack opened the closet. There were a number of expensive-appearing dresses, blouses, and pants, all carefully hung up and appropriately grouped. There was an impressive collection of shoes both high heeled and flat andalso a number of sneakers of varying colors. There were also boots. She obviously liked footwear.
Next Jack walked into the bathroom. It, too, was neat and clean, with the towels carefully hung and a bathmat folded over the edge of the bathtub.
“I guess she was a good tenant,” Jack said, as he opened the medicine cabinet.
“Yes, a good tenant,” Ho said. “Very nice person.”
“Did she pay her rent on time?” Jack asked. He noticed there were no prescription medications in the medicine cabinet.
“No need for Miss Stewart to pay rent,” Ho said.
“Oh,” Jack voiced. He looked at Ho questioningly. “Why did she not pay rent?”
“The owner not require rent from Miss Stewart,” Ho said. “She was special.”
“Well, that was nice for Miss Stewart,” Jack said, puzzled. “Do you know where Miss Stewart worked?”
“I don’t think she worked, unless she work here with her computer,” Ho said. “She didn’t go out much.”
“Did the owner come and visit her?” Jack asked.
“No, the owner never come here, even though he owns many buildings in the area.”
“He must be a wealthy man,” Jack said.
“Yes, very important man,” Ho agreed.
“What is his name?” Jack asked, unsure of whether Ho would be willing to divulge it.
“His name is Zhao Wei,” Ho said.
There it was,Jack thought. Somehow, he knew there was going to be a surprise if he visited Carol’s apartment, and now he knew what it was. Wei Zhao was paying Carol’s rent and possibly even paying her a salary, yet it most likely wasn’t for romantic or sexual purposes. Not only was he the executor of her estate, but he was also her benefactor.Why?
Jack thanked the superintendent for his cooperation and left the building feeling even more perplexed than he had when he’d arrived. To make matters worse, there was a parking ticket under the windshield wiper of the car. With a sense of aggravation, Jack pulled it out and looked at it. It wasn’t the amount involved that bothered him, it was having to tell Warren.
Once under way to OCME, Jack called Warren. The sooner he told him about the damn parking ticket, the easier it would be. To his surprise, Warren took it in stride.
“Don’t worry about it,” Warren said. “Check out the ticket carefully. A lot of times the metermaids make stupid little mistakes filling out the form. If they do, all you have to do is point it out to the authorities and they drop it. Are you running tonight?”
“I might have to,” Jack said, echoing what he’d said earlier to Aretha. He had no idea what to expect when he got home that evening or even what he’d confront when he got back to work. It was obvious that Laurie was not thrilled with his behavior.
25
WEDNESDAY, 3:25 P.M.
The drive from Sunset Park, Brooklyn, to the OCME was a relatively straight shot almost due north, using the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel. The traffic was heavy but moving well, and Jack was able to relax to a degree. He was becoming accustomed to driving the Escalade, despite its size. At least he had good visibility, sitting as high as he was. He literally looked down on regular cars similar to the de rigueur Mercedes he had in his former life.
As he was trying to integrate Wei Zhao’s apparent financial support for Carol Stewart with what he learned that day, he became so engrossed that when his phone rang it made him jump to the point of almost losing control of the car. With a bit of effort, he steadied the steering wheel and then guiltily looked out at the neighboring vehicles, wondering if anyone had noticed his sudden weave. One driver clearly had, because he gave Jack the finger. All Jack could do was mouth the wordsorry.
Picking up the phone, he glanced at the caller ID. He expected it to be Laurie again, asking him why he wasn’t back, but it wasn’t Laurie. At least it wasn’t her mobile number. Although he could tell it was an OCME number, he didn’t know whose. Hoping it wasn’t Laurie or hersecretary, Jack answered. It wasn’t Laurie. It was Bart Arnold, and he sounded stressed out.
“I’m so glad I got you. Are you still out in New Jersey?”
“No, I’m in Brooklyn, about to enter the Battery Tunnel. What’s up?” Jack felt his own heart rate accelerate after he heard the urgency in Bart’s voice.
“How soon do you think you will be here?” Bart asked.
“Fifteen to twenty minutes, unless FDR Drive is a parking lot. Why?”
