Page 24 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Bloch

Bloch stared at the ceiling in Grand Central Station and tutted.

The celestial ceiling in the main concourse is a representation of the ancient heavens, with the zodiac constellations rendered in gold on a turquoise background.

Electric light bulbs illuminate the stars that form the original Greek signs of the zodiac – the crab depicting Cancer, the winged horse of Perseus, Orion as the figure of the hunter and so on.

It is one of the most beautiful and breathtaking public artworks in the world.

Bloch shook her head, dug her nails into her palms, then looked away from the ceiling and tilted her head to the right, cracking her neck.

She looked around the concourse and spotted Lake approaching. He had his cell phone in his hand and he was flicking his thumb across the screen. He stopped in front of Bloch.

‘Did you get some pictures?’ she asked.

Lake nodded, said, ‘There’s an MTA security camera at the turnstile and two on the platform. None on the stairwell.’

Bloch nodded. They were checking out Elly’s story of the man with the yellow suitcase, identifying the cameras that would have picked him up.

While New York’s public transport system was one of the easiest and cheapest ways to navigate the city, Bloch never used it.

She drove. She liked driving, but there was another reason.

The tunnels and platforms of the subway made her feel uncomfortable. Bloch couldn’t handle any kind of confined space, particularly underground. Lake had to be the one to enter the subway and scope out the camera locations.

Lake paused, stared at Bloch. She clenched her fists, relaxed and then clenched again. Cracked her neck.

‘What’s bothering you? You don’t have to go into the subway. I’m pretty sure I got everything we need,’ said Lake.

‘It’s not that – it’s the ceiling,’ said Bloch.

Tilting his head back, Lake smiled as he took in the artwork.

‘What’s with the ceiling? It’s gorgeous. Is it too high? Don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic and agoraphobic too.’

‘I’m not claustrophobic. I just don’t like being underground. And I like the height. It’s the painting, it’s backward,’ said Bloch.

‘It’s what?’

Bloch pointed to the ceiling said, ‘The constellations are facing the wrong way. It’s like someone drew the stars from a mirror. Or they had the drawing at their feet and then copied it the wrong way onto the ceiling. It makes me . . . uneasy. It’s like a stone in my shoe. It’s not right.’

Lake nodded, said nothing. Only Bloch would notice small imperfections. It was what made her a talented investigator, but this ability also drove her crazy from time to time.

He followed Bloch out of the station, and they walked the route described by Elly, back to the building where she had been poisoned.

There were two more cameras, in Pershing Square and at a crosswalk on 40 th , that could have picked up images of Elly and the man with the suitcase.

They also looked for cameras in stores pointed at the entrances and which might pick up passers-by on the sidewalk.

They tried the stores, but they struck out. Camera footage was erased after forty-eight hours.

When they reached the building, Bloch made a note of the address.

Elly didn’t know the exact address or apartment number, but she had given Kate a good description of the building and this was the only one that matched.

Bloch took some pictures, sent them to Kate so she could confirm this was the correct address when she next saw Elly.

They walked on, and Bloch made a call as they moved.

Her contact in NYPD. She gave all the relevant information – approximate times of Elly entering the subway and camera locations.

If there was anything remotely matching the description of the man, then her contact would find the footage and send it to Bloch.

If it corresponded with Elly’s story, Kate could then subpoena the relevant security footage so that it could be used in court as evidence.

First, they wanted to see all the video. Make sure it backed up their client’s story. No point in obtaining evidence officially that only damaged their case.

Bloch hung up the call, said, ‘It’s going to take a day to get the footage. Anything else we can do?’

‘The homeless man who helped Elly,’ and he pointed to the corner of 40 th Street. One of the buildings on the corner had an alcove. There was a large shopping bag filled with rags and a bundle of cardboard boxes tied up with string tucked into the corner of the building recess.

‘Nobody’s home,’ said Lake.

‘Age range mid-thirties to early fifties. Caucasian. Unshaven. Red coat. Blue beanie hat. He was in the alcove on the corner of the street. That’s all that Elly could remember about him. Not much to go on,’ said Bloch.

They scanned the area, looking for other homeless people. They both knew that this was a community. Those who live on the streets get to know each other. And most help each other too, when they can.

‘I don’t see anyone. Let’s walk the blocks. We’re bound to find somebody.’

They circled the block, didn’t see anyone who might have been part of that community.

Until they walked back toward Grand Central and saw two men on the corner of 41 st Street.

Bloch always felt a pang of guilt when she saw people living on the streets.

It was not their fault. Poverty, addiction, mental-health problems and sometimes even just bad luck could put almost anyone here.

The hardest thing was to climb back onto their feet and get out of that spiral.

Lake and Bloch approached the two men. One was tall, with sharp eyes and a long gray beard.

The other was short and wore odd boots – one brown and one black.

They both wore beanie hats and thick coats.

A shopping cart filled with bags of empty plastic bottles and cardboard sat between them.

They were sorting through the bags and talking.

‘Excuse me, guys, we’re looking for the man who lives on the corner of 40 th Street, in the alcove. Any idea where we could find him? He’s not in trouble or anything. We just want to talk to him,’ said Lake.

Both men halted their conversation and eyed Lake warily.

‘You a cop?’ asked the tall man.

‘Used to be. Private investigator. My name is Gabriel Lake, this is Bloch. We just want to talk to the guy. He saw a client of ours, a lady who had been attacked. He helped save her.’

‘You mean the girl who was puking in the street?’ asked the short man.

Bloch stepped forward, said, ‘Her name’s Elly Parker. We need to talk to your friend. Do you know his name and where we could find him?’

Both men looked at each other for a moment. Something passed between them, their eyes searching each other’s faces for the appropriate response.

‘He helped her. Made sure she didn’t choke while they were waiting for the paramedics. Is she alright? The lady, I mean?’ asked the tall man.

‘She recovered, but she’s in a different kind of trouble. We’re hoping your friend could help,’ said Lake.

The tall man stepped back, shook his head, said, ‘I’m glad she’s okay, but we ain’t seen the guy you’re looking for. Don’t know him. Sorry.’

The short man took the big guy’s lead. He too backed away, dragging the cart, shook his head, said, ‘Sorry, can’t help you.’

‘Wait, I thought you knew him? The guy who lives in the alcove on 40 th ?’

‘We ain’t seen him,’ said the big man.

‘Do you know where else he might hang out?’ asked Bloch.

‘Sorry, lady,’ said the short one. ‘Like he said, we ain’t seen Joe in days.’

‘Joe? What’s his last name?’ asked Bloch.

The short man swore under his breath, and turned away from the accusing look shot at him by his friend.

‘It’s none of our business. Like we told the other guy, we don’t know shit,’ said the tall man.

‘What other guy?’ asked Lake.

‘The cop who came by the other day. If Joe is in trouble –’ and as he said ‘Joe’ he gave his short friend another withering look – ‘we don’t want no part of it.’

‘A cop? Was he in uniform?’ asked Bloch.

‘Nah, detective.’

‘What was this cop’s name?’ asked Bloch.

‘Didn’t give no name. Just asked if we’d seen Joe or if we know where else he hangs out.’

‘Did he leave a card so you could call him if you see Joe?’ asked Bloch.

‘Didn’t leave no card, neither. Just asked about the guy in the blue hat who stays on the corner on 40 th Street.’

‘Did you tell this cop the guy he’s looking for is called Joe?’ asked Lake.

‘Nah, we didn’t slip up that time,’ said the tall man.

‘Shit man, I didn’t mean to,’ said the short man.

‘Okay, what’s Joe’s second name?’ asked Lake.

‘Don’t know. We don’t know shit. Now leave us be,’ said the tall man.

Bloch took two fifties from her wallet, gave one to the short man, and the other to the tall man, along with a card with her name and cell phone number.

‘If you see Joe, or you see this cop come by again, call me. There’ll be another fifty for each of you. What are your names?’

They looked at the bills in their hands, then each other. The short man was waiting for his pal to take the lead.

‘I’m Pat, this is Sean,’ said the tall man. ‘You sure Joe’s not in trouble?’

‘None at all. The cop who asked about Joe, do you know what precinct he was from?’ asked Lake.

‘Didn’t say,’ said Pat. ‘I thought it was kinda strange at the time. He didn’t show no badge. Just said he was a cop and he was looking for Joe.’

‘The guy gave off a weird vibe,’ added Sean.

‘Weird in what way?’ asked Lake.

‘He was wearing all black. Combat pants, shell hoodie. Sunglasses and a black baseball cap. Had a big-ass Rolex on his wrist too. Never saw a cop like that before,’ said Sean.

‘Was he tall? Short?’

‘Average height. White guy. Built like a sprinter, or an athlete or something. Strong and lean. Had a little scar on his chin.’

‘I don’t like the sound of this cop. If he comes around again, you let us know,’ said Bloch. ‘We really need to find Joe. He might be in danger. Any ideas?’

Pat shook his head, but Sean looked at his friend then said, ‘His name is Joseph Novak. Try the VA. Joe was gonna try and get into a program again. If we see him, we’ll let you know.’

No rebuke from Pat this time.

Lake and Bloch thanked the men and headed back to Bloch’s car.

‘The Veterans Administration office is on West Houston Street,’ said Bloch, pronouncing it Howston , like all New Yorkers.

‘What kind of cop goes looking for a witness and doesn’t give a card or a contact number, or his name?’ said Lake.

‘The kind of person who isn’t a cop. Could be Elly’s man with the suitcase is trying to take care of loose ends.’

‘Or it could be nothing to do with this case. Might be a coincidence.’

‘You don’t believe in coincidences,’ said Bloch.

‘I believe in logic. Why draw attention to yourself by hunting down a homeless man who may or may not be able to identify you? Think about it. Soon as we get the MTA footage from the subway, we’re going to know exactly what this guy looks like anyway.’

Bloch’s phone rang.

She picked up. Listened. After thirty seconds, she ended the call.

‘My contact is gonna check the traffic and NYPD Argus cameras. There’s no subway footage for the day Elly was poisoned,’ said Bloch.

‘What?’

‘It’s gone. Could be a technical glitch.

The footage is live-streamed to the MTA security office and the NYPD monitoring center, but sometimes it’s not saved.

Remember the subway shooter in Brooklyn?

The Wi-Fi was down in the subway and the cameras didn’t upload the recording to the cloud.

PD had to identify the shooter from cell-phone footage of the attack,’ said Bloch.

‘Or it could be somebody wiped it. Somebody who doesn’t want to be identified. Could be the same guy looking for Joe,’ said Lake. ‘How the hell do you wipe camera footage from the MTA?’

‘Let’s find out. If it is the man with the suitcase, then he’s thorough. If we can find Joe first, then we might be able to find our mystery man.’

‘How do you figure?’

‘Because he’s smart. He’ll find Joe Novak eventually. And we’ll be waiting.’