Murder in Alphabet City by Lee Harris Page B

list of former tenants at Stratton’s building and began making calls to their new addresses. The first to answer was an old man who didn’t remember Stratton and probably didn’t remember what day it was. The second was an old woman who remembered Stratton but hadn’t known him well. She had heard of his death from her neighbor on the fourth floor. It was a long time ago and that was all she could say about it.
    The next phone call was to Irma Bender, who had lived next door to Stratton and had called the police because of the smell.
    â€œMrs. Bender, this is Detective Jane Bauer of the police department. I’d like to ask you some questions about your former neighbor on Tenth Street.”
    â€œThe one who died?”
    â€œYes, Mr. Stratton. How well did you know him?”
    â€œI knew him pretty good. I used to knock on his door sometimes and see how he was.”
    â€œWhy did you do that?”
    â€œHe seemed a nice young man, but he didn’t get out much and he lived alone and I worried about him. My son was living alone around that time and I always hoped someone would be looking in on him too.”
    â€œYou said he didn’t get out much.”
    â€œHe didn’t have a job. He told me once he had problems and sometimes at night . . .”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI would hear him. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying, but it didn’t sound right. It made me feel, I don’t know, crawly. You know what I mean?”
    â€œI do, yes. Tell me, Mrs. Bender, did you notice if he had visitors?”
    â€œOh sure. He had food delivered sometimes, but he never opened the door till they were gone. And now and then his friends would come.”
    â€œDid you see a little Chinese girl come to deliver his laundry?”
    Silence. “I wasn’t home all the time and if she was very quiet, I wouldn’t hear. My hearing isn’t what it used to be.”
    Which might be why she never told the police or Wally Shreiber about Rose. Jane had an image of the woman cracking the door when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Nosy people made good informants. “Do you remember any of those friends?”
    â€œIt’s a long time. There was a long-haired man who always wore jeans. And a couple of girls.”
    â€œDid you ever hear any names?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDid you know where they lived?”
    â€œHow could I know that?”
    â€œYou might have seen them around the neighborhood.”
    â€œWell, I don’t think so.” She sounded offended.
    â€œThank you for your time, Mrs. Bender.”
    â€œCan I ask why you’re interested in this?”
    â€œWe’re just reinvestigating his death.”
    â€œYou mean it wasn’t natural causes?”
    â€œWe aren’t sure. Do you have any reason to believe that someone might have killed him?”
    Another silence. “How could I know that? It wasn’t my food that killed him, I’ll tell you that. Everything I gave him I ate myself.”
    â€œI’m sure it was great,” Jane said. She marked the name on her list. If they needed to beef up the file, they could go over and talk to Irma Bender.
    None of the other names yielded anything. She sat looking over the names and her notes. “Sean,” she said.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œCan you find out if Stratton had a relationship with Social Services?”
    â€œI can try. It’ll probably take them a month to dig out a file that old. But I can go down there.”
    â€œThanks.”
    That was the only kind of legwork MacHovec could tolerate. He even knew how to charm the people over at Motor Vehicles, generally considered uncharmable. And when records from One PP were needed, he somehow managed to extract them from their drawers and boxes in less time than anyone else Jane knew.
    He was on the phone now, sweet-talking someone who would as soon eat him alive as give him the time of day. “Mrs.