Your friend, Vando
She stared at the neat cursive and wondered what the message meant. “Keep looking for the truth”—that’s what the man who had helped her with Hope’s stroller had said as he slipped out of the subway car. She looked at the postmark. He must have mailed the letter from the main post office right after they met. She took a breath. Now she had a name for her mysterious ally: Vando.
“What has you so zoned out?” Richie asked, sitting down at his desk.
She hadn’t noticed his approach. “The other day, when I surveilled the Council House, I met a man. He mailed me this tip.” She held out the note.
Richie leaned over their desks. His eyes grew wide as he read. “The elevator shafts!”
“Does it mean something, Rich?”
“Hmm.” He held his hand out as if he were stopping traffic and ducked behind his computer monitor. “Let me look something up.”
She shrugged and sorted the rest of the mail. Detail notifications, reports, and password reset requests. All administrative junk.
At the sound of Richie’s hand slapping his desk, she snapped to attention. She knew that meant he had made a connection. His head was still buried in his monitor. She drummed her fingers on her desk and huffed. “Well?”
“I searched the complaint index, week by week.” He pointed at the computer monitor. “And I found it.”
Mel walked to the front of his desk and read his screen. “A DOA.” She continued reading and gripped the back of his chair. “A fatal elevator accident in the World Trade Center?”
He nodded and kept his eyes on the screen. “This July, two months before September eleventh, Justin Newman was crushed to death in shaft 37 of One World Trade Center.”
“How common are elevator accidents?”
Richie looked up at her and rolled his eyes.
“Not very, I guess.” She pinched his arm.
“Ouch!” He brushed her hand away and pressed a few keys. A complaint report appeared on the screen. “Justin Newman was assaulted two weeks before his fatal accident.”
She tapped his shoulder. “Read the details, already.”
“Place of occurrence, Chambers Street train station. Two male whites wearing blue work clothes. Newman didn’t identify them.” He tapped the keyboard. “No cross complaint.”
Mel let out a puff of air. “Witnesses?”
“Yeah, sure.” He chuckled. “And mug shots of the perps. Oh, and images of their fingerprints.”
“Jerk.” She biffed the top of his head.
He jingled car keys. “Feel like checking up on his widow?”
“Let’s go.” She grabbed a notepad.
Chapter 25
The Newmans’ porch lantern swung in the wind. Dim light bounced against the amber glass insert on the front door, reminding Mel of a funeral parlor. She sighed as Richie pulled the car in front of the small brick colonial. The house looked sad.
She strolled up the short walkway and leaves crunched under her shoes. Leaf raking must have been Justin’s chore. So many chores in so many homes must be going undone this fall. She sighed again.
“How should we start?” She turned to discuss strategy with Richie, but he wasn’t behind her. She had assumed he would bring up the rear, like always. She panned the sidewalk for him. No Richie. Her heartbeat began to speed up. Ever since Matt shoved her out of an exploding bus, she hadn’t allowed anyone to walk in front of her. She couldn’t let Richie take a bullet or knife blade meant for her. Where had he gone? Had he been struck by a passing car? No. She would have heard the impact. Maybe he slipped. Or spotted a burglar and ran after him. But, he would have called out first.
She sprinted back to their parked sedan. Empty. She looked up and down the quiet street. A clanking noise came from the side of the house. She sped up the Newmans’ driveway and skidded to a stop. She hung her head and caught her breath. Richie was placing a metal lid on top of a garbage pail.
He shrugged. “What?” He looked up at her. “The wind knocked the garbage cans down.”
She wiped her eyes.
“Did you think…? Aw.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry about me.”
She nodded, afraid her voice would shake if she spoke.
“I miss Matt, too.”
She fist-bumped his chest and sniffled.
“Ready to ring the bell, shorty?”
She nodded and rang the bell.
A shadow crossed the amber glass. “Who is it?”
“NYPD.” Mel held out her ID. “May we come in?”
The front door opened a few inches. Large brown eyes peeked through the opening. The woman looked past them toward the unmarked sedan and then down at Mel’s identification.
Nancy Newman cradled a teacup in her palms. “Isn’t the case closed? I’ve already received a check from Spade Elevator’s insurance company, and I used all of it to pay my mortgage.”
“This is about the assault.” Mel stirred her tea, wondering if Justin had told his wife about the incident.
“I quit my job after Justin…” Nancy cleared her throat. “I couldn’t ride in a high-rise elevator anymore. And the stairs take too long. I do some typing at home, but—”
“That’s understandable, Nancy. No need to go on.” Mel nodded. The widow was focused on the loss of her husband and hadn’t even heard the word “assault.” Mel had to be even more direct. “This isn’t about the insurance claim at all.”
“Then why are you here?” Nancy smoothed a napkin on the kitchen table.
“Detective Carson and I have a few questions about the assault your husband reported last July.”
“Oh.” Nancy’s eyebrows scrunched. “That.”
So Justin had discussed the incident with his wife. I hope she remembers everything that he told her. “Did Justin say who the attackers were? They were wearing the same colored work clothes Spade Elevator workers wear.” Mel clunked her spoon onto the table. “He must have known them.”
Nancy buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shuddered.
Mel glanced across the kitchen table at Richie. He nodded slightly, urging her on.
“Nancy, your husband was threatened.” Mel cleared her throat. “His death may not have been an accident.”
Nancy raised her head and gazed at Mel.
Mel put a hand on the widow’s shoulder. “Justin may have been murdered because of the attacks on the twin towers. Do you remember anything at all?”
She nodded. “Someone broke into the house after the funeral. The basement was ransacked.”
Richie leaned forward. “What did they take?”
“They didn’t find anything.” Her face contorted.
Mel wondered what Nancy was debating about. She was at a loss for a follow-up question that wouldn’t freeze her out.
Richie rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing burn scars on his forearms. The shiny pale skin contrasted his natural caramel complexion. “I got these when a bomb blew up on a city bus. Detective Ronzone’s partner and two good Samaritans died in the blast.”
Nancy twisted her wedding band round and round.
“I thought our enemy was a terrorist group called the Impoverished, just like everyone thinks al Qaeda crashed airplanes into the twin towers.” He put his palm over Nancy’s hands and tapped her wedding band. “Help us find out why Justin was killed.”
She nodded and wiped away tears. “I’ll show you.” She stood and grabbed a sweater from a peg next to the back door. She tossed it over her shoulders and led them outside to a small backyard.
Mel and Richie followed her to the end of the lawn. “What did you want show us?” Mel asked.
“The property behind the hedge is ours too,” she said, and squeezed between overgrown rose bushes. She looked back at them. “Be careful of the thorns.”
Mel and Richie followed her to a shed hidden behind the hedge. Nancy stretched to reach the door lintel, and retrieved a rusted key. She unlocked the door and yanke
d a metal chain dangling from the ceiling. A bare light bulb illuminated the interior of the shed. “There.” She pointed. “Under the burlap drop cloth.”
Richie tugged at the cloth and uncovered a white pail. A ten-gallon plastic tub of paint.
“Paint?” Mel shook her head. Big deal.
Richie shrugged and frowned.
“There’s something in the paint, detectives.” Nancy hugged her stomach. “A liquid explosive.”
Mel looked at Richie. His normally small eyes were wide as saucers.
“Let’s back out and call the bomb squad from the house,” he whispered. “Nancy, don’t touch the light chain or close the door. Just walk out slowly.”
“It’s safe, detective. The paint has to dry before it can explode.”
Back at the kitchen table, Mel took a sip and grimaced. The tea had gone cold.
Nancy must have caught the look on her face because she turned to the sink and started a pot of coffee. “I never bother with a whole pot, now that it’s just me. I could use something stronger than tea tonight, though.” Her hands shook as she scooped out the grinds and then plugged in the coffee maker.
“Sit down, Nancy.” Mel gathered the tea cups and took them to the sink. “Let me.”
Nancy sat across from Richie and folded her fingers on the table. “Justin was a good man,” she said. She sat up straight and looked at Richie. “He had never brought anything home from work before. Never.”
“Thanks for your honesty,” he said. “Justin took the paint because he was suspicious about the work Spade was doing at the towers. He didn’t take it for a home project.”
Mel touched Nancy’s hand as she handed her a coffee mug. “Your husband had good reason to take the paint home.” Nancy’s face relaxed. Mel was glad to see the tension drain away. She understood why Nancy hadn’t turned over the paint before now—she wouldn’t have wanted to muddy her husband’s reputation. The poor woman must have been tormented.
“How did Justin know the paint contained explosives?” Richie asked.
“He lit a cigarette at work and a spark landed on the underside of a paint can lid. It combusted and burned through the lid and floor tile.” She took a breath and looked at Richie. “He knew there was something very wrong with the paint.”
Richie nodded. “Did he have it tested?”
Nancy stared into her empty mug. “He never got the chance.”
The coffee machine beeped and Nancy began to stand. Mel put her hand on Nancy’s shoulder and guided her back into her chair. Richie was getting good information. She didn’t want to break the mood. “I’ll get it,” Mel said.
“This must be difficult to talk about.” Richie said, and leaned back so Mel could fill the mugs. He poured milk into his coffee and then held the carton over Nancy’s mug. “Milk?”
She nodded, and he splashed a dollop into her coffee.
“Ask me whatever you need to know.”
“Thank you. Did Justin bring the paint home before or after he was assaulted?”
“After—he met some new guys at the bar to pick their brains. Instead, they battered his.”
“New guys? New workers?”
“When Spade Elevator landed the big project to renovate the elevator shafts at the towers, it merged with a global company. Spade was too small to handle the job on its own. The merge was a condition from the management company.”
“What made him suspicious of the new workers?”
“He said he and the regular workers from Spade weren’t allowed in an elevator shaft after the new guys had sprayed the walls.”
“Paint has to dry.” Richie shrugged. “No?”
“That’s what Justin thought, at first. The shaft must be dry before the elevator goes back in service. But spray paint dries quickly, and the new guys kept the shaft closed longer than necessary. Justin was sure the new workers were doing something else in the shafts, besides painting.” Nancy bit her lip. “He never found out what.”
“Did you meet any of the new workers?”
“No. Justin said they came from all over the country. They temporarily relocated without their families. Most were single and some were foreigners.”
“No local guys?”
“Not a one.”
Mel opened her pad. “Did Justin describe any of them?”
“Young, fit men, clean-shaven with short haircuts.”
“Sounds like paramilitary men warned Justin off with a beating.” Richie scratched his head. “But did they escalate to murder?”
“The beating made Justin more curious.” Nancy began to shake. “They killed him, didn’t they?”
“If they did, Detective Ronzone and I will bring them to justice.” Richie squared his jaw and caught Mel’s eye.
Mel flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. “What company were the new guys from?”
“High Rise Reno.”
“Are you sure?” Richie asked.
Mel jotted the name down and underlined it. She couldn’t wait to find out what Richie already knew about the company. His follow-up question to such a clear-cut answer had come too quick. He was on to something.
“High Rise Renovations is the full name, but Justin mostly called it High Rise Reno.”
Richie put his mug on the table and stood. He fished his business card from his jacket pocket. “Thanks so much for your help, Nancy,” he said, handing her the card. “If you think of anything else, please call.”
Mel reached out to shake her hand. “We’re very sorry for your loss. We’ll keep you up to date on any developments.”
Richie turned toward the back door. “We’ll go out this way, so we can take the paint.”
Mel quickly wrote out a receipt for the paint and had Nancy sign. The chain of evidence would start here.
Chapter 26
The next morning, Mel sat at her desk staring at a police lab report. It couldn’t be correct, could it? Monday night, she’d phoned Richie to update him about the thermite study Eva had discovered. He said he was in the neighborhood so he stopped by to pick up Mark’s dust and brought a sample to the police lab. And now, Thursday morning, the results were in her hands.
She had read the report three times since ripping open the envelope, but still couldn’t believe it. Mark’s sample of ground zero dust showed no presence of thermite. There was plenty of iron and silicate spheres, asbestos, derma, and cement, but no thermite. She shook her head and quickly dialed a number on her desk phone. “Hey Mark, it’s me.”
“What’s up, hon?”
She took a deep breath. “The police lab report from your dust sample says no thermite present.”
“Really?”
If not for a faint rhythmic tapping, she would have thought the signal had been dropped. If Mark was drumming his fingers, he was scheming. “Mark?”
“I’ll take the dust to the bomb squad. See what they find,” he said.
“The feds took the remainder of the sample. National security baloney.”
“I didn’t give Richie all the dust.” More tapping. “I have more.”
How had Mark known to hold back some dust? His instincts never failed to amaze her. “There’s more to you than six-pack abs and huge biceps.”
“Do you mean my—”
“Mark!” Heat burned her cheeks, and she looked across her desk at Richie.
His gaze was focused on his computer monitor, and the task of building employee lists for Moen Pindar’s businesses. He had filled her in on how the Mossad agents from Moving Systems had pretended to be Muslim terrorist sympathizers. And he had verified Nancy Newman’s claim that High Rise Renovations was the company Spade Elevator had merged with in order to get the World Trade Center elevator contract last spring.
Richie couldn’t hear Mark’s side of the conversation anyway. But Hope could. Mel heard her babbling in the background. “Mark, the baby—”
“I’ll take Hope on a relaxing drive to City Island. It’s time she tried some fish.”
&nb
sp; “Fish!” She tightened her grip on the phone receiver.
“Hon, I’m kidding. About the fish. But, it is a nice day for a ride to Rodman’s Neck.”
She scrunched her eyebrows. The baby at Rodman’s Neck? She reported to the outdoor range there twice a year. The skin on her hands always cracked from the wind as she shot hundreds of practice and requalification rounds. The bomb squad turned out on the other side of the sand hills, where there was no shelter to block the wind coming from the bay. It would be even colder there. He wouldn’t really take the baby to the bomb squad, would he? He would probably meet Tony for clams on City Island. But it got chilly by the water, even in autumn. “Bundle her up.”
“Yes, dear.”
She imagined his eyes rolling and grunted a quick goodbye.
“Hon, wait.”
She let out a loud puff of air that she hoped rattled his ear.
“Be safe.”
She closed her eyes and remembered the torture of not knowing if Mark’s body lay crushed under tons of concrete and twisted metal, or if he was alive and trapped, fighting for breath in a tiny pocket of rubble. Be safe? She swallowed the lump in her throat to keep her voice light. “Love you.”
She hung up and read the lab report again. She looked at Richie, still lost in cyberland. Must be good stuff, considering how much he hated computer work. “Rich.” She frisbeed the report across their desktops. “Check this out.”
He grabbed the paper and read. “No thermite present.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Run it again, Mel.”
“Can’t. The feds confiscated the remainder of the dust sample, but Mark is taking some to Tony.”
“Eva’s report showed thermite as the incendiary choice for controlled demolition of a skyscraper. There should be traces.” He scratched his head. “Maybe it burned up or evaporated.”
What are they not seeing? Mel stood and looked at the floor as she paced. The ten-gallon pail of paint pushed under their desks caught her eye. Paint that had been sprayed on the walls of the elevator shafts in both towers. “The paint Newman borrowed hasn’t been analyzed yet.”
Richie reached under his desk and pulled out the pail. “Let’s get it analyzed right now.”
The Council House (The Impoverished Book 3) Page 11