A Matter of Blood

by Catherine Maiorisi

  The woman in the chair raised her head.

  “I tell Marek,” the redhead said. She knocked on one of the two doors in the room, said something in Polish and waved them in. Kozinski stood to greet them. Average height, wide and muscled, he was a vision in gray: with a full head of steel-gray hair brushed straight back, a gray suit, gray shirt, and a gray and black striped tie. Only his eyes were blue.

  He glanced at their identification. “You sit, please.” He pointed to the chairs facing his desk. Then with a gesture that seemed unconscious he smoothed his tie several times. When they were settled, he sat in the chair behind the desk, his meaty hands clasped in front of him.

  “Miss Sandra says Mrs. Winter has died. Why is needed to talk to me and Agnieszka? We know nothing of this.”

  “Agnieszka cleans Ms. Winter’s office?”

  “Yes, she cleans all of thirty-four and thirty-five floors. Mrs. Winter’s office last.”

  “When does she work?”

  “She start five thirty in afternoon and supposed to finish by ten thirty, every weekdays.”

  “I understand that Ms. Winter was unhappy with your service recently.”

  “Is true. Mrs. Winter very, how you say, particular about her office, and she is happy with Agnieszka, thinks she cleans good, but we have problem because of time.”

  “Time?”

  “Agnieszka must finish by ten thirty, but sometime Mrs. Winter stays in office to twelve o’clock in morning, sometimes much, much later. Mrs. Winter says office must not be cleaned while she is there. Agnieszka must wait until she goes home and then clean office. Agnieszka leaves ten-year-old to watch sick daddy and two babies. Is important she finish on time so little girl can sleep for school.”

  “Did you speak to Ms. Winter?”

  “I say I will put somebody who can stay late. She answers in very cold voice that shocks me.” He imitated that same hesitant voice they’d heard from the chauffeur. ‘Only Agnieszka uh, must clean my office. You pay uh, two hundred dollars more each week to Agnieszka and uh, add three hundred dollars to the bill.’ If Agnieszka will not clean, I will not have contract.”

  “So?”

  “Agnieszka is very angry, but she needs money.”

  “Where were you Friday night?”

  “A business dinner, starts at eight and finish about half eleven.” He looked at Parker. “I have Lena give you information after.”

  “I have some questions for Agnieszka. Please ask her to come in.”

  Surprisingly light on his feet, he went to the outer room, said something in Polish. He returned with a chair. The small, hugely pregnant woman lumbered in and lowered herself into the orange chair with a soft grunt. Her ankles were swollen and she was wearing worn, open-backed slippers instead of shoes. The maternity dress must have been colorful at one time, but now it was washed out, the fabric so thin in spots that it seemed sheer. Her stringy blond hair hung to her shoulders and her tired blue eyes avoided contact. Corelli felt a pang of guilt for dragging her down to the office in the heat of the day. They should have gone to her home.

  “Please introduce us. I understand she doesn’t speak English, so tell her we have a few questions and you’ll interpret for her.”

  He spoke to the woman in Polish. She nodded but didn’t look at them.

  Corelli faced the woman. “Mrs. Cizynski, are you aware that Ms. Winter was murdered Friday night?”

  He translated.

  She spit out a few heated sentences and stared defiantly at Corelli.

  He said, “Yes.”

  Corelli glared at Kozinski. “I’ll decide what’s important. You give me the whitewashed version, and I’ll take her to the station and bring in an official translator. Got it?”

  “Yes, yes, sorry. She said, ‘yes, and her prayers are answered.’”

  “Why is she so angry?”

  Agnieszka nodded as she listened to Kozinski. “The queen cares only for herself. First time she there I say, “I clean while you work?” Other peoples in office let me do that. But she points finger at door and say, ‘out, get out.’ So I go home.” She stared at the floor. Corelli was about to ask another question when she started again. “She complains and Marek says I must always wait for her to leave. Many times I think she not there, but when I look, she is in dark sitting by desk or standing at window staring, with drink of something alcohol. I know because I wash her glass. So I wait. She doesn’t work but I must wait no matter how long she stands and stares. One night I leave one o’clock without cleaning, thinking to ask Marek to move me to another job. Beata, my daughter, must not stay up so late. She is having trouble in school.”

  Agnieszka said something to Marek. He excused himself, went into the outer room and came back with a cup of water for her. She drank some and continued.

  “Marek tells me he loses contract if I leave. She will pay more but I must stay. In Poland I am doctor. I am smart like her, maybe smarter, but she treats me like a dog. She traps me. Marek is good to me and I need money. I hate her but I stay.”

  “What time did you get to her office Friday night?”

  “Like usual. Maybe ten. I finish other offices and go to her door, but she is sitting in dark. I go to small room near elevator where I see when she leaves. I have English book to study, but I go to sleep. When I wake up it is after twelve o’clock, but I see she is still sitting there in the dark. I am angry that I should wait to clean office, so I go.”

  “Did you see anyone else on the floor?”

  “Little man with mustache who works there finds me to say don’t clean corner office near elevator that night. And, later the big man who comes sometime.”

  “What time did you see the big man?”

  She shakes her head. “I wake when he passes, but I sleep again right away.”

  “What does the big man look like?”

  “The secret police. Always he wears black, has short white hair, mean blue eyes, crooked nose, arrogant, like he owns the world. Once he takes leather jacket off and I see a gun. He drinks with her sometimes, so I have two glasses to wash.”

  They’d found only one glass. So either the man thought to take his glass or he didn’t drink with Winter that night. “How often did he come?”

  She thought for a few seconds. “Maybe two, three nights in a month.”

  Corelli handed each of them her card. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Cizynski. Please have Mr. Kozinski give us a call, if you think of anything else.” She turned to Marek. “And Mr. Kozinski, you do the same. Would she like a policeman to drive her home?”

  “I drive her.”

  Out on the street walking toward the car, Parker said, “God, Winter was a bitch. What did she get out of being so mean? Good thing she’s dead or I might kill her myself.”

  “You wouldn’t have the balls.”

  Parker stopped and stared at Corelli. “Not unprovoked, but then I’m civilized.”

  “Civilized or afraid to lose control? Wouldn’t want Senator Daddy to think you’ve become one of those bad racist cops, would we?”

  “You, on the other hand, are so filled with rage I bet you could kill in cold blood without blinking an eye.”

  “You betcha.”

  “How did you get cleared to come back?” Parker shook her head. “You are totally out of control.”

  “Hey, I’m just tryin’ to learn about my new…partner.”

  “I’m beginning to think you prefer backs.” Parker pivoted and walked to the car.

  Corelli raised her voice. “So we know you didn’t do it. But maybe we need to find this big guy.” She slid into the car. “Maybe they drank together Friday and he took his glass. Follow up to be sure they checked the bottles for prints.”

  Parker made a note.

  “What do you think about those two?”

  Parker gave her an incredulous look. “Damn it. Are you crazy?”

  “Probably.” Corelli smiled. “What about those two?”

  Parker gripped the steer
ing wheel. “Sounds like Kozinski has an alibi. But if the woman felt anything like the anger I feel toward you right now, she could have easily killed Winter.”

  “Should I feel threatened?”

  “Winter clearly enjoyed torturing the cleaning woman. She had her in a vise, and the woman was desperate for a way out. Maybe you need to think about that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They climbed another rickety staircase in another three-story building on Atlantic Avenue, a few blocks away from the cleaning company. This hall was bright, white, and clean, the doors, railings and steps freshly stained. Parker knocked on Tess Cantrell’s third-floor office door and came face-to-face with a six-foot, copper-haired woman wearing tan chinos and a light tan T-shirt. The broad face, splattered with freckles, the pug nose surrounded by soft brown eyes, and the generous mouth gave her an air of innocence. But her size and the muscles made it clear that this was a woman who could take care of herself.

  Cantrell spotted Corelli and pulled her close, so close that Parker thought she might smother her or crush her hand. “Damn good to see you.” Ignoring Parker, she spoke softly. “I haven’t seen you since…um, Marnie. How’re you doing?”

  Corelli gently extracted herself from the embrace. “I—” She met Tess’s gaze. “I’m sure you’ve heard.”

  Tess understood the change of topic. “You bet. In fact, I caught your welcome home party on TV. The men and women in blue giving you a hard time?”

  “Ya think?”

  Tess slapped her on the shoulder. “You got balls, lady. You’ll live through it.”

  “That’s the plan.” She turned and waved to Parker. “Tess Cantrell, P.I., meet Detective P.J. Parker, the one who’s supposed to keep me alive.”

  Cantrell gave Parker the once-over and extended her hand. “Parker. Didn’t I read something about you saving a fam—”

  “Yes.” Parker shook her hand. A lover? Or just a friend?

  Tess frowned, then shrugged. “Is this a social visit?”

  “We’re here about a client of yours.”

  Tess raised her eyebrows. “C’mon, what client of mine interests you?”

  “How about Connie Winter?”

  Tess’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, yes, I heard she was murdered. Did that asshole husband of hers do it?”

  She dropped onto the sofa and pointed to the facing chairs. “Take a load off.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “I spoke to her Friday afternoon. What happened?”

  “Good question. How did you get involved with her?”

  “She called a couple of months ago. Said she got my name from a cop but couldn’t remember his name. She asked if I had ever done business in the Hamptons. I said no, which I guess was the right answer because she hired me to watch her husband, mostly on weekends. She thought he was having an affair and she wanted proof.”

  “Did you ever get the name of the cop?”

  “Nope. Sometimes guys call when they refer but not this time.”

  “Do you know any big white-haired, maybe blond, mean-looking cops?”

  Tess laughed. “A couple of dozen off the top of my head. Give me a day or two and I could give you a hundred.”

  “That’s how I feel. Is Gus having an affair?”

  “You could say that. He has a steady in East Hampton and another woman in Queens he sees occasionally.”

  “Did you get proof?”

  “You bet. Lots of dirty pictures. She asked me to call her every week and messenger pictures whenever I had them. She paid well and in cash. Every time I sent pictures she sent the messenger back with an envelope, never once questioned the cost. She wanted confidentiality and I gave it to her. Best client I’ve ever had.” She paused. “Holy shit, do you think he got wind and killed her?”

  “Could be, but we don’t know yet. Did you follow him Friday?”

  “No, I sent a messenger with a batch Friday morning, and when we spoke in the afternoon, she said she had enough proof and would call when she had something else for me. And you know, today I got a note from her with a $500 bonus, in cash. Can you imagine sending that much cash through the mail?”

  She stood up and walked to her desk, pushed a few papers around and pulled a note out of an envelope. She handed the hand-written note to Corelli, who read it aloud.

  Dear Ms. Cantrell,

  Enclosed you will find a $500 bonus, my way of thanking you for an outstanding job. The pictures should suppress any attempt to prevent me from proceeding with the divorce. I don’t think it will be necessary for you to testify in court, but if it is, you will be compensated for your time.

  I am considering investigating several people and if I decide to go ahead, I’ll give you a call.

  Thank you again, Connie Winter

  “She was nice to me. Paid me well. I never had to chase her. And she sent a bonus. That’s really something in my business. Most clients don’t even want to fork over what they agree to pay.”

  “Do you have copies of the pictures?”

  “You bet.”

  Tess opened her safe and removed a thick manila envelope and dropped it in Corelli’s lap. “There goes my retirement. If she kept using me, I could’ve started a pension plan.”

  Corelli thumbed through the pictures and passed them to Parker. “Give Tess a receipt. We’ll take them.”

  Parker shuffled through the pictures showing Gus with two different women: holding hands in restaurants, walking arm in arm, kissing in a car, kissing in a doorway. She stopped at a picture of Gus nude, having sex outdoors next to a pool. She stuffed the pictures in the envelope and wrote a receipt.

  “Anything about him, or her, for that matter, we should know?” Corelli asked.

  “She was really concerned with confidentiality and told me to leave my name when I called, no number, no name of firm, no message. I followed him for almost three months and he never made me. Not too bright I would say.”

  “Do you think he could have killed her?”

  “Maybe. He has a temper and loses it pretty easily. One night, I watched him slap his Southampton steady around, and if I hadn’t been undercover, I would’ve given him a taste of the same. Got some nice pictures of that. Murder might be a stretch for him but if he stands to inherit I’d say yes. Money is a great motivator.”

  “Do you have the name and address of the East Hampton girlfriend?”

  “But of course.” Tess wrote the information on a slip of paper and handed it to Corelli.

  “Thanks Tess. You know where to find me if you think of something.”

  “Do you think he killed her to avoid the divorce and get her money?”

  “As you said, money is a great motivator.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “That makes four people without a motive: Tess, the bartender, you, and me,” Parker joked.

  “Make that three. I’m not so sure about you.”

  “God, you are relentless.”

  “Hey, that’s a good quality for a homicide detective.”

  “Yeah, right.” Parker sighed.

  “By the way, I’d probably eliminate the two we saw earlier. I don’t see a motive for Kozinski and he seems to have an alibi. Agnieszka definitely has a motive but she is so hugely pregnant I doubt she could move fast enough to surprise Winter. Besides, she’s a doctor and I don’t think she would let her emotions get the best of her.”

  “I’m not so sure I agree about her. Doctors do kill. But I was wondering about the little guy with the mustache she mentioned. It seems the group in the locked office is expanding. We have the porter, the cleaning woman, Cummings, the cop, and now the little guy.”

  “Good point. We need to identify the two men so we can question them.”

  They were back at the car. “Where to?”

  Corelli glanced at her watch. “Maybe we can catch Joel Feldman, the ex VP of Investments at home. He lives a few blocks from here on President Street in Carroll Gardens. Go straight on Court Street and I’ll tell you whe
n to turn.”

  President Street was wide and lined on both sides with well-maintained three-or four-story brownstones, each with a small garden area in front of it. There were no parking spaces available, so Parker double-parked in front of Feldman’s house.

  Corelli examined the bell. “One name. He must have the whole brownstone. Very nice.”

  Parker glanced at her. Your apartment isn’t too shabby. Not a brownstone, but a nice building in a hot neighborhood.

  “You handle this interview, Parker.”

  She eyed Corelli suspiciously, wondering if this was the lead-in to another salvo of criticism. She nodded and pressed the bell. Eventually locks turned and chains clinked, and they were face-to-face with a pale, unkempt man, who appeared not to have slept or shaved recently. And, by the smell that wafted toward them, not bathed in quite some time. His kinky black hair framed his face like a halo in the Byzantine style, and his thick mustache was flaked with little pieces of something red. He clutched a colorful but grungy bathrobe around him. His feet were bare and his legs were white with the same black hair sticking out.

  They flashed their shields. “We’re here to see Joel Feldman.”

  He stared at them and started laughing. He sounded hysterical. “You think I killed that disgusting excuse for a human being? I’m glad she’s dead. I hope she suffered a very long time, like she made others suffer. But I didn’t kill her.”

  Another fan of Winter. Parker hoped Corelli was taking this in, learning what happens when you mistreat people. She cleared her throat. “Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way, how about you let us in to talk about it? And we wouldn’t mind waiting if you wanted to slip on a pair of pants and a shirt before we start.”

  He looked down and seemed surprised to realize he wasn’t dressed. He stepped aside and motioned them through a long, narrow hall into a living room with pale green walls and a moss green suede sectional facing a white marble fireplace. The late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the French doors, illuminating the easy chair and matching hassock positioned in front of the fireplace. The room was neat and the ambience tranquil, a stark contrast to the distraught man who lived there.