A large hunter-green awning stretched out onto the sidewalk, sheltering both the front door and a man dressed in a matching green uniform.
An odd sight. When Saga thought of the area, she thought of Brackenbury Village and the houses that resembled Easter eggs, or perhaps Ravenscourt Park and its paddling pool. It did not conjure an image of a man in a custom suit that matched the awning of the apartment for which he stood gatekeeper.
Avery appeared to share her mild confusion, for she produced a paper where she’d written the address and was glancing between it and the building in front of them. “Strange.”
“Innit?” Saga echoed. “I used to have a mate that lived round here. Can’t imagine when this sprung up though.”
Avery glanced at her before folding the paper back into an inside pocket only to produce something else. “Looks nothing like a farm either. Dutch or otherwise.”23
Saga wondered if a joke had just gone over her head as she followed after the taller woman who strode directly up to the porter.
“Afternoon, sir,” Avery greeted, flashing a little black notebook at the man. “Detective Inspector Avery Hemlock, I’m investigating the passing of one of your tenants.”
Hemlock? Had Saga known Avery’s last name was Hemlock? No. Surely, she’d have remembered that.
“Miss LaRosa.” His face fell and he removed his matching green Breton cap with a gold braid over the brim.
“You knew her?” Avery asked gently, giving a slight glance to Saga, who quickly produced her notebook and a pencil.
“It’s ma job to know everyone in the buildin’,” the porter answered with what might have usually been a point of pride but was significantlydiminished in the wake of Valentina’s death. “Sanderson Fitz, been a doorman for nearly half my life. Not here though. Here is new.” He tapped his temple. “Eighth floor. Number 5. Miss LaRosa and Miss Walker. No pets. Moved in two years ago. One of the first, just after the building opened. Think Miss Walker knew one of the developers. She’s in real estate.”
Saga mused that learning Gregg shorthand had been invaluable for taking notes at school, with the added bonus of making it rather impossible for any of her classmates to copy her notes. This skill set had unconsciously seeped into taking orders at the café (much to the cooks’ vexation), and now it served her to take down witness accounts of a possible murder investigation word for word.
“Do you happen to know Miss Walker’s first name?”
“Rachel.”
Saga stopped writing abruptly, shocked. She caught Avery’s eye, seeing the barest hints of an approving smile on her lips. A wave of goose bumps crashed over her skin, and she forced herself to look back at the man in green.
“Do you know if there’d been problems between the two of them lately?”
He fidgeted with his hat. “Miss LaRosa hadn’t been home for a couple of weeks. I figured they’d sort it out—they always did. Miss LaRosadidcome back before the accident.”
“When was that?” Avery pressed.
“About a week before she passed?”
“And where was Miss Walker during that time?” There was a calmness to Avery’s voice that was almost hypnotic. It didn’t demand answers, it beckoned them with a tone that knew it would be given satisfaction.
Saga found herself oddly wishing she had the answers so she could be the one to deliver them. It was a strange sensation—an intoxicating desire, no, aneedto answer the melody of Avery’s voice if she had the information.
“Miss Walker had been staying with her mother until recently. She didn’t want to be around when Miss LaRosa returned.” He gave a sad smile.“They would have worked it out, Inspector. They always did. God just didn’t have the time, I suppose.”
Avery smiled politely and nodded. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Fitz. Do you happen to know if Miss Walker might be home?”
The porter nodded, replaced his hat, and turned to open the door for them.
Avery paused before entering. “You didn’t happen to see Miss LaRosa leave that night, did you?”
Sanderson Fitz shook his head. “We have a day and night porter, but unless a tenant makes a special request, we end service at midnight.” He let them pass into the lobby. “Inspector, she did come downstairs quite a few times that evening—but I never saw her leave.”
Avery held still as if any movement might spook him into silence. “How do you mean?”
“About once an hour from four to nine p.m. She’d be making as if she was leaving for work, then ask me the time and go back up.”
The pale woman’s brow knitted momentarily, and she gave a firm nod. “Thank you, Mr. Fitz.” She turned to face the elevators and stopped, her expression quizzical.
“Eighth floor,” Saga remembered, calling the lift with the press of a gold button.
