The Cabinet of Curiosities (Pendergast #3)(77)

It was a dismal apartment, long and dark. The only window was a small, barred square beside the front door. The walls were of painted brick, once white but now gray, and the floor was covered with old brick pavers, cracked and chipped. Nora looked at them with professional interest. They were laid but not cemented. What was beneath? Dirt? Sand? Concrete? The floor looked just uneven and damp enough to have been laid on dirt.

“Kitchen and bedroom in back,” said Lee, not bothering to point.

Nora walked to the rear of the apartment. Here was a cramped kitchen, leading into two dark bedrooms and a bath. There were no closets. A window in the rear wall, below grade, allowed feeble brown light from an air shaft to enter between thick steel bars.

Nora emerged. Lee was examining the lock on the front door. “Have to fix lock,” he said in a portentous tone. “Many robber try to get in.”

“You have a lot of break-ins?”

Lee nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes. Many robber. Very dangerous.”

“Really?”

“Many robber. Many mugger.” He shook his head sadly.

“The apartment looks safe, at least.” Nora listened. The ceiling seemed fairly soundproof—at least, she could hear nothing from above.

“Neighborhood not safe for girl. Every day, murder, mugging, robber. Rape.”

Nora knew that, despite its shabby appearance, Chinatown was one of the safest neighborhoods in the city. “I’m not worried,” she said.

“Many rule for apartment,” said Lee, trying another tack.

“Is that right?”

“No music. No noise. No man at night.” Lee seemed to be searching his mind for other strictures a young woman would find objectionable. “No smoke. No drink. Keep clean every day.”

Nora listened, nodding her agreement. “Good. That sounds perfect. I like a neat, quiet place. And I have no boyfriend.” With a renewed flash of anger she thought of Smithback and how he had dragged her into this mess by publishing that article. To a certain extent Smithback had been responsible for these copycat killings. Just yesterday, he’d had the nerve to bring up her name at the mayor’s news conference, for the whole city to hear. She felt certain that, after what happened in the Archives, her long-term prospects at the Museum were even more questionable than before.

“Utility not include.”

“Of course.”

“No air-condition.”

Nora nodded.

Lee seemed at a loss, then his face brightened with a fresh idea. “After suicide, no allow gun in apartment.”

“Suicide?”

“Young woman hang herself. Same age as you.”

“A hanging? I thought you mentioned a gun.”

The man looked confused for a moment. Then his face brightened again. “She hang, but it no work. Then shoot herself.”

“I see. She favored the comprehensive approach.”

“Like you, she no have boyfriend. Very sad.”

“How terrible.”

“It happen right in there,” said Lee, pointing into the kitchen. “Not find body for three day. Bad smell.” He rolled his eyes and added, in a dramatic undertone: “Many worm.”

“How dreadful,” Nora said. Then she smiled. “But the apartment is just perfect. I’ll take it.”

Lee’s look of depression deepened, but he said nothing.

She followed him back up to his apartment. Nora sat back down at the sofa, uninvited. The wife was still there, a formidable presence in the kitchen doorway. Her face was screwed into an expression of suspicion and displeasure. Her crossed arms looked like balsa-colored hams.

The man sat down unhappily.

“So,” said Nora, “let’s get this over with. I want to rent the apartment. I need it immediately. Today. Right now.”

“Have to check reference,” Lee replied feebly.

“There’s no time and I’m prepared to pay cash. I need the apartment tonight, or I won’t have a place to sleep.” As she spoke, she removed Pendergast’s envelope. She reached in and took out a brick of hundred-dollar bills.

The appearance of the money brought a loud expostulation from the wife. Lee did not respond. His eyes were on the cash.

“I have here first month’s rent, last month’s rent, and a month’s deposit.” Nora thumped the roll on the tabletop. “Six thousand six hundred dollars. Cash. Bring out the lease.”

The apartment was dismal and the rent bordered on outrageous, which was probably why it wasn’t gone already. She hoped that hard cash was something Lee could not afford to ignore.

There was another sharp comment from the wife. Lee ignored her. He went into the back, and returned a few minutes later, laying two leases in front of her. They were in Chinese. There was a silence.

“Need reference,” said the wife stolidly, switching to English for Nora’s benefit. “Need credit check.”

Nora ignored her. “Where do I sign?”

“There,” the man pointed.

Nora signed Betsy Winchell with a flourish on both leases, and then handwrote on each lease a crude receipt: $6,600 received by Mr. Ling Lee. “My Uncle Huang will translate it for me. I hope for your sake there’s nothing illegal in it. Now you sign. Initial the receipt.”

There was a sharp noise from the wife.