Invisible City (Rebekah Roberts #1)(19)

I run out the back door, turning once to make sure Aron Mendelssohn hasn’t followed me outside. I can hear him yelling. I lift the latch on the back gate and jog past George to his car. I have no idea if Saul is behind me. Fred Moskowitz has returned from his coffee run and sees me coming out.

“We’re not getting a photo,” I say when George gets inside.

“Oh yeah?” says George. “Figures.”

“I’m gonna call in what I’ve got.” I pull out my notebook and my hands are shaking. I can barely read my writing, but I remember exactly what Miriam said. I call Cathy’s number directly. She picks up on the first ring. I tell her I talked to the sister-in-law.

“Perfect. Give me what you got.”

“Her name is Rivka. She’s thirty, married, has four children. Lives in a big house in Borough Park. Her husband is scary.”

“Her husband is scary? Is that a quote?”

“No. Sorry. That’s me. The rest is from the sister-in-law. I got in the house after the cops and talked to her, but when the husband came home he started screaming and I left.”

“What’s the sister-in-law’s name?”

“Miriam.”

“Last name?”

“Fuck.” I forgot to ask. “I forgot to ask. It’s probably not Mendelssohn. That would be her maiden name and she said she was married.”

“And she lives there?”

“Yes. There are two entrances. It’s a really big house. It’s split into two residences.”

“Okay, we can just say the sister-in-law. Anything else?”

“The last time she saw her was Tuesday.”

“Tuesday?”

“Yeah.”

Moskowitz is coming toward me and George. His coat is buttoned improperly, so the collar pokes up at his chin on one side. I can’t talk to him while I’m talking to my editor. I point to the phone and make a sign to wait. He nods. I think Moskowitz might have worked for the Trib before striking out on his own. Or maybe it was the Ledger.

“That’s three days before she was found.”

“Right.”

“But they didn’t report her missing?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Okay. Any quotes?”

“Not much. She said, ‘She was a good mother.’ And, ‘She was beautiful.’”

“Really?”

“Really.” When she said it, it seemed somehow adequate as a description. Not so much now. “She was pretty shook up. She said the kids were very sad.”

“That’s a quote? The kids are sad.”

“The children. She said the children are very sad.”

“Is photo there?”

“Yeah, but I got chased out before I could even ask for a photo. And I don’t recommend anybody going back there. At least not tonight.”

“Is anyone else there?” She means other press.

“Just The Brooklyn Beacon.”

“Not the Ledger?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. Go home. Great work. Don’t forget to put in for overtime.”

“Does Larry at the Shack have anything? A cause of death?” The Shack is how newspaper people refer to the tiny office reporters have at police headquarters.

“Not yet. But it’s definitely a homicide.”

“Duh.”

Cathy laughs. “Great job, Rebekah.”

I hang up and roll the window down to talk to Frank.

“You got in,” he says.

“I didn’t get much. Just her age—she’s thirty.” The offer of information surprises Frank. “Thirty, married, four kids. Born in Borough Park. That’s it.” I can give him information because nobody reads his paper.

Frank repeats the information and I nod, indicating he’s remembered it correctly.

“Who’s this from?” he asks.

“The sister-in-law. Miriam.”

“Last name?”

“I forgot to ask.”

Frank snickers. Forgetting to ask for the last name is a first-week mistake.

“That’s all,” I say.

“Okay. Thanks.”

I roll up the window. George calls in and is told to go to a location in Queens. A city councilman’s wife was picked up for DUI. They want a shot of the car. I’m about to call myself a livery cab to go home when I see Saul coming out the back gate. He looks around, then waves at me. I get out of the car.

“Here is my phone number,” says Saul, handing me a business card that identifies him as a detective in the NYPD. “Please call me if you have any questions. For your story. Or … anything you need.”

He’s not staring at me with the same intensity now, which is nice. I write my phone number on a piece of notebook paper, tear it off, and give it to him.

“Thanks,” I say. “If you hear anything about the investigation, give me a call. I don’t even think they have a cause of death yet. I guess they’re waiting on the autopsy.”

Saul nods, but says nothing.

“Okay,” I say. “Bye.”

“Good-bye, Rebekah,” he says. He’s staring again. I turn and get back in George’s car to call for a livery cab.