City Dark(77)

Letty had the feeling that Porter was a gay man, though not because he seemed effeminate or carried himself in any particular way. There was just something in how he settled into a chair or moved his hands and arms to stretch or adjust his posture. Maybe it was the way his eyes passed over the scene, the responders, or Letty herself. She could be wrong, and it didn’t matter anyway; it was intuition, nothing more. But after twenty years on the job, intuition had become second nature. It was impossible to silence and sometimes strangely valuable. Other times, lifesaving.

“How are you, Mr. Porter?” she asked, pulling up a cracked plastic chair and sitting down. Letty had bright, almond-shaped eyes; a smooth, broad nose; and generous lips. Her hair was bobbed, with short bangs over her forehead. Her stylist called them “fringe.”

“I think I’m okay,” he said, offering a weak smile.

“I’m sorry about how long this all takes. Soon, we’ll move to the precinct. I’ll take you over there.”

“Thank you.”

“I understand that you don’t believe you know the man who attacked you. Sometimes, things become clearer, though, after time passes. Does anything ring a bell?”

“I can’t even picture him,” Nate said, shaking his head and sighing. “It all happened so fast. He looked to me to be white. Younger than me. A big guy. Honestly, that’s all I know.”

“And the homeless man? You encountered him first?”

“I did.” He gave her a play-by-play of what he had seen, heard, and done from the time he walked in until the time he saw the fat guy push his way into the shaft.

“So the homeless man insisted he lived here,” she said, taking notes. “And he was pretty aggressive?”

“He was. I really wasn’t all that angry; I just had to get him out of here. This sort of thing happens quite a bit—the introduction of homeless or intoxicated people by the landlord. There are children and old people in the building.” With that, he explained the conflict.

Letty glanced around the dilapidated, neglected super’s office and thought about how the lobby had looked, not to mention the death-trap elevator bank. She had little reason to doubt Porter. They were a few minutes into that backstory when a landlord “representative,” escorted by another patrol officer, appeared in the doorway.

“Detective Clark?” the officer asked. He was young, white, and fresh faced.

“Yes?”

“This is, uh, Mr. Cana. He works for the landlord.”

“It’s pronounced konna,” he said, flashing a disgusted look at the cop. “Yeah, I work for the landlord. This is our building, so I got a right to be here. What did this guy do, anyway?” He nodded toward Nate, who stared back at him and said nothing. Cana was a swarthy, paunchy man with thick, black eyebrows and a couple of days’ growth of beard. His expression, the upper lip slightly curled, was that of a man smelling something unpleasant.

“Some terrible things happened here tonight, Mr. Cana,” she said, standing up. “We have a lot of work to do, and it’s going to be a long night. I’ll speak with you when I can.” She moved her eyes to the young officer. “Take him upstairs, please.”

“I’m responsible for this building. I’m not going anywhere,” Cana said, flashing a threatening look at the cop. He stood back to give command of the scene to Letty.

“What’s back there?” she asked Cana, gesturing with her thumb to his left.

“Trash room. Boiler.”

“Come with me.”

When they had gotten to the boiler room, which reeked of garbage and mildew, Letty crossed her arms and stared at him. “Do not interrupt my investigation or you’ll end up in jail tonight.”

Cana’s face scrunched up in frustration. “Lady, it’s my building. And that guy Porter is a menace. Do you know anything about him?”

“See, that’s what an investigation is,” she said, trying to keep her tone a step up from mocking. “That’s what I’m doing. Investigating. And please stop saying it’s your building, because it’s not. I’ve got an idea of who owns this building, and if I were you, I’d be cooperating with us so that we can go about our business.”

“We got lawyers.”

“So do we. Plenty.” She eyed him keenly. “You know anything about how that dead homeless man got into this building?”

“What? No!”

“So if I go back a few hours and look at surveillance video from two or three points on this street, I won’t see someone with a key opening the door for him?” Cana opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again. “That’s a good instinct, staying quiet. What about the other guy?”

“What other guy?”

“The guy at the bottom of the elevator shaft.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” he said, his eyes widening. “What happened to him, anyway?”

“That’s what we’re investigating.” She looked closely at him. He was an asshole, but about this, she did not think he was lying. “Someone let the homeless guy in. I’m not sure how the other one got in, but this building is an encyclopedia of DOB complaints, so I’m guessing it wasn’t hard. You’re going to be answering for quite a few things, so be cooperative.”