City Dark(79)

“I do, but I haven’t put it all together yet. If nothing else, this feels like a box I should check off. Maybe this guy Porter can shed some light.”

“And this homeless guy,” Letty said. “Just a troublemaker? Any idea what he has to do with all this?”

Zochi sighed. “No idea, but the head-wrenching MO in that death matches the ones in my cases, so . . .”

“Overtime,” Letty said with a shrug. “He’s in an interview room. Get a refill, and I’ll take you to him.”

“Thanks,” Zochi said. “So Evan Bolds—you know why he went to prison in the first place, right?”

“I don’t.”

“He nearly beat a woman to death in an elevator. He raped her first, then chased her into the elevator and—bam! Just went crazy on her. Did, like, twenty-five years for it. My suspect, DeSantos, brought a civil commitment case a few months ago because his probation was almost up.”

Letty stopped and looked at her. “No way. The guy I just found at the bottom of an elevator shaft?”

“Screwed to the bottom,” Zochi said, and winked. Letty grinned.

“Classic.”





CHAPTER 63


3:39 a.m.

“Hi, Mr. Porter,” Zochi said, “I talked to Detective Clark, and I understand you’ve been up most of the night already. I appreciate you waiting around for me.” Nate looked at her and smiled, his long, slender fingers wrapped around a coffee mug. His eyes looked raw and red rimmed but alert.

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I don’t think I’ll sleep well for a while.”

“I’ll be as quick as I can be,” she said, sitting down and taking out a notepad. “This could be relevant, though, so again, I’m thankful for you waiting up. The reason I’m here is because I’m investigating another case, out in Brooklyn. I have a few questions, probably not more.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Does the name Evan Bolds mean anything to you?” She stated the name slowly and clearly. No one had told Porter that Bolds was the guy corkscrewed down there.

“Evan Bolds?” He seemed to ponder it. “No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Uh . . . yeah. I can’t think of anyone I’ve ever known with that name.”

“Okay. And the two men you encountered tonight, the homeless man and the one who attacked you—I know this is covered territory, but I’m confirming—you had no prior connection to either of them that you know of?”

“That’s correct,” Nate said. “The homeless man was no one I’d ever seen or worked with. The other one, well, I really didn’t get a look at him, as I told the others. There was no sense of familiarity, though, nothing that made me think I knew him or had any idea who he was.”

“Okay. I also understand that you were the person in your building who was playing point with the landlord, dealing with those issues?”

“Yes,” he said. “I was informally appointed once the hardball stuff started happening. I’m not sure how else to put it. I’m older. I’m alone. I was a career city employee, and I have experience dealing with agencies and the like. I guess I seemed like a logical choice.”

“Makes sense. So, in connection with that, did you ever feel threatened personally? What I’m getting at is whether anything that happened to you last night was something you expected. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” he said firmly. Zochi was impressed. Whoever this old man was, he seemed to be as sharp as a tack, not fuzzy or spacey at all, which so many people were in the wake of trauma. “The building manager is a man named Daniel Cana. He’s the guy I usually butt heads with. He’s not violent, though. It’s been kind of a test of wills between us, but not much else. I don’t think Cana sent a killer to attack me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Basically, it is,” she said. “Thank you. There’s just one other name I need to run by you—Joseph DeSantos. Does that name mean anything to you?”

She didn’t expect that it would, and at first that’s how it seemed. Then recognition sank through the man’s face, his eyes slowly brightening with it.

“Joey DeSantos?” He shook his head like he needed to clear it. “I mean, that’s the only Joseph DeSantos I can think of, but this was many, many years ago.”

“How many, Mr. Porter?” Her heart picked up a beat.

“Well, he was a little boy. I knew him and his older brother through their uncle, Mike Carroll.”

“That’s interesting,” she said. Porter did look a little spacey now, as if recalling a dream.

“Joe was ten when we met. I’d guess he’d be around fifty now.”

“He’s exactly fifty, yes.”

“Wait,” he said, lifting his hand. “That isn’t Joe down in that elevator shaft, is it?”

“What? No.” For a moment she wanted to kick herself. This was the dangerous thing about interviewing witnesses shortly after traumatic events. Nate Porter might seem completely together, but he was still rattled, whether he knew it or not. She needed to be patient and take things slow. “Uh, that person hasn’t been officially identified, but it’s not Joe DeSantos. I’m afraid Joe was arrested for murder a few weeks ago. Two murders, actually.”