Forgotten in Death(14)

“He’s worked for you a long time.”

“He’s a fixture. Loyal, reliable. He takes pride in his work. Whatever his in-laws think, his wife couldn’t have done better. Now, what more can I do to help?”

“Your company developed a second project in Hudson Yards at the same time as the one you’re currently rebuilding.”

“Yes, Hudson South-West, I think they called it at the time. Then the Urban Wars put a stop to that. I don’t know a great deal, as I wasn’t interested in the business, and then was away at college. I do know the buildings went up fast and cheap once the dust cleared.”

“Your father sold off a portion of Hudson South-West.”

“Yes, years ago. He wanted to build the tower. The Singer Tower. He wanted that signature, you could say, before he retired. He’d hoped to develop the entire project, but he had some health scares. When I took over, I decided there were other areas that took priority. And I wanted that project, where my father had built his signature, to be worthy. It takes time and resources, so I sold the rest of South-West.”

“What was Hudson South-West is also being developed now.”

Bolton smiled. “I’m aware, Lieutenant. And certain that it will also be worthy. Roarke builds to last, and with the integrity of the city in mind. It’s exactly why I approached him about buying the property.”

“My partner and I answered a call to that site this morning.”

“I’m sorry?” He looked blank for a moment. “But you’re … You’re Homicide. Dear God, not another murder.”

“This one, if it proves to be murder, happened a long time ago. The crew found human remains in what had been part of a wine cellar—walled off, perhaps deliberately, to conceal those remains.”

“Jesus.” His fingers shot through his hair. “How long ago? Do you know who he was?”

“We have to determine that, and will. That, too, will take time. If we date it to when the building itself was being constructed, it would be roughly thirty-seven years.”

“Thirty-seven years.” More nostalgia, Eve noted, and wistful with it. “I was in college—or just out—and living in Savannah. I didn’t want any part of the business back then.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to be a rock star.” He offered that half smile now. “The troubadour for my generation, like Dylan, like Springsteen.” Now he laughed. “More or less. I wanted to write music, to perform. I wanted everything that wasn’t my father at that point in my life.”

“You left New York to study for it.”

“Yeah. I guess you checked. It was about as far away from urban development as it gets. But I know—and I was young and critical—that buildings there, as in other areas, went up hard and fast and cheap. I know some who worked on them weren’t … there weren’t many Paul Geraldis, if you understand me. One of the agreements my father and I made when I said I’d come into the business was the return to our tradition of quality builds. I was very full of myself, even though I’d failed miserably as a performer.”

When he shook his head, Eve caught more than self-deprecation in his eyes. She caught just a hint of sadness.

“What was I … twenty-four, I guess? My mother appealed to me. Just give it two years. They’d given me four years of college to study my dream. Give the family business two years. So I did, and discovered I could make a difference.”

He waved that away. “Sorry, this just took me back. Do you know if this was some sort of accident? A job accident?”

“We don’t believe so, but will pursue all avenues.”

“I suppose it’s not the first time or the last. I hear stories about animal remains, and have heard about human ones as well. The building in Hell’s Kitchen you and Roarke transformed into a school. All those poor girls. Was this like that?”

“Something like. Is your father well now?”

“He is. He’s needed a few replacement parts, as he puts it. And doesn’t appear to take after my grandmother, who’s hale and hearty at a hundred and five. His own father, my grandfather, died fairly young. Not as easy to replace parts in his day.”

“I may need to speak with him about that development project. He may remember something that would aid in our investigation and identification. Yours is, as you said, a family business,” Eve continued. “Would your mother have been involved in the project, or is she involved in your current development?”

“My mother? No, she’s never been part of the building or planning. She has excellent taste, a fine eye, so she has, over the years, made suggestions for colors, fabrics, fixtures, furnishings if that applies. But Mom’s not one to put on a hard hat and tour a site.

“My grandmother, now,” he said before Eve could thank him and stand up. “She was an equal partner with my grandfather, and basically took over when he died. And believe me, she’ll still give her opinion, solicited or not, on a project, on details big and minute.”

He smiled when he said it. “She’s a true matriarch, and shows little sign of slowing down.”

“I look forward to speaking with her. I appreciate your time and cooperation, Mr. Singer.”

He rose as she did. “I personally, and as head of this company, will help in any way we can.”