David Duffy - Last to Fold

“What if they split up?”

“Stick with the striped T-shirt or the white skirt. Here they come.”

Gina and I studied our cups. As soon as the door closed behind them, Gina gave me a quick peck on the cheek and followed. I finished my coffee and went to check the W once more.

Gina called as I entered the hotel.

“I’m at Grand Central. They’re taking a train. What do you want me to do?”

“Stay with them. Buy a ticket on board. Keep in touch.”

I skipped the house phone and went straight to room 604 and knocked. I wasn’t prepared when a tentative, female voice said, “Y… y… yes?”

I could’ve bluffed my way in—“Maintenance, miss, here to check a leak”—but that wasn’t going to encourage her to talk.

“My name’s Turbo, Eva. I found you at Ratko’s on Wednesday. Got you to the hospital.”

A long pause, then the scratch of the security chain being engaged. The door opened a crack, and two blue eyes peered out. A shade lighter than her mother’s and as bright, clear, and questioning today as they had been blank and fearful Wednesday night. Blue-black circles underneath, but that easily could have been from lack of sleep.

“I d… don’t know you. Who’s R… Ratko?”

That threw me for a moment. “You probably know him as Alexander. Alexander Goncharov.”

Recognition. “Wh… wh… what do you want?”

“I want to talk. That’s all.”

“Who are y… y… you again?”

“Turbo. You remember anything about Wednesday?”

She shook her head slowly.

“You tried to shoot me. Remember that?”

“Whaaa?!”

“Twice. Once through the bedroom door, once after I broke it down.”

Something registered. Her face scrunched in concentration. “Alexander’s pistol…”

“That’s right.”

She reached for more but gave up. “Sss… sorry. I remember about the gun—the d… d… drawer where he kept it, that’s all.”

“That’s something.”

“Wha… what are you doing here? H… h… how… how’d you find me?”

“You used his account at UnderTable.”

Surprise, then realization. “Sh… shit. My computer. You were in my apartment? Wh… wh… who are you? ”

“I get paid to find things. And people.”

“But who… Oh, I kn… know. My mother.”

“Actually, your father. He’s worried about you. They both are.” I gave Polina the benefit of the doubt.

“I don… I don’t have anything m… m… more to say.” She started to close the door.

“Your dad’s in a tough spot, Eva. You know he was arrested?”

That stopped her, for a moment. “What do you m… m… mean?”

“He’s being charged with some heavy crimes—at the bank. He says he can beat them, but the last thing he needs right now is to worry about you.”

“Who t… told you? My m… mother?”

“He did.”

She thought about that. She clearly cared for Mulholland, but maybe not enough. She pushed on the door. “Sor… sorry.”

“Wait.” I put my foot in the way. I didn’t want to do it like this, but we were going to get to the subject sooner or later, and there was no good way to tell her. “Bad things happened in that loft Wednesday—before I got there.”

“What? Wh… what are you talking about? Wh… wh… what kind of things?”

“Alexander.”

“Wh… wh… what about him?”

“I’m sorry, Eva. He’s dead. Somebody killed him, Wednesday night. I found the body.”

The blue eyes got big with fear and shock, then tears. I had the sense she knew already, on some level, but that didn’t make confirmation any easier to take.

I said, “I’ll tell you what I know if you let me in.”

She shook her head. “I d… d… don’t know you.”

“Of course not. You’re right. I’ll be downstairs, in the lobby. Take your time. I won’t make you go home or anywhere else you don’t want to. Like I said, I just want to talk. I’m sorry.”

I removed my foot, and the door closed softly. I sounded like a fool, but every messenger does, saying they’re sorry when they know they can’t do a damned thing to help.

I stayed a minute outside the door, listening to the sobs. When they didn’t stop, I went downstairs, wondering how long to wait and what to do when I reached whatever deadline I decided on.

Twenty minutes later I hadn’t made much progress, and had started thinking about Eva’s stutter and whether it was connected to her disfigured thighs, when Gina called again.

“You owe me—big-time. I’m in Stamford.”

“What’s wrong with Stamford?”

“It’s in fucking Connecticut.”

“You’re from Ohio, what’ve you got against Connecticut?”

“It’s not New York. Anyway, this is weird. One girl got off the train in Mamaroneck. Another in Greenwich. Striped Shirt and the other chick got off here. They split up, I stayed with Stripy. We’re doing a tour of ATMs. She’s at her third now. I can’t get close enough to see for sure what she’s doing, but I think she’s both taking money out and making deposits. Spends about ten minutes at each one. Strange, huh?”

“She choosing them at random?”

“She keeps consulting her BlackBerry. Whoops, we’re on the move again. Want me to call you back?”

“I’ll hang on.”

A few minutes passed before she came back on the line. “Another bank. Chase, second one on this trip. We’ve hit B of A, a credit union, FirstTrust, and Citi. How can one chick have so many accounts?”

“They’re not hers. Stay with her and let me know where she goes when you get back to town. Call whenever, I don’t care how late.”

“Whenever? Hey, I’ve got a date tonight. You don’t think she’s gonna—”

“I think the last stop on that train line is New Haven.”

“New Haven! Goddammit, Turbo, I—”

I closed the cell phone before her invective could cross the atmosphere. The elevator door opened. Eva stepped out and looked around until she saw me. She was dressed simply in jeans and a purple T-shirt, no makeup.

“Is this okay?” I asked as she approached. The eyes were puffy but still clear. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

She shook her head and took the seat next to mine. In a few hours, the lobby bar would be a throng of loud music and postworkday revelers, but now it was almost empty.

“Would you like something? Coffee? Cup of tea?”

She shook her head again. “T… t… tell me about Alexander.”

“I will. You tell me something first. You really don’t remember anything about Wednesday?’

She shook her head. “I w… w… went to the loft—I kn… knew he was coming home. He’d t… tol… told me, but n… n… now I realize he forgot. He’s like that sometimes—sp… spacey.” Tears filled her eyes as she realized she’d used the present tense. She tried to shake them away. I went to the empty bar and returned with a stack of cocktail napkins. She used one to dab her eyes.

“I g… g… got there, and he was kind of nervous, j… jumpy. He said it h… h… had been a b… bad flight. I thought tha… that was the reason. Th… th… then the buzzer rang, and he said it was a g… guy he needed to talk to—b… business. He said to wait in the b… b… bedroom. I… I thought I’d take a shower, it was so hot and m… m… muggy. Tha… tha… that’s all I remember.”

“Until the hospital.”

“Y… yeah. I woke up, I didn’t know wh… wh… where I was, how I got there.”

“And you didn’t take anything? Any drugs?”

“N… n… n… no. I don’t do drugs.” She stated it as a fact, not a protest.

“You used to, right?”