Jonathan Kellerman - Compulsion

“Any of his other tenants disappear?”

Polito shook his head. “And no one he litigated with would talk trash about him ’cause that’s the condition of the settlements. To be honest, Doc, only reason he was even considered was there was no one else on the radar. Now you’re telling me about this Bright character.”

“You remember him?”

“I got a vague memory, only because he was the head of that put-up tenant board.”

“It was an obvious put-up?”

“Look,” said Polito, “there’s never any board before Korvutz buys the building, same goes for the first six months Korvutz owns it. Then he files for permission to convert and all of a sudden there’s an election no one remembers too clearly and a board of three people, all of which are tenants who came on after Korvutz bought the building.”

I said, “Bright plus two others.”

“A distant cousin of Korvutz and the son of the plumber who services Korvutz’s New Jersey buildings.”

He produced a folded piece of lined paper, same size as Milo’s pad. “I remembered the names.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Hey,” he said, “D.C. calls, who’m I to say no.” Slowly spreading smile. “Even if he is my wife’s brother-in-law.”

Neat typing on the sheet.

518 W. 35 Tenant Board Members

1. Dale Bright

2. Sonia Glusevitch

3. Lino Mercurio

I said, “Korvutz knew the other two before he bought the building. Any indication of a prior relationship with Bright?”

“Nope. And here’s the thing, Doc: Even if the board was a puppet thing, it’s no big deal legally. Landlord’s not obligated to have a board, period. And none of the tenants gave a crap. Except for the Safrans. They screamed corruption.”

I pocketed the paper.

Polito said, “Truth is, Doc, the Safrans had no leg to stand on, they were just making problems. Everyone else was happy with the deal Korvutz offered because it was better than what they had in that dump. We’re not talking big lofts, like in Soho. This was a crappy place, used to be a shoe factory, that got divided into dinky units, real cheap construction. I’m talking singles and one-bedrooms, iffy plumbing and wiring, not to mention your basic rodent issues, because it’s a commercial neighborhood, open garbage cans, whatnot. Korvutz makes an offer they can’t refuse, no one refuses.”

“Except the Safrans,” I said.

Polito put down his fork. “I don’t like bad-mouthing my vics but from what I could tell those two were confrontative. I’m talking hippie refugees from the sixties. He was at City College back when, radical SDS type. I was in uniform back then, did crowd control. For all I know he was one of those spoiled little bastards screaming at me.”

“What about Dorothy?”

“Same thing.”

“Rebels without a cause,” I said. “Dorothy’s sister said they’d felt threatened-”

“Margie Bell,” he said. “Let me tell you about Margie. Long history of depression and whatnot. On all kinds of medication, plus she’d had two commitments to Bellevue. One year later, she hung herself.”

“Definite suicide?”

“Her own kid found her in the bathroom with a note. Doc, the Safrans made a tempest out of a teapot. You get to live cheap in this city because of rent control, count your blessings and move on. I went through their apartment, tossed every inch trying to find a lead.” Shaking his head. “Wouldn’t let my dog live like that. They did, though. Let their dog. In one corner there was dirty newspapers spread out, urine stains, piles of dog dirt all dried up. These people weren’t housekeepers – sorry if I ruined your steak. What I’m getting at is they were living like squatters, shoulda taken Korvutz up on his offer.”

“Ever see the dog?”

“Nope, just what it left behind. Why?”

I told him about Leonora Bright’s missing pets. Dale Bright’s volunteering at Paws and Claws.

He twirled his wineglass. “This guy likes furry things but maybe he’s not so nice to people?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“You bet,” he said. “Had one case, back when I started out, down on Ludlow Street, Lower East Side. Crazy junkie carves up his old lady, leaves her propped up, sitting at the kitchen table for two weeks. We’re talking middle of the summer, tenement, no air-conditioning, you can imagine. Meanwhile, he’s got a pit bull, everyone says it’s a nice mutt, but you wouldn’t catch me petting one of those. Anyway, this dog, this maniac pampers it, decides to up the protein in its diet. By the time we get there – sorry if that ruined your appetite.”

“No sweat.” I ate to demonstrate.

Polito said, “You really like Bright as your perp, huh?”

“He’s associated with two violent deaths, one of which made him wealthy. If he was paid to dispatch the Safrans, that’s two more with a financial incentive. And from what we can tell, after the Safrans vanished, so did he.”

“Into thin air.” He smiled. “That could mean something else, Doc.”

“He got disappeared, too,” I said.

Polito shrugged.

“Maybe,” I said, “but right now, there’s no one else on the screen. Anything you can tell me about him would be helpful.”

“There ain’t much. Even with my brother-in-law linking me up with his official big-shot brother-in-law computer.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like you said, guy’s nowhere. Once the building was vacated, no other address shows up. Can’t find any sign he ever lived in the five boroughs or the entire state of New York. I’m talking no tax records, real estate deeds, driver’s license, the works. All I can give you is a general physical description eight years ago and the fact that when I interviewed him, he was cooperative. And that’s because if he wasn’t cooperative, I’da recalled that. I talked to the guy exactly once – routine interview, same for all the tenants.”

“What’d he look like?”

“Good-sized guy, beefy, bald.”

“Clean-shaven?”

“Cue ball, no hair, period.”

I fished out my copy of Ansell Bright’s California license.

Polito’s good eye squinted. “All that fur, you could make a coat… guess it could be the same guy, but I couldn’t swear to it.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” I said.

“A shape-shifter?”

“Was he gay?”

“He wasn’t swishy. Your guy’s like that?”

“Some people say he is.”

“Some people… you’re saying he fakes everything?”

I told him about the cowboy getup, the plaid-capped old man, a possible cross-dressing link, stolen luxury cars.

“Black cars,” he said. “Maybe like a symbol of death.” He pushed his plate away, touched his chest.

“You okay?”

“Reflux. This guy turns out to be the perp, I had him right there and he moved on to more bad things? Not a nice thought.”

I said, “He could turn out clean.”

“You thought he was clean, you wouldn’t be here.” He examined the photo some more, handed it back. “Nope, couldn’t say it’s him or not. And the Dale Bright I talked to acted normal. Absolutely nothing hinky about him.”

He finished his wine. “I gotta say, Doc, talking to you is making me realize how much I’d rather be on the lake. So let me give you the rest of what I got and be on my way. First off, I went by Korvutz’s apartment this morning – that was the appointment I mentioned. Schmoozed with the doorman, who happens to be ex-patrol. Don’t you bother him, it gets out he’s talking about the residents, he’s screwed. What he told me is Korvutz is quiet, no problems, married with a little kid, tips good at Christmas. Has dinner by himself twice a week when the missus is out with her gal pals and lucky for you, tonight’s one of those. Creature of habit, goes to the same place, likes Italiano.”