Линвуд Баркли - Elevator Pitch

“Yeah,” Delgado said.

“Went to Cleveland once. The downtown’s got a few tall buildings, but there’s this one huge skyscraper, looks like a mini — Empire State Building. Key Tower. Fifty-seven stories. Tallest building in Ohio.”

Delgado glanced at him. “Only you would know that.”

Their drive took them into the Hunters Point area of Queens. Vernon Boulevard was a north-south industrial street that followed the East River, just south of the Queensboro Bridge. When they found Simpson Elevator, Delgado drove through the open chain-link gate and parked between two pickup trucks. They’d learned from Eileen that the name of Otto’s boss was Gunther Willem.

They opened the door to the office. A chest-high counter topped with peeling linoleum greeted them. Bourque rested his elbows on it and called out “Excuse me” to a heavyset, gray-haired woman sitting at a desk.

When she turned, Bourque could see she was on the phone. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Help you?”

“Looking for Gunther Willem,” Lois said.

“Not a good time,” she said. Before she could go back to her call, Bourque waved his badge. “Oh,” she said.

She rested the receiver on her desk and shouted, “Gunth!”

From an adjoining office, a gruff voice replied, “What?”

“Visitors.”

There was a grumbled yet still audible, “Fuck,” and seconds later, Gunther Willem appeared. He had a crew cut, a round face, stood about five-five, and was nearly as broad as he was tall. His meaty arms hung out from his body and seemed to bounce as he walked. He spotted Delgado and Bourque and squinted.

“Yeah?”

Bourque still had his badge out. “Detective Bourque, and this is Detective Delgado.”

“I’m up to my eyeballs in shit,” he said. “Whatever this is, can it wait?”

“No,” Delgado said.

Willem took a second, accepted defeat, and waved for them to follow him back to his office. He dropped himself into an office chair that creaked under his weight, and the detectives sat in two plain wood chairs opposite his cluttered desk.

“I’m shorthanded and I got the city breathing down my neck, so make it quick,” he said. “This about some of the robberies along the street here? Guys stealing tools? Because we’re okay. I got two Dobermans in the yard at night, got no trouble on that score.”

“No,” said Delgado. “We’re here about Otto Petrenko.”

“Oh, him. He was a no-show yesterday and today. His wife’s goin’ bananas. He finally come home? Was he out on a bender or something?”

“We’re investigating,” Delgado said.

“Investigating what?”

“What happened to him.”

“What has happened to him? Because, like I said, I’m shorthanded.”

“What can you tell us about Mr. Petrenko?” Bourque asked.

Willem looked from one detective to the other. He quickly figured out the drill. They would ask the questions and he would answer them.

“I don’t know,” Gunther Willem said. “Reliable. Understands how things work, you know? Some people are born with it. They look at a machine and it’s like they’ve got X-ray vision. They can see the parts inside it. He’s pretty smart that way.”

“He came to you from Cleveland?” Delgado asked.

“Yeah. The company he worked for, they were mismanaged, went bankrupt. We were hiring. So he moved here. Guy’s good. Got two people out of a stuck elevator in the new Trade Center Tower one time.”

“Any problems?” Bourque asked.

“Like?”

“You tell us.”

“No, no problems. He does his job.”

“How about when he was off the clock?” Delgado asked. “Any issues you’re aware of? Drugs? Women? Trouble on the home front?”

“Like I said, nuthin’.”

“He socialize with the other guys who work here?”

Willem shrugged. “Some. They go out for a drink sometimes. Give each other the gears. Maybe they get together with the wives once in a while, do some barbecue.”

“You part of that?” Delgado asked.

Willem shrugged. “Not so much.”

“You got along with him?”

“Yeah.” His eyes narrowed when Delgado used the past tense. “What’s this about, anyway?”

“You know anything about who he might have hung out with who’s not with the company?”

Willem shook his head. “No. Not really.” He paused, as if remembering. “Well, there was that one guy.”

“What guy?” Delgado asked.

“Dropped by to see him once in a while.”

Bourque felt as though he’d gotten a carpet shock. “Who was he?”

“Just some guy, is all. I’d see the car pull up on the street there and Otto would go out and talk to him.”

“Did Mr. Petrenko say who he was?”

“I didn’t ask. You want to go talk to somebody, it’s none of my business.”

“Can you describe him?” Delgado asked.

Willem sighed with exasperation. “It was a guy. Whaddya want from me?”

“White? Black?” she asked, persisting.

“White. Uh, grayish hair.”

“Old guy?”

Willem looked up at the ceiling, as though the answer were written there. “No idea. He was too far away to tell.”

“Car?” Bourque asked.

“Jesus,” Willem said. “I don’t know. Something blue. Basic sedan, I think.”

“How many times did you see Petrenko meet with this man?”

“Two, maybe three times? Definitely more than once. I think I might have asked Otto once what the guy wanted.”

“What’d he say?” Delgado asked.

“I don’t remember exactly. I got the idea maybe Otto was helping him, like he was giving the guy some kind of advice.”

“About elevators?” Delgado asked. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to talk to you? Being the boss?”

Gunther shrugged. “Otto knows as much about elevators as I do. Probably more. And maybe it wasn’t advice about this kind of work. Maybe it was about something else. Maybe it was his long-lost cousin. I don’t know.” He paused, thinking. “There was one thing, though.”

They waited.

“Whenever he’s come back in from talking to that guy, Otto’s kind of quiet.”

“What do you mean, quiet?” Delgado asked.

“Just... like he’s got something on his mind.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Worried, like. Maybe he owes this guy money or something and is having trouble meeting his payments. Although I don’t know why he’d have money problems. He’s pulling down seventy grand a year from me.”

“You got cameras?” Bourque asked.

“What?”

“On the property. Surveillance. That would pick up someone on the street.”

“Yeah, sure, of course. But the last time he was here was weeks ago. They don’t go back more than forty-eight hours.”

Delgado asked, “Did he ever talk about the Flyovers?”

“What’s that? A singing group?”

“Did Otto have strong political views?”

“We don’t talk a lot of politics here,” Willem said. “Well, other than shittin’ all over our useless president and useless governor and useless senators and useless mayor. But that’s about it. Listen, if you’re looking for Otto, I hope you find him. He’s one of the best guys I got. But the way you guys are talking about him, sounds like something’s happened.”

The detectives exchanged looks. Delgado said, “Mr. Petrenko is dead.”

Willem’s face fell. “Shit. What the hell happened?”

“That’s what we’re looking into,” she said.

He shook his head sadly. “Man oh man. There’s so many ways to get killed on the job here, and he buys it on his day off? Was it a car accident? Something like that?”

“Like I said, we’re looking into the circumstances.”

“Son of a bitch. I should give his wife a call. Soon as I get out from under all this other shit that’s going on.”