Lev Rosen - Depth

“You were there when it was retrofitted?”

“Oh yes. It was one of the late ones, built ten years before the water, so it was ready for it. Lots of neighbors moved out anyway. Cowards. Now I have a younger sort of neighbors. Noisier. I don’t mind it, really, but… Howard used to ask them to quiet down, and they would listen to him. I don’t bother.” Lou sighed and took a long drag on her cigarette. “Anything interesting on his calendar?”

“Do you know this Misty he was supposed to meet with the other night?” Lou shrugged, then turned to her touchdesk and pressed a few keys. “I don’t know the name, and we don’t have anything on record.” Simone filed the name away—maybe it was The Blonde.

“Don’t suppose you know where Linnea is?”

“Linnea? I hardly ever see her. Is she missing?”

“Not picking up her phone, anyway.”

“Isn’t that the sort of thing you’d call suspicious?”

“My dad always taught me to view everything as suspicious.” Lou cocked her head, half a nod of agreement. “Do you recognize this woman?” Simone found a photo of The Blonde on her camera and handed it to Lou. Lou held it away from her face, and lowered her glasses to the tip of her nose.

“No. Should I?”

“She had dinner with Henry the night before he died,” Simone said.

“She have a name?” Lou asked. Simone shook her head. “Well, I could see why Linnea might be jealous. But no. I don’t know her.”

“If you do see her, or she shows up asking questions, or Linnea pops up, would you mind calling me?” Simone took out one of her cards and put it on the desk.

“I’ll consider it.”

“That’s the best I can hope for.” Simone headed for the door but turned around as she opened it. Lou was staring at the card Simone had left on the desk, unmoving. “And thanks.”

“Police are idiots,” Lou said, not looking up. “But you seem like you might be smart. Don’t disappoint me. He might not have been family, but he was home. Part of… this.” She threw her arm out, gesturing at the empty room, then looked down at her desk, as if ashamed to have shown a flicker of sadness. Simone stared at Lou a moment longer and saw the wrinkles around her face slowly falling, like a wave in slow motion. She looked sad. Tired. Alone. Simone nodded and left. This wasn’t a moment she was invited to participate in. And she’d gotten enough.

LINNEA AND HENRY’S PLACE was just a half-hour walk uptown, around NYU. Once outside, Simone lit a cigarette and started walking. Her phone buzzed, announcing a new message. She tapped her earpiece as she walked away from the shipping company. The message was from deCostas.

“Simone,” her phone read to her, “I hope we’re still on for more exploration. I have selected more buildings, specifically One Wall Street, Clinton Tower, and 590 Madison Avenue. I hope you’re up for it. I promise to be a good boy this time and follow your every command.”

Simone took a drag off her cigarette as she walked. She didn’t really have time for babysitting deCostas anymore. But… he was still easy money and easy on the eyes. She could handle both cases. deCostas would just have to stay on the back burner. A lot depended on what she could get out of Caroline on Saturday, what she found at the St. Michel house, and what she learned from Henry’s mother. She had tomorrow open. She wrote him back that she’d meet him at his hotel and take him to One Wall Street. Best to do that one earliest, considering what it became at night. But for now she needed to figure out what was going on with The Blonde before she saw Caroline, and that meant finding Linnea, if she could. She finished her cigarette and tossed it into the water, then stared up at the St. Michel townhouse. If Linnea really had run off, she might have left behind some evidence of where she was going.

It was a simple-looking building: faded slate, glossy with Glassteel; probably the top of some residential building that went up in the 1950s or ’60s. Only three stories rose above the ocean, the first of them slightly higher than usual. It was one of a series of identical homes in the same building, and they all shared a wide, solid bridge, white polished steps descending from their doors to the walkway lined with waist-high lamps in the shape of old lanterns. It was a quiet part of town. A few bridges away were the buildings and boats where what was left of NYU operated, but these bridges felt private, like a gated community. A little ways away, Simone saw a woman pushing a stroller. She felt the gel in her coat warm up in response to an involuntary shiver.

She walked up the steps to the door of the townhouse and rang the bell. No answer. So the servants had cleared out, too—if they had had any. Simone had assumed a woman like Linnea had a score of attendants, but there was no real reason to think that. She rang the bell again, but still no answer, and then tried the door. Locked, which wasn’t surprising. No alarm panel visible, and it looked like a run-of-the-mill electronic lock.

Simone looked around, searching for the usual spots people hid their spare key. There was no doormat. There were small decorative sconces on the wall on either side of the door, sort of scallop-shaped, but no key tucked into either of them. She walked back down the steps to the bridge. She looked at the closest of the lanterns built into the bridge. It was a simple thing, with a metal-cone top and a tube of fogged glass. Simone glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then lifted the top off the lantern. There was no key inside the glass part, but when she looked inside the actual metal top, there was a slim, plastic card, taped so it wouldn’t fall down. Simone smiled. She took the card and replaced the metal top, then hurried back up the steps and slid it into the lock, which opened with a click.

Inside it already had the stillness of a place abandoned. Simone recognized it in the way she could hear the waves outside, or how the air smelled overly cool. She called out “Hello” just in case, but no one responded, so she began her search.

None of the lights was on, and Simone didn’t feel a need to change that. Silvery light came in through silk shades and a skylight on the roof. It was a nice house. It had been completely remodeled recently, by the look of it. There was no stairway to the flooded parts of the building, but a large spiral stairway went up. The color scheme was seashell pink and white, and a large tapestry of some Mediterranean city with a vibrant blue ocean dominated the living room.

Next, she searched the kitchen and then the bedrooms upstairs. Linnea and Henry seemed to have separate bedrooms—his plain with a touchdesk; hers white and pink with oversized sheets and a vanity with a few photos tucked in the sides of the mirror. Some makeup was missing, and her closet was empty. Nothing under the bed, no stray notes or clues. Even the wastebasket was empty. Linnea had definitely taken off. Simone sat down at the vanity and opened the drawers, one by one, rifling through perfume samples and hairbrushes for some real sign of where Linnea could have gone, but there was nothing. She stared at the photos stuck into the vanity mirror. Why hadn’t these been taken? She tugged at one, but it was sealed to the frame. If she pulled any harder, she’d tear it. So Linnea had cleared out, fast enough she couldn’t bring this mirror.

There were three photos. One of Henry and Linnea, but much younger. This one was on the right side of the frame, probably more for show than genuine sentiment. On the left were two older photos: one of a couple and a little girl, about forty years ago, judging by the clothes. Simone bent it slightly to look at the back. “Me, Mom & Dad,” it said in elegant cursive. The other photo was of a young Linnea, holding a small toddler in her lap. Simone furrowed her brow. Linnea had never mentioned a kid, and when Simone had done the usual background check on her and Henry, nothing about kids had come up. She bent this photo forward, too, and looked at the back. “Me & baby M,” it said. Simone shrugged. A niece or nephew, maybe?