The dorm in Manhattan North was off the locker room and had four metal beds with thin mattresses and covers that nobody risked sleeping under. Working the four and two chart meant four days on, two days off. The first two tours were 4 p.m. to 1 a.m., the last two were 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. The turnaround tour ended at 1 a.m. and was followed by an 8 a.m. start. Most detectives stayed in the dorm on those nights or at least told their wives they did. Anna didnt like being alone at night any more, so Joe had been coming home; because they lived in Bay Ridge, he didnt have far to go. But the first few nights on a major case, she wouldnt expect to see him. He called her anyway.
Sweetheart, its me again. Im staying at the office tonight.
I know, said Anna.
Well, its just I hadnt said, so I thought-
Its fine. Dont worry.
Will you be OK? Is Shaun home?
No. But hell be back.
What happened at the school?
Well, the principal was very nice. I think she likes Shaun, but understands hes changed. She said hes been rude and uncooperative.
Thats the French blood.
Anna laughed. Yes. His falling grades theyve put down to the American.
Joe laughed. They said the same thing about his charm and his looks.
And low self-esteem
What was the bottom line? said Joe.
Just that they will give him a chance to improve. They think hes tired in class, staying out too late and-
Did they give us a hard time?
They didnt have to say a word.
Look, are you sure youre going to be OK tonight? Would you like me to get Pam to come over and stay?
Pam was his father Giulios second wife.
Pam? said Anna. She laughed. Yeah, babysitting by a woman the same age as me who is my mother-in-law.
Step.
Whatever.
It wouldnt be babysitting. You could ask her over for a glass of wine and a movie. Im just trying to help.
Just to remind you its after one in the morning. And Im OK. Sleep well whenever you get there.
Thanks. Ill see you-
In a few days. I know.
I love you.
Me too.
Honey?
Yeah?
I love laughing with you.
Me too, she said. And Joe?
Yeah?
At least I know you sleep in the dorm.
I wouldnt want it any other way.
Anna was right. He did sleep in the dorm. But Gina Markey thought the same thing about Danny.
THREE
Stanley Frayte had an hour to kill before he showed up for work. He drove down Holt Avenue in his white Ford Econoline van stamped with the chunky blue lettering of Frayte Electrical Services. He pulled into the parking lot at the south end of Astoria Park. At 8.30 a.m., it was quieter than it would have been an hour before when the dawn walkers, runners and swimmers were making their way back home to take a shower before work.
He got out of the van and let the cool breeze from the East River raise goosebumps on his bare arms. Where he stood by the park, under the Triborough Bridge was Astoria as it had always been to him. On the Shore Boulevard side, the luxury condos that looked over the tennis courts on one side and Manhattan on the other represented change. Like Brooklyn, Astoria had lured people out of the city and was going through the makeover to prove it. Stan liked it all. He was just happy to be anywhere he could feel the sun, look out over beautiful water, walk through the trees, sit on a bench. When it hit 8.50 a.m., he went back to his van.
He drove down 19th Street and pulled into the small parking lot of the apartment building he had been working on for the previous two weeks. He unloaded his equipment and walked up the flagstone path. He stopped halfway and bent down, laying his gear beside him and pulling a penknife from his utility belt. He flipped it open and sliced at a weed that was pushing up through a gap in the cement. June, the receptionist, waved to him from behind the front desk as he walked towards her. He pushed through the front door into the lobby. The smell was lemon disinfectant, rising from the shiny floor tiles. Junes desk was on the left-hand side, a crescent moon that curved towards the door. The walls were pale gold with a cream dado rail that traced around the corner to the elevator bank. Behind the desk, free-standing plastic barriers closed off the corridor to everyone except the construction workers who were renovating that section of the building all the way up to the fourth floor.
Hey, Flat Stanley, said June, smiling up from her desk. Flat Stanley was a character from a childrens book who in a tragic accident got flattened to 2-D. The Stanley standing in front of June was not flat; he was Stanley with a belly inflated to bursting point. Stan grunted, shifting the utility belt that only ever came to rest under his gut, no matter how high he tried to move it.
Anything I need to know? he said.
Just that Mary Burig on the second floor is going to plant that little strip of flower-bed youve been kind enough to lend her.
Mary? His face lit up. Today?
June nodded. Yup. She smiled. I think someone has you wrapped around her little finger.
He frowned. She likes flowers.
Mary Burig checked her smartphone. It held everything she needed to remember: phone numbers, addresses, bank account details, appointments, shopping lists, birthdays, anniversaries, maps and guides. She spent fifteen minutes tidying her living room, starting by the front door and working clockwise through each corner. She moved into the kitchen and wiped down the surfaces. She was about to unload the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. She jogged back to the front door and opened it.
Hi, Magda, she said. Come in. Im working hard here. Tea?
Coffee, said Magda, hugging her. Thank you. I can make it.
Magda Oleszak was in her early fifties, with a healthy glow from eating good food and walking everywhere. She came to New York from Poland with her two teenage children ten years earlier, learned perfect English, but never lost her accent.
The place looks great, said Magda, walking around as she took off her light vinyl jacket. Upside down and open beside Marys bed was Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier.
Are you reading Rebecca again? said Magda.
I know, said Mary. Its cheating because I know it inside out.
Its not cheating, said Magda, turning to her, holding her hands passionately. Dont ever let me hear you say that again, Mary. Its beautiful what you and Rebecca have. You are friends for life. Shell always be with you, wont she? Or whatever that girls name is. Does she have a name? I dont think she does, does she? I get confused myself, see? I get confused. You dont. Its wonderful, Mary. You hang on to that feeling. You remember what Rebecca brought you when you were lying on your bed as a young girl.
Mary smiled.
Now, because we are talking about books, said Magda, I have some good news for you. Stan Frayte, you know Stan, is going to do your makeover on the library.
Mary clapped. Cool. Then she frowned. So do you think itll wind up looking more like a library than a store window?
Nothing is happening with the glass if thats what you mean. We want to make sure no-ones making trouble in there.
No-one makes trouble in libraries.
They do, going right to the dirty bits in all those romance novels. Hot throbbing whatever.
Magda!
Magda laughed.
I wish theyd do something about the other windows, said Mary. Theyre too high up. You cant see out if you sit down. Youre just staring at a blank wall.
You know what? said Magda. I like to think that the reader uses it as a blank screen and they project onto it the world of whatever book theyre reading at that time.
Mary thought about it. Ill go with that, she said. I like it.
Oh, you want to know how they got the money to do the library? Stan himself. He said he got a discount on some light fixtures for the hallway. Im not so sure.
Thats so kind, said Mary. She paused. Theres something sad about Stan.
Magda went into the kitchen. Youre out of coffee, Mary.
Oh. Im sorry. She hit Tasks on her phone menu and added coffee to her grocery list.
So, said Mary, whats going on?
Davids coming this morning, isnt he?
Yes, said Mary. Theres cake in there. Im not hungry, but you can help yourself.
Magda opened the bread bin and pulled out a cake wrapped in aluminium foil. It was covered in mould. She flipped the lid of the bin and threw it inside.
Thanks, she said, but Ive eaten. She came back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. Will I stay until David comes?
That would be great, said Mary. Today is ironing day, so Im going to start now, if you dont mind.
Go ahead, said Magda.
David Burig was thirty-four years old, looked younger, and spent most of his time dressed in a suit so his staff would take him seriously. He ran a successful catering business he bought after offloading an overvalued software firm nine years earlier.
Hello there, he said, hugging Mary and kissing her on the cheek.
David, she said. Yaaay!
If only everyone had that response when they saw me.
Yaaay! said Magda.
He laughed. Why thank you, both. I feel very special. So, he said to Mary. I believe its time for bed.
Mary frowned. She looked at the clock. But its only 10 a.m.!
He smiled. Flower -beds.
She shook her head. Is that supposed to be funny?
Yes.
Just because you say so, Im still not sure that means it is.
He held his hands up. It actually wasnt funny at all.
It was dumb, said Magda.
Worth a try, though, said David. Let me go change. And can I ask? What are you wearing?
Do I look nuts? said Mary.
You look creative.
Mary smiled because David did. I thought it was kind of cool. She was wearing a pair of orange baggy cotton pants that tapered at the ankle, a green vest and white sneakers.
David laughed and disappeared into the bedroom with his sports bag.
OK, said Magda. Have you got what you need for gardening?
Mary pointed to the tools lined up on the table: Two trowels, mat to kneel on, watering can, fork thing is that everything?
Yes, said Magda. Theres a faucet at the back of the building.
David appeared in a battered pair of jeans, a blue long-sleeved T-shirt and green retro Pumas. Right, he said. I am ready to garden. I am proud no, Im shocked to be assisting in such a noble endeavour. Come on, lady in scary pants, lets go down and bring that dirty brown soil to life.
Ill take the elevator with you, said Magda.
Mary laid down the mat in front of the flower-bed that ran along the edge of the property, fifty feet away from the back of the apartment block. A row of pots filled with chrysanthemums in bright shades of yellow, orange and magenta was lined up against the wall.
Theyre so beautiful, said Mary.
They are, said David. Stan always sticks with the same colour theme, doesnt he? Just changes the flowers in fall.