The only things new at my place were the phone messages. One was from Lauren.
“It’s me again. Will you please just give me a call?” No. The next one was from Paul Gargosian. His gravelly voice was full of amusement.
“This is one hell of a game of phone tag we got going. Call me back or stop by the building if you want. I’m pulling double shifts the next two days.”
And that was all; there was nothing from Jane or anyone else. I looked around my apartment, at the dust motes and the empty space, and thought about the prospect of waiting there for Neary’s call. I decided to take Gargosian up on his invitation.
A couple of weeks in Florida had left Paul Gargosian deeply tanned, and his teeth were very bright when he smiled. He was fifty-something, and broad-shouldered, and his black hair was dense and curly and dusted with gray. His thick nose was starting to peel. It could’ve been the lingering effects of vacation that made him seem so relaxed and affable, but somehow- from the spray of laugh lines around his eyes and the timbre of his voice- I suspected he was always that way.
“I wasn’t sure you were for real,” he said, smiling. His hands were wide and calloused, and his handshake was strong. “I figured maybe you were just a recording.”
“Some days I think the same thing,” I said. “You have time to talk now?”
“Sure,” he said. He held the door and ushered me into the lobby and over to the concierge station. “What’s so important you had to call a dozen times?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Gregory Danes,” I said. His eyebrows went up. I lied a little and told him I was working for Danes’s ex, who hadn’t heard from him since he’d left weeks before, and who was getting worried. “The guy filling in for you- Christopher- said you knew most of the tenants.”
At the mention of Christopher’s name, Gargosian rolled his eyes. “A recommendation from Chrissy- there’s a career highlight.”
“You know anything about where Danes is?”
Gargosian shook his head. “The last time I saw him was, I guess, the morning he left. It was early, and I brought his bags down and held them here while he went for his car. Then I loaded him up and he drove away. I haven’t seen him since.”
“No mention of where he was headed or when he’d be back?”
Gargosian grimaced a little. “He’s not real talkative- not to the guys who work here, anyway. He said he was going away for a whilethat’s what he said, a while- and he was having his mail held. That was it.”
“Has he ever gone away this long before?”
“He’s been away two, three weeks at a time before- maybe a little longer- but not like this.”
“He have a lot of luggage that morning?”
“A couple of bags, a briefcase- no problem fitting ’em in the trunk.”
“And he was alone?”
Gargosian’s eyes narrowed momentarily. “Yep.”
“Was he usually?”
“What’s that mean?” His voice was fractionally less friendly.
“It means, did he have a lot of visitors? A lot of houseguests? Girlfriends, boyfriends- that sort of thing?”
Gargosian’s voice chilled by another few degrees. “What is this, anyway? Are you looking for a missing guy or is this some kind of divorce thing?”
“It’s not a divorce thing,” I said. “I don’t care what Danes does or who he does it with, I’m just trying to find the guy.”
Gargosian nodded slowly and relaxed a little. “It’s just that I went through a fucking evil time with my own ex, so I’m a little touchy. I don’t want to go telling tales.”
“Sure,” I said, and kept looking at him.
“He didn’t have a lot of visitors. His kid was probably the most regular; he’d come by every few weeks or so.”
“No girlfriends?”
“Not lately.”
“How about before lately?” Gargosian hesitated, and I helped him out. “How about a pretty blonde who’s shorter than she looks on TV?”
He looked relieved. “What do you need me for? You seem to know it all already.”
“Confirmation helps,” I said. “Anybody besides Sovitch?”
“No, just her. But for a while now, not even her.”
“How long a while?”
He shrugged. “It’s got to be six months at least.”
“She was a pretty regular visitor before then?”
“It was kind of tapering off, I think. But for a while there it was two or three nights a week.” Gargosian’s eyes shifted to the doors and he loped across the lobby and held them for an attractive blond woman pushing a baby carriage. He walked them to the elevators and came back to the concierge station.
“Danes have many friends in the building- anybody he might’ve told where he was going?” I asked.
Gargosian shook his head. “He’s not a real sociable guy.”
“According to his son, he’s got at least one friend in the building- someone he goes to hear music with.”
Gargosian thought for a moment and began to nod. “He had one friend, more like: the old fellow, Mr. Cortese- Joseph- and a nicer guy you’ll never meet. Hell of a sad thing when he passed. He was a real music buff, and friendly with Danes. They went to concerts together and stuff.”
“White-haired guy- mostly bald on top- with a narrow face and hollow cheeks?” I asked. He nodded. “When did he pass away?”
“Last year, right around Thanksgiving. Bad heart.”
“He live alone?”
“All alone. The missus was long gone.”
A FedEx truck double-parked in front of the building. The driver waved at Gargosian and started stacking boxes on a hand truck. Gargosian waved back.
“I got to get the service door,” he said, and went out to the street.
I leaned on the marble counter and thought about Danes and his late friend. Now I had a name to go with the face in the photosJoseph Cortese- but I wasn’t sure what that led to besides another dead end. My head was aching again and I was tired, and I wondered how Neary was faring in tracking down Pflug. I pressed my fingers to my temples but it didn’t help. Gargosian returned and I hauled my thoughts back to Danes and Cortese.
“You said they went to concerts together.” Gargosian nodded. “Here in the city?”
“Carnegie Hall, Lincoln Center, up at St. John’s- the old guy talked about it all the time. And in the warm weather he’d go someplace up in Westchester. And he went to the mountains, too- the Berkshires. He had a house up there, and he’d go for big chunks of the summer. Danes went with him now and then.”
“You know if Cortese had family? Anyone he was close to?”
Gargosian tilted his head a little. “We’re getting kind of far from Danes, aren’t we?”
“I’m looking for someone to talk to about this place in the Berkshires.”
“The old guy had a nephew, but I don’t know how close they were. He’d come around sometimes; he still does.”
“Cortese’s apartment hasn’t been sold?”
“The nephew owns it now. Like I said, he comes by once in a while.”
“Any idea where he lives?” Gargosian shook his head. “How about a name?”
“Don’t know his first name, but his last name’s Cortese.”
I pulled a card from my pocket. “Can I leave this for him, for the next time he comes in?” Gargosian looked skeptical but took the card. “What about neighbors?” I asked. “Does Danes get along with his?”
Gargosian looked puzzled for a second. “I didn’t explain it right, did I? Mr. Cortese was in apartment Twenty-C; he was Danes’s neighbor, pretty much the only one. The other two units up there are owned by a corporation, and they’re empty most of the time.”
I thought about that for a while, and about the disheveled-looking man I’d seen coming off the elevator and going into 20-C, the day I’d creeped Danes’s apartment. “What does the nephew look like?” I asked.
Gargosian thought for a moment. “A very big guy, not young… balding, with some dark hair around the sides… a big face… glasses. Kind of… messy.” That was him. Gargosian looked at his watch. “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got to get to the mail.”
I nodded. “Thanks for your time.”