Bellew had sent them a text. A few words only: 7.30tomorrow in my office.
There wasn’t much more to say. Both she and the captain knew there was nothing they could do right now, except wait a few hours. The night had ended and the light through the windows had surprised her and Russell sitting on the couch, concerned and incredulous, close without touching, as if what they were seeing could come out of the screen and contaminate them.
As she descended the stairs, responsibility gripped her chest. The lives of so many people depended on her, on what she would do in the next few hours. It made her a little dizzy, and she was happy to reach the bottom of the stairs.
As soon as he saw her come through the door, a uniformed officer held a sheet of paper out to her.
‘Here it is, detective. It’s a cell number, if that’s OK. The man’s name is Chuck Newborn and he’s working on a big site in Madison Square Park.’
Vivien was grateful to code RFL, which was making everything move at a speed she wasn’t accustomed to.
They left the precinct house and walked to Vivien’s car. Silently they climbed in, both lost in their thoughts. After switching on the engine but before heading out, Vivien gave voice to hers.
‘Russell, about last night…’
‘Go on.’
‘I just wanted to say that I…’
‘I know. That you don’t want complications.’
That wasn’t what Vivien had meant to say. But Russell’s words and detached tone brought her up short, on the threshold of a place she could enter only if she was invited in.
‘That’s fine by me,’ he went on.
She turned to look at him but saw only the back of his head. Russell was looking intently out the window on his side. By the time he turned back to look at her, he was back in the present.
‘Traffic’s pretty heavy.’
Vivien put off any response to what he had said earlier in favour of more urgent priorities. ‘Now you’ll see how useful is to be a police officer.’
She took the flashing lamp and put it on the roof. The Volvo pulled away from the kerb and set off at speed.
They reached Madison Square Park after going west along 23rd street at a speed that had left Russell stunned.
‘You’ll have to lend me that gadget sometime.’
He had gone back to being the way Vivien had known him at the beginning. Ironic and detached, friendly and at the same time distant. She had to admit, with a touch of resentment towards herself, that the previous night had been a mistake, never to be repeated.
‘When this is all over, I’ll buy you a police car.’
They immediately saw the place they were looking for. To their left, facing the park, was a building under construction, not so high as to be called a true skyscraper, but with enough storeys to be imposing. There was all the activity of an anthill, in the swinging of cranes and the bustle of men with their coloured hard hats on the scaffolding.
Russell looked around. ‘It’s a recurring number. Everything seems to be happening on this street.’
‘What do you mean?’
He gestured to a point behind her. ‘We’re on 23rd street. Sparrow’s body was found on this street, only further east.’
Vivien would have liked to reply that in her work that kind of synchronicity was much more common than in the plots of movies. Most investigations stood or fell by the whims of fate and the thoughtlessness of human beings.
They parked the Volvo in front of the site. A worker wearing a yellow hard hat turned to them and protested, ‘Hey, you can’t park here.’
Vivien approached and flashed her shield. ‘I’m looking for Mr Newborn. Chuck Newborn.’
The worker pointed to a sheet-metal hut on the left-hand side of the building, near a large embossed terrace on the third floor. ‘You’ll find him in his office.’
Vivien led Russell towards the temporary white-painted construction. The door was open. They climbed the steps and found themselves in a room that was bare except for a desk and a chair. Two men were bent over the desk, studying a plan.
One of the two looked up. ‘Can I do something for you?’
Vivien approached the desk. ‘Mr Chuck Newborn?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
He was a tall, bulky man in his early thirties, with sparse hair and clear eyes and the hands of someone who never shirks away from heavy work. He was wearing a worker’s reflecting jacket over a denim jacket.
Vivien flashed her shield again. ‘I’m Detective Light, 13th Precinct. This is Russell Wade. Can we talk to you for a moment?’
The man looked both puzzled and slightly alarmed. ‘Sure.’
Vivien decided to underline the nature of the interview. ‘Alone.’
Chuck Newborn turned to his companion, a thin, indolent-looking man. ‘Tom, go check that concrete.’
Aware of being superfluous, the man called Tom picked up his hard hat and left without a word. Vivien was sure he considered her and Russell only a glitch in his day’s work. Newborn folded the plan and stood waiting on the other side of the desk.
Vivien came straight to the point. ‘Have you been working for Newborn Brothers for a long time?’
‘Since I was a boy. My father and my uncle started the business, and I started working here when I was eighteen. My cousin arrived straight after college. He’s in charge of administration. Now the old guys have retired and the two of us run the business.’
‘Were you around when Major Mistnick’s house on Long Island was built?’
In Chuck Newborn’s mind alarm bells must have gone off. He didn’t have to search long and hard in his memory to know what the detective was talking about. ‘Yes. A weird business. A year later-’
‘-the house blew up.’
The man raised his hands. ‘There was an investigation. The police questioned us. We were cleared of any wrongdoing.’
‘I know, Mr Newborn. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’d just like to ask you a few questions concerning that period.’
She gave Newborn a few moments to calm down before continuing with her questioning. ‘Do you remember if a man named Mitch Sparrow worked on that site?’
‘The name sounds familiar, but I can’t put a face to it.’
Vivien showed him the photograph she had been given by Carmen Montesa. Even before the man spoke, the expression on his face made it clear that his memory had been jogged.