“Curtis.” He downed the rest of the pop and place the empty bottle on the table. “Thanks for the drink,” he told his host.
Curtis led Ava and Frank out of the apartment and then back down the stairs. “Someone really killed him, huh?”
“Sure did,” Frank said. “And you never spoke with him?”
“No, sir. Saw him once when I came in from work. He was talking to this other white man, some sort of builder, I think.”
Curtis led them outside and to the neighboring building. They were basically built right on top of one another; there was technically a small alleyway space between them, but it was barely wide enough for a person to walk through. The interior of the building was slightly different than its neighbor, offering a larger space on the first floor, with two rooms on the right and one on the left, beside a stairway.
As Curtis walked with them up the stairs, he said, “She’s sort of shy. Like I said, looks scared all the time. But it didn’t really happen until she had a beef with the new landlord.”
“Your friend said it was just a rumor.”
“Maybe so. But in the neighborhood, you don’t start fake rumors about wealthy white people. I have friends that have ended up in jail for less than that. So if the story got out around here, I promise you there’s some truth to it.”
He took them to the second door on the third floor. Even as they came to it, Ava could hear the soft murmurs of an infant. It was currently not complaining, but making the sort of exploratory vocalizations that came with discovering its voice. Both Ava and Frank stayed a few steps back as Curtis knocked on the door.
“Yeah, hold on a second!” came an answer from inside, a woman’s voice both sing-song and somehow stern at the same time.
The door was answered by a very pretty black woman in her early twenties. Her hair was in disarray but the curls made it look almost pristine and cute. Ava noticed at once that she had very expressive eyes, and even when she looked to the two white people behind Curtis and frowned slightly, Ava guessed she likely had a gorgeous smile.
“Who you got with you, Curtis?”
“They’re detectives,” he said. “They seem like the good kind, though. They had some questions and—” He stopped and looked back to Ava and Frank, as if for permission. Frank gave him a little nod and Curtis finished with: “They said someone killed the new building owner. They were looking for folks in these buildings that have spoken with him.”
The woman then looked to Ava and Frank, though after just a moment or two, her eyes settled back on Ava. “Dead? He’s dead?”
“He is,” Ava said. “And Curtis and some of his friends here tell us that you had some tense exchanges with him.”
She smiled then and even though it was one of sarcasm, Ava saw that she was right: the woman had a gorgeous smile. “Yes. Tense exchanges. That would explain it well. Y’all need to come in?”
“Yes, please,” Ava said.
“You still need me?” Curtis asked Frank.
“Not really. But if Harriett feels more comfortable with you…”
“No, sir, it’s okay,” Harriet said. “Come on in.”
Curtis nodded and took his leave as Ava and Frank walked into the apartment. It was another of those situations where Ava could sense Frank now taking the back seat, knowing that this single mother was going to relate to Ava much more than she would to a white male cop in Harlem.
As they came into the room, Ava saw a blanket folded over in half on the dingy wood floor. A baby lay on it, looking up to the ceiling and kicking its little legs. Ava guessed it to be a boy, probably about two months old. And from the way it was working its legs, he was going to almost certainly be an early crawler.
“Your child is adorable,” Ava said.
“Thank you,” Harriet said. “His name’s Abel.”
“I have a son of my own,” Ava said, “and I know how much attention they need at this age, so we won’t waste too much of your time. Would you mind just telling us about the interactions you had with the landlord?”
“You mean Mr. Lincoln, right?”
“Yes,” Frank said. “Monty Lincoln.”
“Well, before he bought the building, there was this fussy old woman next door that was always complaining about Abel crying in the night. As if I could do something about that, you know? She even got in my face about it for a while but then she moved off somewhere. Pretty sure her husband lost his job and they moved. But then about three or four days after Mr. Lincoln bought the property, I get a knock on my door, and it’s him. Now, I’d seen him once before because I passed him coming out of the building one day. He asked if I lived here, and we chatted a bit. He seemed nice enough then.”
“Only then?”
Harriet waited a while before she went on. She looked down to Abel and picked him up. She carried him on her hip for a minute before again turning her attention directly to Ava. “Someone downstairs, on the second floor, apparently asked him if there was anything he could do about keeping Abel quiet. So he came up and talked to me about it.”