“And how did that go?” Frank asked.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Harriet said. “It’s not something I want to relive.”
Ava understood this completely so she was hesitant to push. But at the same time, she was starting to figure something out. It was only a faint hunch at the moment, but it made more and more sense the longer she considered it. She looked around the apartment and found it tidy. There was also the smell of fresh-cooked food in the air—some sort of pork, she thought.
“Your husband passed away recently, right?”
“Yes ma’am, he did. Just a month after Abel was born.”
“And how old is Abel?”
“He’ll be three months in a couple of days.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Ava said, her hunch now finding more footing. “Forgive me for asking, but do you work?”
“I don’t,” she said. And just for a moment, her eyes went wide. Ava could see that Harriet knew where she was heading with this and she didn’t like it.
“How much are you paying for rent here?” Ava asked. She looked briefly to Frank, glad that he was remaining quiet while she tried to unspool all of this.
“Oh, it’s about seventeen.”
“About?”
“Yes. Seventeen. That’s it.” It was a different price than what the men in the neighboring building had given them, though the apartments looked basically the same. Now sensing that Harriet knew exactly what was going on, she pressed a bit harder.
“We need to know how the conversation with Mr. Lincoln went,” Ava said. “If you can help us, you’ll also be helping an innocent man stay out of prison. A colored man, a jazz musician that everyone thinks killed Monty Lincoln.”
“No. That’s my business.”
“Was he cruel?” Frank asked. Ava didn’t think he was aware of the theory she was trying to prove, but the question could help get them there. “Did he hit you?”
“No. Now, please…just let me and Abel—”
“Did your husband leave anything behind for you when he died?” Ava asked. She hated to go there because she knew all too well what it was like to lose a husband.
“What does that have to do with anything?” she asked, now rocking Abel on her hip.
“Living in this apartment,” Ava said, “while raising a baby, and without a job. Harriet, would it surprise you at all to know that we have testimony stating that Mr. Lincoln was being very flirtatious with a black jazz singer? Grabbing at her and trying to be intimate?”
Harriet stopped rocking Abel on her hip. For a moment, it looked like she stopped breathing. Beside Ava, Frank whispered, “Jesus…”
“How long has it been going on?” Ava asked. “How long had you been having an affair with Monty Lincoln?”
Harriet sneered at first but then let it go in a sigh. She sat down in the beaten-up chair against the wall, holding Abel close to her breast.
“You can’t think less of me for it,” she said. “You don’t have the right.”
“It’s not you I’m thinking less of.”
This actually seemed to cause Harriet a bit of relief. Her eyes softened and she started softly rubbing her hand on her baby’s back. She shook her head and refused to look at them again.
“He told me it could be a good thing for me that he had bought the building. Said he was sorry my husband was dead, but if I wanted, he could take care of me now. No rent. And he’d make sure no one complained about Abel anymore. Said he’d even help me out with groceries and clothes because I was on my own now. All I had to do…”
Again, she shook her head, unable to bring herself to say it.
“Was it…abusive?” Frank asked.
Ava hated the question. Any unwanted physicality from a man was abuse in her book. But she knew what he meant. And apparently, Harriet did, too.