Without waiting for an answer, Pawlowski headed out of the office, stuffing the paper with the address into her pocket. Ava managed to keep stride with her as they walked back through the lobby and the front counters.
“That was well-played,” Ava said. “Maybe a bit mean and pushy, but well-played.”
“You’ve got to be like a hurricane sometimes,” Pawlowski said. “Let them feel the strong winds for a while, then hit them and get out before they have time to survey the damage.”
Ava couldn’t help but smile at the analogy as they made their way back out onto the streets. The morning traffic was lighter on both the streets and the sidewalks as it thinned out while people began to arrive at work. And with another lead stuffedinto Pawlowski’s pocket, Ava dared to hope the morning might finally bring them some luck.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The address given for Kathleen Branson led them to a very nice apartment building in Eastern Manhattan. There was even a doorman out front, nodding politely to Ava and Pawlowski as they made their way inside. The apartment lobby had the build and design of a refined office building, though it was small and compact—perhaps, Ava thought, to give its residents the feeling of not only safety, but exclusivity.
According to the bank records, Ms. Branson lived in Apartment 2B. Ava and Pawlowski took the stairs, and though it was only one single flight, Ava couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be resenting even the slightest flight of stairs for a good while thanks to her trips to the Chrysler Building.
Pawlowski knocked on the door and they waited in silence. The entire building, not just the apartment beyond Branson’s door, was relatively quiet, making it easy to acknowledge that there were no footsteps or other movements. Pawlowski knocked again, though Ava was pretty sure her partner had come to the same conclusion: Kathleen Branson was not home.
“What do you think?” Pawlowski asked. “I was the hurricane back at the bank. I think it’s your turn.” She gestured toward the door as she spoke.
“You mean just force our way in?”
Pawlowski shrugged. “I think there’s enough viable reason for it.”
Ava considered this for a moment and came to the same conclusion. What they knew for certain is that Alfred Perkins had been secretly making deposits into a secondary (or maybe even lower than that) account for a woman named Kathleen Branson. The final withdrawal, which had emptied the account, had come just a few days prior to Perkins’s death. And while theyknew nothing about Branson, it was fairly easy to paint a picture of a likely scenario.
If Branson was an acquaintance of Perkins’s that no one knew about and Perkins had been giving her money on the sly, it was safe to assume she was some sort of mistress. And if the stock market crash had affected Perkins’s ability to continue funneling her money, another safe assumption was that it had probably made her angry. A woman with expensive tastes that had been relentlessly pampered was not going to take such a quick and drastic change very well.
But mad enough to murder?Ava wondered. She supposed there was only one way to find out.
“You know how to pick a lock?” Ava asked.
“No. You?”
Pawlowski shook her head. Simply because she felt it was the most sensible thing to do, Ava reached out and grabbed the handle. She turned it, fully expecting it to be locked. So when it turned over easily in her hand, she was surprised. She hesitated for a moment before turning the knob the rest of the way. The door opened easily.
“Lucky for us, huh?” Pawlowski said.
“Maybe.” Ava wasn’t so sure. The fact that the door was unlocked actually made her a little uneasy. Still, she stepped inside with her hand hovering near her sidearm. Pawlowski came in behind her, clearly not as troubled.
The door opened up on a simple and quaint living area. A couch sat against the far wall, an ornate rug on the floor. Other than a small end table by the couch, adorned with two books, there wasn’t much else to see. They stepped into the kitchen and found it just as sparse; a small table with two chairs and a simple icebox were pushed against the left wall, allowing easy passage into a hallway that led to a bathroom and an elegant bedroom.
In the bedroom, the bed was made and a small bureau sitting on the opposite wall was bare. As Ava stepped into the bedroom, processing the rest of the place, she started to realize that it had a very undisturbed feel. She walked over to the bureau and studied it closely. On the surface along the top, there were the faintest trace amounts of white powder, the sort women often use on their face. She then checked the three drawers within the bureau and found them all empty. Still, one of them offered the ghostlike scent of old perfume. Someone had been living here, sure enough, but Ava had the hunch that they hadn’t been here for a while.
“Sort of spooky,” Pawlowski said.
“Yeah, a bit,” Ava agreed. “The empty drawers and lack of—”
A third voice interrupted her. It came from the front of the apartment, by the front door. “Hello?” an older man’s voice said. “Who’s in there?”
Ava gave Pawlowski astay heregesture as she made her way back into the hall. Before the living room or the speaker came into view, she announced herself. “I’m Detective Ava Gold, with the New York Police Department. Who are you?”
There was a moment of silence before she got an answer. By then, though, she’d entered into the kitchen and could see the man as he answered. Ava guessed him to be in his late fifties. He was dressed in basic work clothes—a white shirt and a pair of well-worn pants. There was a bit of grime on his right forearms and a sheen of sweat on his brow.
“I’m Andrew Craft,” he answered. “I own the building and take care of maintenance.” He frowned and showed off the grime and dirt on his forearm. “As you can see. My doorman downstairs told me he let you two in and then I came up and saw this door open. Is there something I can do to help you?”
“We’re looking for a woman named Kathleen Branson,” Ava said. “We were given this address for her last known.”
“Well, unless a miracle has occurred in the past two days or so, I imagine thiswouldbe her last known address.”
“What do you mean?” Ava asked Behind her, Pawlowski stepped into view. After a quick introduction, Craft went on.