“And that’s the address you gave the driver just now?” Pawlowski asked.
“Yes. I wasn’t sure of theexactlocation, but it’ll be close. I only ever picked up stuff from his little shop—and that was only a grand total of two times.”
They fell silent for a moment, both considering the many possibilities. If O’Hare had truly been one of Perkins’s clients,had the crash hit him as badly as so many others? And if so, what sort of money had he lost?
And the bigger question, one she wasn’t quite ready to speak out loud:Had this piece of fabric somehow come from O’Hare just before Perkins fell to his death?
It took another twelve minutes before the cab finally arrived at the destination. It turned out that Ava’s memory was better than she’d hoped. When they stepped out of the car, she saw O’Hare’s shop nestled between an abandoned building and what looked to be a struggling leather manufacturer. She noted the very small number of people on the streets, denoting just how dead this part of the city had become. She was sure that if they traveled deeper into Harlem, it would get even worse.
As she started for the shop, she heard Pawlowski behind her, asking the cab driver to please stay there for a moment. They then approached the door together but even before they tried the door, Ava could tell the place was closed. There was no sign indicating that the proprietor was out and would be back soon. There wasn’t even a sign that some shop owners used to indicated if they were open or closed. Ava looked in through the small window and saw an empty counter. There were a few fabric racks along the back walls that were mostly empty. The place looked utterly deserted, and she wondered how long it had been in this state.
“Any idea where the textile mill is?” Pawlowski asked.
“No, but I’m pretty certain it’s nearby. We could have the driver circle around a few blocks and see if we get lucky.”
Pawlowski nodded and they walked back to the cab. As they did, it occurred to Ava that she had some other options at her disposal if things became too difficult. They could find a phone and call the precinct, hoping to get an address for the mill. Or if Pawlowski thought they shouldn’t contact anyone at the Seventeenth Precinct, Ava could place a call to her old offices.Maybe she could ask for Frank. And if he was out on the streets, Frances or Lottie down in the basement that served as the Women’s Division would be happy to help.
Thinking of the women she’d first worked with when coming to the job made her realize just how far she’d come. She was sad that her promotion to detective and assignment to partner with Frank had turned her away from them but it was also encouraging to know that she’d consistently done good work and had kept her mantle of detective.
These thoughts were brought to a halt when, just five minutes later, the cab driver took a right and pointed the car into a dusty-looking section of Harlem. A vacant, dirty car park was located to the right and then, directly beside that, a small warehouse. It looked familiar enough for Ava to think it might be worth looking at.
“Stop here, please,” Ava told the driver, pointing to the curb in front of the mill.
He did, and Ava and Pawlowski stepped out of the car. They made their way to the front door, a large wooden relic that showed clear signs of age and abuse. Despite its weakened appearance, it was locked and seemed just as sturdy as the rest of the building. However, there was a small wooden sign hanging a little off of center that told them they had found the right place. It read: O’HARE TEXTILES. And then, it small print beneath it:If door is locked, come to loading door on the side.
Ava and Pawlowski followed these instructions. The loading door faced the vacant lot they’d seen when the cab had turned onto this particular street. Yet when they got to the loading door, they found it just as inaccessible as the front door. The clasp at the bottom of the door—which was much larger than the front door—was held in place by a bolt and a simple lock that was drilled into a concrete slab at the very end of the walkway they were standing on.
“Well, this seems pointless,” Pawlowski said.
“That’s the spirit.”
Pawlowski opened her mouth to respond when they heard a slight cry from inside. It wasn’t a cry of pain but more like one of distress or frustration. And as far as Ava was concerned, it was more than enough reason to force their way in.
“I’m pretty sure we could break that,” Ava said, looking to the lock.
“Is that a good idea, though?” Pawlowski asked.
Ava shrugged as she scanned the lot behind them and it didn’t take long for her to spot a few old, crumbled pieces of cement. It was discarded material, maybe from a clean-up crew that had been on the empty lot. She walked back down to the lot, grabbed a chunk of the old concrete that was roughly the size of a melon, and went back to the door.
“Want me to do it?” Pawlowski asked. “If one of us gets in trouble, maybe it should be m—”
Ava kneeled down, drew the chunk of concrete up, and brought it down on the lock with as much force as she could muster. The lock was apparently just as old as the building because the clasp shattered like glass. She tossed the chunk of concrete—also now cracked and a bit broken—aside.
“Well, never mind then,” Pawlowski said.
Ava removed the lock and as she pushed the pieces to the side, Pawlowski grabbed the door’s large, metal handle. She pulled it open, revealing a musty interior. Ava noticed at once that there were no lights on. There were countless tables and workstations defined by rows of counters, but that was all. As they stepped inside, Ava noticed a few stacks of wooden crates near the back of the building, pushed into a far corner. Other than that and a few scattered remnants of cloth and fabric, the place was empty. She thought she could smell fabric in the air, though, the ghost of what the place had been once upon a time.
“Over there,” Pawlowski said, pointing to the far wall and near the front of the building. “Is that an office?”
Ava spotted the little section that was walled off, looking out onto the work floor through a single dingy window. It was clear there was no one in the building, but she wondered if there might have been some paperwork left behind—receipts, banks statements, anything that might potentially link the business back to Alfred Perkins. She knew it was a very long shot, but she figured it was worth looking into as long as they were here.
They made their way across the empty textile mill, their footfalls echoing. It was hard to get an accurate guess as to how long the place had been shut down. Ava guessed it likely hadn’t been more than a few weeks just because of the lingering smell of fabric and machine oil in the air.
They came to the office and found the door partially open. Ava reached out to push it open, and was then stopped by a voice from inside.
“Whoever’s out there, I have a gun,” a man’s voice said. “Might as well leave now anyway because there’s nothing here to steal.”
Ava took a single step back, quietly drawing her sidearm. She looked back to Pawlowski and saw that she was doing the same. Looking to the door, Ava said: “I’m with NYPD and I have a gun, too.” She made a point not to mention the fact that she also had a partner with her. She figured it would give her the upper hand if the armed man was taken by surprise by a second intruder.