The tenant in apartment 1-A, Mrs. Chen, turned out to have a husband, Louie, though she did most of the talking. Together they ran a laundry business out of the ground-floor apartment across the hall, which meant that they were the only tenants on the floor. Butts had already interviewed Mrs. Chen briefly, but she seemed eager to talk to Lee as well, so he and Butts accepted an invitation to share a pot of tea and moon cakes.
Louie Chen was a slight, wiry man with a long face and thick black hair. His wife was even smaller, with pale skin and large eyes behind thick glasses. Her graying hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore a pink flowered dress. They both appeared to be in their seventies, but moved with a quick, youthful grace. Their apartment was shabby but comfortable, and very clean. A large golden statue of a smiling Buddha dominated the bookshelf across from the couch Lee and Butts sat on. The shrine was surrounded by tea candles and plates of fruit, nuts, and other food offerings.
“Very good moon cakes,” Louie Chen announced loudly as his wife passed them around on a blue willow china plate. “Good, right?” he prodded as Butts took a bite.
“Yes, very good,” the detective replied, though the look on his face suggested otherwise.
Louie beamed. “My wife make. Excellent cook!” he declared proudly.
Mrs. Chen-whose first name Lee hadn’t caught-gave her husband a disapproving look, but couldn’t hide her obvious pleasure.
Louie thrust the plate in front of Lee. “You try! Very good-you try.”
Lee complied, taking a large bite. It wasn’t bad-kind of dry, and not very sweet, but with a lemony flavor. He glanced at Butts, who was washing his down with gulps of tea.
“Now then, Mrs. Chen,” the detective said. “You told me that Miss, uh-Lewis often came home late.”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes. She works in restaurant, also as actress, so she come home late.”
“But you didn’t hear her come in last night?”
“No, we go to bed early, hear nothing.”
“That means the attack was probably over quickly,” Lee remarked.
“Yeah,” Butts said. “If they didn’t hear anything, I doubt anyone else in the building did.”
“We find her this morning,” said Louie.
“When you left your apartment to go to work across the hall?” Butts said.
“Yes.” He looked as if he was about to cry. “She very nice lady, always friendly.”
“You ever see anyone in the building who looked suspicious in any way, like they didn’t belong here?” the detective asked.
Louie perched on the edge of a tattered brown armchair and stroked his chin. “I don’t think so… Wait!” He looked at his wife. “You know Mrs. Mingelone, live upstairs? ”
“Yes!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Mrs. Mingelone, she nice lady but old, you know?” She said this with sympathetic superiority, as if it were an unfortunate affliction.
“Yes?” Lee said, being careful not to smile at elderly Mrs. Chen calling her neighbor “old.” He was reminded of his mother, who refused to join a local bridge club because “it was full of old ladies.”
“Mrs. Mingelone sometimes forget to close door behind her,” Mrs. Chen continued. “We talk to her-everyone remind her-but she forgetful.” Mrs. Chen shook her head with gentle disapproval.
Butts glanced at his watch. “It’s seven-thirty. You think Mrs. Mingelone will be awake yet?”
“Could be,” Mrs. Chen replied. “Old people up early.”
“Like us,” said Louie with a grin, displaying a set of broad, yellowing teeth.
His wife gave a disapproving frown. “Not so old-run business, take care of grandchildren, work all day long!”
Louie looked at the two men and shrugged, as if to say, Women-what can you do?
To Lee’s surprise, Butts smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re not so old, not in my book.”
After refusing another serving of tea and moon cakes, Lee and Butts left the Chens to interview the other tenants in the building. They began with Mrs. Mingelone, who lived on the second floor. Unfortunately, she was a rather addled person-kindly and eager to help, but forgetful and easily flustered. Perhaps the presence of the police in her apartment was too much for her-she offered them gingerbread cookies three times, apparently having forgotten that she had already done so. Lee thought her behavior indicated early stages of dementia.
Sitting with them at her kitchen table, Mrs. Mingelone tried valiantly to be helpful. “Mindy only moved in about six months ago,” she offered, wringing her hands. Her knobby knuckles were swollen with arthritis, the skin dry as parchment. She wore a faded housedress and fuzzy pink slippers, but had slapped some bright red lipstick on her thin lips. From time to time she fussed with her hair, which she wore in a loose chignon. Lee felt sorry for this sweet, muddled old woman, alone in her Hell’s Kitchen apartment, and was glad to see family pictures stacked three deep on top of the bookshelf in the hall.
“You ever see her with a boyfriend?” Butts asked after refusing a third offer of homemade cookies.
Mrs. Mingelone shook her head slowly. “No… I don’t think I ever saw her with anyone. Except once, another woman-older, I think, another theatre type.”
“How so?” asked Butts.
“Well, she was dramatic, you know-the way they are. Looked like she had put her outfit together from bits and pieces of costumes she found in thrift shops.”
“You get a name?”
“It was exotic-Devonia, Camellia, Carlotta, something like that. Mindy introduced me. She thinks I’m lonely, but I’m not. I can’t stand it when people think just because you’re old it means you’re lonely. Know what I mean?”
“Sure,” said Butts. “Anything else you remember that might be useful? Anyone in the building who looked like they didn’t belong, or who you’d never seen before?”
Mrs. Mingelone broke off a piece of cookie and popped it in her mouth. Bits of crumbs clung to her mouth, brown punctuation marks on the cherry-red lips. “I don’t think so… only that nice young man who carried my grocery bags for me.”
“When was that?” asked Butts.
“Last night, when I got home from the store. I was struggling to get out my keys, and he just seemed to come out of nowhere. Very sweet, made sure I got up to my apartment.”
The detective’s expression didn’t change, but Lee noted the subtle adjustment in body language indicating he was on high alert.
“And you never saw him before?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“What time?”
“It was late-I volunteer at the library, you know, and it’s open late on Thursdays. I had a bite to eat and did some shopping afterwards. It was after eleven.”
Lee did the math in his head. Mindy was attacked between eleven and twelve, according to Okorie, which meant her killer would have had plenty of time to wait for her, behind the staircase, across from the Chens’ apartment.
“Can you describe him?” Butts asked.
Mrs. Mingelone looked puzzled. “Well, I suppose I can try, but I don’t think-I mean, he was such a nice boy.”
They always are, Lee thought, until they murder someone.
“Sure,” Butts said, “but we have to check out every lead.”
“Of course, Detective,” she said, blushing. For a moment the years fell away and Lee saw the shy young woman she had been-rather lovely, with her large, dark eyes and delicate nose, though she had the kind of bone structure that hadn’t aged well. “I’m afraid I didn’t get a very good look at him.”
“Just tell us what you can remember.”
“He wasn’t tall-solidly built, though… He had strong hands.”
“Any facial hair?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Eyes? Hair color?”
“He was wearing a hat. Pale, though, I believe. Caucasian.”
“Would you be willing to go down to the station and work with a police sketch artist?”
“I don’t know how helpful it would be, but I suppose so.”
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Mingelone,” Butts said, rising from the table.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cookie?” she asked, waving the plate in front of Lee.
“Sure,” he said, taking one. “Thanks.”
The other tenants were no more helpful. Shocked, stunned, and sad to hear the terrible news, but without insight into who might want poor Mindy dead. She seemed to be well liked but not very well known. No one had seen her with a boyfriend; she seemed to be a hardworking girl who was always on her way to work or rehearsals. Butts did manage to get the name of the company she acted with, a group specializing in classic revivals, the Noble Fools Theatre Troupe. They were residents of a little off-Broadway place just off Eighth Avenue, so Butts decided to make that their next stop.
But the only thing they had approaching an actual lead so far was Mrs. Mingelone’s helpful grocery bag boy. As they ventured back out into the damp chill of February, Lee thought it didn’t seem like much.