Nora launched into her story. “A lady who works in the Citibank down the block from here told me about it.”
“What lady?” Lee asked, more sharply. In Chinatown, Pendergast had explained, most landlords preferred to rent to their own.
“I don’t know her name. My uncle told me to talk to her, said that she knew where to find an apartment in this area. She told me to call you.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes. Uncle Huang. He’s with the DHCR.”
This bit of information was greeted with a dismayed silence. Pendergast figured that having a Chinese relative would make it easier for her to get the apartment. That he worked for the Department of Housing and Community Renewal—the city division that enforced the rent laws—made it all the better.
“Your name?”
“Betsy Winchell.”
Nora noticed a large, dark presence move from the kitchen into the doorway of the living room. It was apparently Lee’s wife, arms folded, three times his size, looking very stern.
“Over the phone, you said the apartment was available. I’m prepared to take it right away. Please show it to me.”
Lee rose from the table and glanced at his wife. Her arms tightened.
“Follow me,” he said.
They went back into the hall, out the front door, and down the steps. Nora glanced around quickly, but O’Shaughnessy was nowhere to be seen. Lee removed a key, opened the basement apartment door, and snapped on the lights. She followed him in. He closed the door and made a show of relocking no fewer than four locks.
It was a dismal apartment, long and dark. The only window was a small, barred square beside the front door. The walls were of painted brick, once white but now gray, and the floor was covered with old brick pavers, cracked and chipped. Nora looked at them with professional interest. They were laid but not cemented. What was beneath? Dirt? Sand? Concrete? The floor looked just uneven and damp enough to have been laid on dirt.
“Kitchen and bedroom in back,” said Lee, not bothering to point.
Nora walked to the rear of the apartment. Here was a cramped kitchen, leading into two dark bedrooms and a bath. There were no closets. A window in the rear wall, below grade, allowed feeble brown light from an air shaft to enter between thick steel bars.
Nora emerged. Lee was examining the lock on the front door. “Have to fix lock,” he said in a portentous tone. “Many robber try to get in.”
“You have a lot of break-ins?”
Lee nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes. Many robber. Very dangerous.”
“Really?”
“Many robber. Many mugger.” He shook his head sadly.
“The apartment looks safe, at least.” Nora listened. The ceiling seemed fairly soundproof—at least, she could hear nothing from above.
“Neighborhood not safe for girl. Every day, murder, mugging, robber. Rape.”
Nora knew that, despite its shabby appearance, Chinatown was one of the safest neighborhoods in the city. “I’m not worried,” she said.
“Many rule for apartment,” said Lee, trying another tack.
“Is that right?”
“No music. No noise. No man at night.” Lee seemed to be searching his mind for other strictures a young woman would find objectionable. “No smoke. No drink. Keep clean every day.”
Nora listened, nodding her agreement. “Good. That sounds perfect. I like a neat, quiet place. And I have no boyfriend.” With a renewed flash of anger she thought of Smithback and how he had dragged her into this mess by publishing that article. To a certain extent Smithback had been responsible for these copycat killings. Just yesterday, he’d had the nerve to bring up her name at the mayor’s news conference, for the whole city to hear. She felt certain that, after what happened in the Archives, her long-term prospects at the Museum were even more questionable than before.
“Utility not include.”
“Of course.”
“No air-condition.”
Nora nodded.
Lee seemed at a loss, then his face brightened with a fresh idea. “After suicide, no allow gun in apartment.”
“Suicide?”
“Young woman hang herself. Same age as you.”
“A hanging? I thought you mentioned a gun.”
The man looked confused for a moment. Then his face brightened again. “She hang, but it no work. Then shoot herself.”
“I see. She favored the comprehensive approach.”
“Like you, she no have boyfriend. Very sad.”
“How terrible.”
“It happen right in there,” said Lee, pointing into the kitchen. “Not find body for three day. Bad smell.” He rolled his eyes and added, in a dramatic undertone: “Many worm.”
“How dreadful,” Nora said. Then she smiled. “But the apartment is just perfect. I’ll take it.”
Lee’s look of depression deepened, but he said nothing.
She followed him back up to his apartment. Nora sat back down at the sofa, uninvited. The wife was still there, a formidable presence in the kitchen doorway. Her face was screwed into an expression of suspicion and displeasure. Her crossed arms looked like balsa-colored hams.