Murder in Alphabet City by Lee Harris

Hudson. She took the train. She would see the river. One of those upscale towns. What the hell was it called? Frank, you remember Erica Rinzler?”
    â€œYeah. She quit all of a sudden.”
    â€œThat’s the one. Where did her sister live?”
    â€œChappaqua.”
    â€œYes.” Arthur Provenzano smiled. “That’s it. She lived in Chappaqua. Is that it?”
    â€œThat’s great. Thanks a lot. Enjoy the museum.”
    That was a lucky break. Jane walked over to the Midtown North station house on Fifty-fourth Street and enlisted the aid of a detective with a computer. There was no Steven Weiss or Weissberg in Chappaqua, but there was a Weissman. She used the phone and called the number. No one answered. It was Saturday afternoon and they were probably doing family things together. Jane took the subway downtown, picked up a steak for dinner. There were baking potatoes in the refrigerator, a couple of fresh vegetables, and the makings of a salad. She would eat well tonight.
    At five she tried the Weissman number again. This time a woman answered.
    â€œMrs. Weissman,” Jane said after she had identified herself, “I believe you’re the sister of Erica Rinzler.”
    â€œWhat is this about?” The voice sounded tense.
    â€œHer name has come up in a police investigation. We’d like to talk to her.”
    â€œThat’s impossible,” the woman said.
    â€œI’m sorry?”
    â€œYou can’t talk to Erica. It’s too late. She’s dead. My sister committed suicide several years ago.”

12
    I T HITS YOU like a thunderbolt. There’s something there. There’s a case. Maybe Anderson Stratton starved to death because he stopped eating and maybe someone saw to it that he died, but here was a suspicious death, a voice in her ear using the word
suicide.
    â€œMrs. Weissman, I am looking into the death of a man your sister knew. I didn’t know she had died. I’m sorry for your loss. Can you tell me what happened?”
    â€œNot now I can’t. It’s five o’clock and I have to feed my kids. My husband and I are going out tonight. And I don’t want to do this over the phone. I want to see you and see some identification. I want information from you.”
    â€œThat’s no problem. Tell me what will be convenient for you.”
    They arranged for the next day at eleven. Judy Weissman gave her precise instructions on trains and schedules. Then Jane called Lieutenant McElroy.
    â€œSo Mrs. Constantine may have been right. Looks like you got yourself a case.”
    â€œI’m taking the train up to Chappaqua tomorrow morning to talk to her. I just wanted to keep you informed.”
    â€œGood. We’ll talk Monday morning.”
    She called Defino because she knew he would want to know. From the upbeat sound of his voice, she sensed he appreciated the call. MacHovec would not appreciate it. When MacHovec left Centre Street, he cut the cord that linked him to the job. On Monday morning he would reestablish it. He was a different kind of cop.
    The next morning, Sunday, she took the train from Grand Central Terminal, watching the scenery go by most of the way. She had a book with her but she didn’t read much. She had a lot to think about.
    Before leaving the apartment, she had checked her voice mail at the office. Mrs. Constantine had returned her Friday call after Jane had left for the weekend, but it was too early to call before she left to catch the train.
    At the Chappaqua station she looked for the maroon SUV that Mrs. Weissman had described and found it easily. Not many people were traveling this morning. Jane took out her shield and photo ID and made them visible as she approached the woman.
    â€œDetective Bauer?”
    â€œYes. Good morning.”
    â€œI’m Judy Weissman. Let’s drive somewhere. I don’t want to have this conversation in my home. My kids are there and they don’t know the