Murder in Alphabet City by Lee Harris Page A

story.”
    â€œThis is a lovely town,” Jane said as they left the station.
    â€œAnd the schools are good. We wouldn’t be here if not for the schools.”
    She parked on a picturesque street with little shops, people walking dogs, and a small restaurant two doors down the block. Inside they took a table for two near enough to the fireplace that Jane could feel the heat. They both ordered coffee.
    While they waited, Jane explained that there had been a death in New York several years ago, a client of Erica Rinzler’s. “There’s been a controversy about the cause of the man’s death,” she explained. “As he was your sister’s client in the Social Service system, we thought it might be productive to talk to her.” She heard herself using the kinds of words and phrases that tended to irritate her when she was on the receiving end. But she had to be careful not to give away anything that might keep this woman from telling what she knew about Erica Rinzler.
    â€œWhen I called you,” Jane said, “I was hoping you could give me an address and phone number for your sister so we could talk to her. After what you told me, I’d like to hear the circumstances of her death.”
    â€œIt wasn’t long after she quit her job. She called me when that happened and said she’d have to give up the apartment because she didn’t know when she’d get work and the rent would drain her savings. I told her to stay with us for a while. I felt she didn’t really want to, but she put her furniture in storage and came up here.”
    â€œDid she look for another job?”
    â€œShe seemed somehow preoccupied, as though her mind were elsewhere. She never really talked about the circumstances of her leaving her job. I sensed she left under a cloud but I didn’t want to ask. We were close, but still, I didn’t want to intrude.”
    â€œWhat did she do while she was living with you?”
    â€œI will say she went through the listings in the
Times
on Sunday and followed up on a lot of them. We had just gotten a fax machine and she sent her résumé so it would be there Monday morning when the office opened. She got some calls and she went into the city for interviews, but nothing worked out.”
    â€œWas she depressed?”
    â€œI guess you could say she was unhappy. She had warned me she would have trouble finding a good job, but she never said why. I suppose if she was fired, she wouldn’t be able to get a good reference, and after working for the city for so many years, that reference would be very important.”
    â€œI would think so. Did she tell you she was fired?”
    â€œShe said she quit. She said she walked in one morning and there was a problem and it was the straw that broke her back. She had a pile of complaints about the office, the people she worked with, the clients—it went on and on. I just assumed she burned herself out.”
    â€œWhere did she sleep in your house?”
    â€œWe have a guest room.”
    â€œYou said she stored her furniture.”
    â€œIt was in a place in Queens. She came to us with just a couple of suitcases, clothes mostly.”
    â€œDid she eat well? Did she participate in family conversations?”
    â€œShe was fine. You’re asking to see how unhappy she was. If I had thought she was dangerously depressed, I can assure you, I would have insisted she see someone. She was good with my kids. She loved them and it was mutual. She was the aunt who came and gave them a good time. When she died, I made up a story. They were young, in grade school. I couldn’t tell them the truth.” She motioned to the waitress and asked for refills. “Would you like a roll or a piece of pastry?”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    She was an attractive woman and Jane could see the resemblance between this woman and the sketch of Erica Rinzler. Judy Weissman was wearing black wool slacks