Murder in Alphabet City by Lee Harris Page B

and a gorgeous sweater with shades of rose and purple over a collared pink shirt. “Before we go any further, I’d like you to tell me what you wanted to talk to Erica about.”
    â€œA man’s body was found in his apartment in lower Manhattan about eight years ago. According to the medical examiner, he starved to death. He had mental problems so it was assumed his death was accidental. A member of his family thought his death might have been murder and we reopened the investigation. We learned that the deceased was a client of your sister. That’s why we wanted to talk to her.”
    â€œI see. So she could help you research your case.”
    â€œExactly. Did she ever mention any of her clients to you?”
    â€œHm.” Judy Weissman sipped her coffee. “Not really. She would tell my kids about the poor people she worked with, how she was trying to help them get on their feet. But she never mentioned names. She was very discreet, very professional. I wish I knew what went wrong at her job.”
    â€œI’d like to know that myself,” Jane said. “Are you able to tell me about her death?”
    â€œI know very little about it. A few weeks after Erica came to us, she took the train into New York. She said she had an interview for a job and she might meet a friend for lunch. She said not to wait dinner for her. I never saw her again.” Judy Weissman’s eyes were wet.
    â€œWhere was she found?”
    â€œIn a seedy hotel on the west side of Manhattan, Fifty-fourth Street.”
    â€œHow had she died?”
    â€œA gunshot to the head.” Her voice almost broke.
    â€œYour sister owned a gun?”
    â€œApparently. I knew nothing about it.”
    â€œDid she leave a note?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œDid you find that strange?”
    â€œI found the whole thing strange. I found it unbelievable. Why would she do such a thing? She’d had good interviews and she was looking in new areas for work. She could have gotten something that would have given her an income and tided her over till she found something better. No one even suggested that she should leave us. She was my sister. I wanted her alive. She was young. She had most of her life ahead of her. I just don’t know why she did it.”
    â€œMrs. Weissman, did she have files or records of any sort from her job?”
    â€œI have a box of papers. After she died, I kept some of her things and sold most of the furniture. My children and I were her heirs. Our parents were gone. I’ve been through everything and there wasn’t a clue anywhere to why she killed herself.”
    â€œMay I see the papers?”
    The woman nodded. “Come to the house with me. I’ll give them to you.”
    â€œThank you. I’ll give you a receipt for whatever I take and I promise you’ll get it all back.”
    â€œMaybe you’ll find out why Erica took her life.”
    â€œThat’s possible.” It was more than possible. This suicide, or apparent suicide to be precise, would almost surely become part of the investigation into Stratton’s death. “There are two questions I need to ask you. One is, did anyone ever call your sister Bee-Bee?”
    The surprise on Mrs. Weissman’s face was genuine. “How could you possibly know that?”
    â€œSomeone described a woman, perhaps a caseworker from Social Services, as being called Bee-Bee. I gather that was a nickname for your sister.”
    â€œIt was. When she was born, my mother had a private nurse to help out for a couple of weeks. I don’t know where the woman was from but she refused to call my sister Erica. She called her ‘Baby’ but with her accent, it came out Bee-Bee. I loved that and I called her that all her life.”
    â€œAnd other people must have too.”
    â€œThey did. Erica never liked her name that much—I don’t know why; it’s a perfectly fine name—and