Murder in Greenwich Village by Lee Harris Page A

Detective Bauer.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œI talked to you last night about where your late husband worked.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œMrs. Morgan—”
    â€œI don’t know who you are. Good-bye.” A click ended the conversation.
    Jane put the phone down, a chill passing through her. Someone had gotten to her. Someone had called and told her to keep quiet about her husband.
    Jane checked the address for Morgan. It was in the Eight-four precinct on Gold Street in Brooklyn, not far from where the wife worked. She called their number and identified herself. “I need to have a witness picked up ASAP and brought down to the house. I’ll be there as soon as I can to question her.”
    â€œOK, Detective. You got a cell phone we can call you at if we need to?”
    She gave the number, stuffed the rest of her toast in her mouth, finished the coffee in a gulp, and left everything where it was. Fuck the roaches. Then she went downstairs and hailed a cab.
    Mrs. Morgan, a smartly dressed graying woman, sat in an interview room looking frightened. She turned as Jane opened the door and entered.
    â€œI’m Detective Bauer, Mrs. Morgan.”
    â€œAm I being arrested?”
    â€œYou’re here so I can talk to you.”
    â€œYou had to send cops so my neighbors would see?”
    â€œI had to be sure we reached you before you left your apartment. I have some questions to ask you.”
    â€œI told you, I don’t know anything.”
    â€œWho called you, Mrs. Morgan? Who told you not to talk to the police?”
    â€œNobody called.” She fidgeted, pressed her lips together, and looked worried.
    â€œThat’s not going to cut it. You talked to me last night, and this morning you don’t know who I am.”
    â€œWell, maybe I remember now. You called late last night.”
    â€œRight. And I need to know more about where your husband worked.”
    â€œI told you, the Lexington line.”
    â€œBefore that.”
    â€œI don’t remember.”
    â€œWho told you not to talk to me?”
    â€œNobody. I just don’t remember.”
    â€œWell, start remembering. A man’s life is at stake.”
    â€œPlease. I just don’t know. Leave me alone.”
    â€œI don’t want to threaten you. I just want to find my partner alive.” She waited.
    The woman sat looking at her hands. She took a tissue out of her handbag and blew her nose. “I don’t know who called,” she said in a low voice. “But he scared me. He said bad things would happen if I talked about Curtis, if I said anything at all to the police.”
    â€œDid you tell him you’d spoken to me?”
    â€œYou think I’m crazy?”
    â€œWhere did your husband work before he was a track man on the Lex?”
    â€œWhat if they come and kill me?”
    â€œWe’ll see to it that they don’t.” Her cell phone rang. Jane took it out and said a curt, “Bauer.”
    â€œJane.” It was Hack. He had probably been trying to reach her since the night before.
    â€œI’m all right. I can’t talk now. I’m at the Eight-four.”
    â€œI’ll call in an hour.”
    She turned back to Mrs. Morgan. “Answer my question.”
    â€œWhen I first knew him—it was a long time ago—he was working on the Second Avenue subway.”
    â€œWhat did he tell you about it?”
    â€œHe talked about the men he worked with, how much progress they were making on the section they were working on.”
    â€œWhat section is that?”
    â€œHe started at Sixty-third Street. They were going to connect up the Lex and the Second Avenue with lines that went east and west. They worked on that tunnel for years and then the money ran out, and that was it.”
    â€œAnd after that?”
    â€œAfter that he worked on the Lex.”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Morgan. I appreciate your