up the street.
‘Sorry?’
‘Witz and Kowalski—those people in the Croatia Club. I told your Inspector about them.’
‘Yes, we’re checking on that. There are a number of things we’re looking into. When was the last time you saw Mr Kowalski?’
She shook her head. ‘Couple of weeks, I don’t know.’
‘Well,’ Kathy said, let me know if you hear of anything else we should know.’
She turned to leave, and as she pulled the door open she noticed a point of light, like a candle flame, flicker briefly in the dark corner of the synagogue, where its back butted up to the end of the terrace on the other side of Jerusalem Lane.
‘That’s funny. I thought I saw a light in the synagogue yard.’
‘That’ll be Sam,’ Mrs Rosenfeldt said. ‘Lives in a cardboard box in the corner there.’
‘We never saw him when we were going round the block talking to people.’
‘He’s not usually there during the day. He doesn’t like to be disturbed. He’s been around for six months or more. I think it’s shocking that people should have to live like that—in a cardboard box!’ She snorted. ‘More and more of them now. It’s like the thirties again. Meredith used to talk to him. And Eleanor, too. Not since Sunday, of course. They would sometimes take him food. He liked the Balaton’s goulash, poor old soul. Like the thirties again.’
Kathy bought a take-away portion of goulash at the Balaton and walked quietly back to the synagogue. She could dimly make out the pile of cardboard in the corner of the yard, behind the railings. She went through the open gates and over to the boxes, opening the lid of the goulash tub so that the smell filled the night air.
‘Sam,’ she called.
There was a snuffling sound, and then a voice.
‘Meredith? El’nor?’
‘I’m Kathy, a friend of Eleanor’s.’
Sam crawled out of his box. The flame of a gas lighter briefly illuminated his face. He looked old. A battered hat was pulled low on his forehead and a dirty white beard filled much of the rest of his face. Kathy made out a sore on the end of his nose.
‘I’ve brought you this.’
He nodded and took the container from her. Untroubled by its heat, he pushed the food quickly into his mouth with a plastic fork. Kathy let him finish, and then as he turned to crouch back into his box, she said, ‘Sam, Meredith died on Sunday.’
He stopped and turned to her. ‘Died?’
‘Yes. In the afternoon. Were you around here then? Did you see anyone visit her on Sunday afternoon?’
He crouched, lost in thought for some time. Then he spoke. ‘Bow tie.’
‘What?’
‘Man with a bow tie. Rang Mer’dith’s bell on Sunday afternoon. Went inside.’
‘Have you any idea what time it was?’
Again he pondered. ‘Sun was shining on the front of Mer’dith’s house. When he came out it wasn’t any more.’
‘You’re sure it was Sunday?’
He snorted. ‘The bells of St James was ringing.’
He turned and crawled into the box.
On her way back, Kathy checked with both Mrs Rosenfeldt and the people in the Balaton Café, but no one knew of anyone who wore a bow tie.
Kathy ran to the front door, reaching it before the chime of the bell had faded in the small space of her hallway. Hegrinned at her and threw a bouquet of flowers behind her onto the hall table. He took her in his arms.
Before or after the door is closed?
she thought.
‘Happy birthday, darling, for yesterday.’
She kissed him.
‘Am I forgiven, then? Good. Let’s go to bed.’
He felt her body stiffen with sudden annoyance.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. Yes, come on.’
After they made love, she lay curled against his side, smelling his expensive after-shave.
Not the one I gave him
, she thought to herself.
Aloud she said, ‘Are you beginning to find it a chore, coming here?’
‘Oh, come on, Kath. I explained what happened last night.’
‘Not about last night. It’s been just over six months’—she meant to say it
‘Sorry?’
‘Witz and Kowalski—those people in the Croatia Club. I told your Inspector about them.’
‘Yes, we’re checking on that. There are a number of things we’re looking into. When was the last time you saw Mr Kowalski?’
She shook her head. ‘Couple of weeks, I don’t know.’
‘Well,’ Kathy said, let me know if you hear of anything else we should know.’
She turned to leave, and as she pulled the door open she noticed a point of light, like a candle flame, flicker briefly in the dark corner of the synagogue, where its back butted up to the end of the terrace on the other side of Jerusalem Lane.
‘That’s funny. I thought I saw a light in the synagogue yard.’
‘That’ll be Sam,’ Mrs Rosenfeldt said. ‘Lives in a cardboard box in the corner there.’
‘We never saw him when we were going round the block talking to people.’
‘He’s not usually there during the day. He doesn’t like to be disturbed. He’s been around for six months or more. I think it’s shocking that people should have to live like that—in a cardboard box!’ She snorted. ‘More and more of them now. It’s like the thirties again. Meredith used to talk to him. And Eleanor, too. Not since Sunday, of course. They would sometimes take him food. He liked the Balaton’s goulash, poor old soul. Like the thirties again.’
Kathy bought a take-away portion of goulash at the Balaton and walked quietly back to the synagogue. She could dimly make out the pile of cardboard in the corner of the yard, behind the railings. She went through the open gates and over to the boxes, opening the lid of the goulash tub so that the smell filled the night air.
‘Sam,’ she called.
There was a snuffling sound, and then a voice.
‘Meredith? El’nor?’
‘I’m Kathy, a friend of Eleanor’s.’
Sam crawled out of his box. The flame of a gas lighter briefly illuminated his face. He looked old. A battered hat was pulled low on his forehead and a dirty white beard filled much of the rest of his face. Kathy made out a sore on the end of his nose.
‘I’ve brought you this.’
He nodded and took the container from her. Untroubled by its heat, he pushed the food quickly into his mouth with a plastic fork. Kathy let him finish, and then as he turned to crouch back into his box, she said, ‘Sam, Meredith died on Sunday.’
He stopped and turned to her. ‘Died?’
‘Yes. In the afternoon. Were you around here then? Did you see anyone visit her on Sunday afternoon?’
He crouched, lost in thought for some time. Then he spoke. ‘Bow tie.’
‘What?’
‘Man with a bow tie. Rang Mer’dith’s bell on Sunday afternoon. Went inside.’
‘Have you any idea what time it was?’
Again he pondered. ‘Sun was shining on the front of Mer’dith’s house. When he came out it wasn’t any more.’
‘You’re sure it was Sunday?’
He snorted. ‘The bells of St James was ringing.’
He turned and crawled into the box.
On her way back, Kathy checked with both Mrs Rosenfeldt and the people in the Balaton Café, but no one knew of anyone who wore a bow tie.
Kathy ran to the front door, reaching it before the chime of the bell had faded in the small space of her hallway. Hegrinned at her and threw a bouquet of flowers behind her onto the hall table. He took her in his arms.
Before or after the door is closed?
she thought.
‘Happy birthday, darling, for yesterday.’
She kissed him.
‘Am I forgiven, then? Good. Let’s go to bed.’
He felt her body stiffen with sudden annoyance.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. Yes, come on.’
After they made love, she lay curled against his side, smelling his expensive after-shave.
Not the one I gave him
, she thought to herself.
Aloud she said, ‘Are you beginning to find it a chore, coming here?’
‘Oh, come on, Kath. I explained what happened last night.’
‘Not about last night. It’s been just over six months’—she meant to say it
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