Restoration Heights Page 11

  He played well but his team lost narrowly, a good-natured defeat that didn’t contaminate anyone’s cheery mood. He hung around afterward, chatting and tossing half-hearted shots—the Knicks and the Nets and their dismal playoff chances, Steph and LeBron, gym gossip, girls. Momentum began to build for another game. Reddick left before anyone began to count on his presence.

  He went downstairs and into the weight room; Clint was standing in a circle of other lifters near the bench. Reddick lingered nearby.

  “You need me?” Clint asked.

  Reddick nodded.

  “Alright, hold up a minute.” The cop lay down and unracked the bar with a groan. A couple of guys offered sharp encouragement. He lowered the weight to his chest, shadowed by his spotters, and pressed it violently. The crew began to change the weights while Clint stood up and walked over to Reddick.

  “Damn, that’s impressive.”

  “I’m coming back from shoulder surgery last year. I’m not where I used to be.”

  “How much was that?”

  “Four twenty-five.” He was breathing heavily. “This is about what I think it’s about, right?”

  Reddick nodded.

  “So if you’re here, that means you have evidence that a crime has been committed. Evidence.” He repeated the word, emphasizing each syllable.

  Reddick thought of Hannah’s apartment, her closet full of clothes. There was no way to tell the cop what he saw without admitting that he broke in. “Not yet, no. But I need your help.”

  Clint looked up at the ceiling, exasperated, and walked out of the weight room. Reddick followed.

  “Look, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t onto something, alright?” The cop ignored him, went to the water fountain and drank. Reddick waited behind him. When Clint finished he turned around.

  “Oh, you’re still here? We’re done.”

  “I just need one favor.”

  “I listened to you the other day. That was your one favor.”

  “Two favors, then.”

  “I already told you what you needed to do. If you don’t have evidence I can’t help you.”

  “I have a suspect. I don’t have evidence yet but I do have a specific person that I am looking at and I know things about him. Things that seem very sketchy. I might have a motive.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “I want a background check.”

  “Didn’t I teach you how to use the internet the last time you were in here?”

  “I need more than what I can do. I searched the sex offender list. He’s not on it. There are these pay sites but I don’t know which ones to trust, or if they could even tell me what I need to know. I need a real criminal background check. I went to the State website. I’m not allowed to make a request. I need you for that.”

  “Do you know why you can’t request it? Because you’re invading that man’s privacy. And you want me to help you.”

  “I know this guy is shitty, alright? That’s not even a question. What I need to know is if that shitty behavior ever crossed the line into something more. Has he ever hurt anyone? Is he a threat? If he’s a threat we want him off the streets, right?”

  “You said ‘the streets.’ Oh lord, he just said ‘the streets.’”

  “Look, he’s just some shitbag developer building ugly condos in Brooklyn. He’s what’s wrong with this neighborhood. He isn’t worth protecting.”

  “Because you don’t like what he does, that entitles you to invade his privacy?”

  “I don’t need to see it. You want to protect this guy’s privacy? Fine.”

  “So you’re giving in? I can go? I got a drop set to do.”

  “You look it up. You look it over. If it’s blank, tell me. But if it isn’t, if there is anything violent, specifically violence against women—let me know. You don’t have to tell me what it is—keep the details to yourself. Just let me know if this guy has a history. He’s got rumors; I need to know if he’s got the record to match. I’m looking for confirmation.”

  For the first time Clint didn’t respond, just eyeballed his face, considering.

  “Please. I’m looking for help. Just help.”

  “I’m not doing this out of some bullshit solidarity against The Man, you hear me?”

  Reddick nodded.

  “The Man signs my paycheck. I work on a task force trying to get drugs out of neighborhoods. That’s a real problem. It’s drugs and fucking gangs that destroy neighborhoods. Not your landlord. Understand? I fight real problems that hurt real people.”

  Reddick nodded again.

  “Alright. Give me his damn name.”

  * * *

  He stopped in the lobby to swap his sneakers for boots. He texted Derek that Clint was going to help, and thanked him for the introduction. While he waited for a reply, Sensei came in, carrying his winter gear. He set his bundle on the seat next to Reddick and began to zip himself in.

  “Clinton gonna help you out?”

  Reddick nodded. “I think so. Hope I didn’t interrupt you guys.”

  Sensei shrugged. “You heard about Restoration Heights? They’re shut down for the winter.”

  “Yeah. I walked by a few days ago. Boarded up tight.”

  “We got to take our victories the way we can. I haven’t seen you at any rallies lately.”

  “I’ve been busy. Work. You know.”

  “Yeah. Clint told me what you want him to do. You really think this developer took this girl, or are you just lashing out because you don’t like what he represents?’

  Reddick smiled. “Can’t it be both?”

  “Usually not.”

  “He doesn’t belong here.”

  “You don’t think so? To a lot of people you probably don’t look much different.”

  “I know how I look. But I moved here instead of Williamsburg or Bushwick because I’m comfortable here.”

  “How long ago was that?’

  “I’ve been in my building for eight years.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. You were a young man when you moved here, like all these young people you see out there now. And maybe you don’t want developers like the one you’re after doing their thing down here, but you helped him. Just by being here, with all your friends.”

  “Derek is my friend and he grew up here.”

  “Right. What about your other friends, though? At that rally, who did I see you with?”

  “My roommate.”

  “Blond hair. Dresses sharp. That’s who developers are looking for. That’s who they follow. So by being here you helped it happen. You’re already in the negative. You have to actively oppose the situation if you want to get back to zero. Just to be even.”

  “I wasn’t trying to help it happen. That’s not why I moved here.”

  “What you were trying to do isn’t important. It’s about the effects.”

  “Fine. But I am opposing it.”

  “And yet I haven’t seen you at a rally in a while. It isn’t enough to oppose something in your mind.”

  “I do what I can. I want to keep things from changing.”

  “From changing? Look around. How many condos have gone up in the eight years you been here? How many new restaurants and bars have opened? And how many of the old ones have closed? What kind of people do you see on the sidewalks? It’s not that shit is changing. Shit has done changed. It already happened.”

  “But I still love it here. I mean, I complain about the hipsters, and yeah, I know I probably look like one of them to a lot people. But I know the truth about myself, and I know I’m happy here. I like these courts. I like my friends. I like the people I’ve met. I feel welcome here, in a way I don’t in other places. It reminds me of home. Maybe that’s specific to me in a way that doesn’t translate well to other people, or that isn’t easy to e
xplain. But that’s why I opposed Restoration Heights. It threatens all of that for me.”

  “Except it’s not about you. You’re missing my point. Places evolve. Change is always going to happen. You can’t preserve a time, a place, like it’s something you can just buy and put on a shelf and look at to make you feel happy. To love a place you got to grow with that place. You have to let it move through time with you. We’re not fighting Restoration Heights because we want to preserve a moment. That’s just another kind of conservatism, another kind of looking backward, and we can’t look backward, there is too much ugliness in our history. Too much despair. We’re fighting because we want to control our own change. We want to direct it. That is how you take a place away from a community. It’s not new folks moving in, it’s not building certain kinds of buildings. You take a place away from a people by not letting them have a say in the direction it is moving toward. Look at Derek.”

  “What about him?”

  “He knows how money works. He could get the right people together and they could buy that run-down building on the corner out there, and put up another gray condo just like all the other gray condos. And I might not like it. But I would let him do it. You know why?”

  Reddick thought before he answered. “His mother?”

  “Exactly. See, you do understand. He was raised here. This community belongs to him, and he is entitled to have a say in the direction it goes, even if I disagree with him. He grew up here, he earned that right. All of us did. Now take someone like you. Who comes in, and likes it, and feels at home—I welcome you as an ally. But it isn’t your place to lead. You just help us. Support us. You haven’t earned the right to point our direction out for us. And that’s not a black and a white thing. It’s community.”

  Reddick recoiled at this—he wasn’t trying to lead. He just saw something being threatened, something that had welcomed him, and wanted to preserve it.

  Clint came into the lobby and caught the last few sentences. “See, that’s what happens,” he said. “Come in here looking for my help and you end up with a lecture.”

  “It’s not a lecture,” Sensei said. “I’m just giving him a little guidance.”

  Clint’s coat was on and his hood was up. “Enough already. Come on before I start sweating.”

  Reddick watched them leave.

  Nine

  Hannah was sleeping with Franky and Buckley knew it. They were at the party together—Buckley’s refusal to acknowledge that she was in Brooklyn was just cover for his jealous certainty that she was there with his best friend. He knew about Franky’s business ties in the borough, maybe about the townhouse nearby, and Franky’s habit of taking dates to his properties. The affair had been going on for a while, at least since the new year, because that’s when Buckley confronted Franky about it—the blowout Aliana witnessed. This scenario pointed hard at Buckley as a suspect—a spoiled heir lashing out in frustrated rage. Except that his personality didn’t fit. The contrast between his lordly voice and gracious, almost timid demeanor made him surprisingly sympathetic. He seemed burdened by his privilege, not entitled; worn down by its persistent demands.

  But he wasn’t being straight about Hannah’s disappearance. So he couldn’t be counted out.

  On the other side was Franky. His motive was less obvious but his character seemed to fit. A guy whose easy way with women masked his hatred of them—fear, maybe, that the affection they gave so freely, that he depended on for his self-worth, might disappear—a hatred revealed by his habitual sadism. Maybe she tried to call it off and he lost it, imploding from the pressure of her rejection. Or maybe one of his games just went too far.

  Reddick was making character judgments about people whose character he was in no position to judge. One of whom he hadn’t met. He had to stick with what he knew.

  Franky was with her the night she disappeared. So were Ju’waun and Tyler.

  Someone didn’t like Harold asking questions.

  Hannah’s presence in Bed-Stuy had rattled Buckley.

  Who was that woman in Cask scared of? Gene, Eugene—had he heard the name right?

  If Hannah had been killed, where was the body?

  Reddick stared at the case map on his wall. After a few minutes he gave up, glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven. He texted the Lelands’ house manager and two minutes later his phone rang.

  “Do you have information about Ms. Granger?” Thomas asked.

  “What I have is a sketch.” Reddick glanced at the map. “I’m still trying to fill it in.”

  “And what do you need from me?”

  “First I want to know about her family. Why aren’t they involved?”

  “They’re on the West Coast. Oregon.”

  “Do you know their names? Have you tracked them down?”

  “We had no plans to do anything, other than hire you.”

  “I thought your boss said she wanted to help.”

  “We will help by providing you with whatever you need, within reason.”

  “Then can you find out about her family? Also how she and Buckley met? It seems like she wasn’t used to the rarefied air you breathe.”

  “I will find out what I can.”

  “Okay. There’s something else, too.” He gave him a quick outline of what he’d learned. “I need to know more about Franky Dutton.”

  “Whom you believe Hannah was cheating on Buckley with.”

  “Yeah. They were old school friends who stayed close. But it seems like they had a falling-out a few weeks ago. At a holiday party attended by your sort of people. I think Hannah might have been the source of this argument.”

  “You suspect an affair?”

  “Yep. Maybe that was the night he found out, and then whatever happened last Sunday was the tipping point.”

  “And Buckley lost his mind to jealousy and murdered her?”

  “Not necessarily. When he heard my story he must have immediately connected the neighborhood to Franky—that’s why he reacted the way he did. He was ashamed, maybe even afraid that Franky had hurt her. I’m thinking—what if he had confronted Hannah to try and convince her to stay? After that argument, I mean. Say he finds out about their affair, argues with Franky about it, then gives Hannah an ultimatum: him or me. If the wealth and lifestyle were that new to her, she would probably have stayed—who would give all that up for a piece on the side? But when she goes to break it off with Franky he reacts badly. Just snaps and kills her.” He stopped to take a break, to mull it over. “Another possibility is that none of that is true—Franky had a masochistic streak and maybe he finally took it too far. Whatever the details, I’m still leaning Franky—it’s just too hard to imagine Buckley hurting somebody.”

  “And you think this occurred near your building, where you saw her?”

  “Franky’s company is remodeling a townhouse nearby. I need to check it out, but it would make for a convenient party spot. Apparently he likes to keep a place to show off to the girls he meets. And it’s right across from an enormous construction site, for this new development, Restoration Heights.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Construction is shut down for the winter. It would have been a great place to hide her body.”

  “Somewhere so close?”

  “Why risk going farther away? And it might explain some of the other things I’ve found.”

  “Like what?”

  Reddick hesitated. Maybe Tyler and Ju’waun were dodging Reddick’s attempts at reaching out because they were afraid that blame could be shifted to them. Harold called it—a white girl from Manhattan going missing after a night out with two black men in Brooklyn was a scenario that would scrape up the worst dregs of white racial anxiety, that was fodder for the American media machine. The truth would cease to matter; it would vanish in a pit of endless takes as everyone argued about the same failed s
ystems and cycles, the same corroded institutions. The case of two black men railroaded by the cops because a white girl went missing, and all that it says about the country. Devolving into generalizations as one injustice swallowed another, as Hannah disappeared.

  But the reaction, the fear it triggered in Harold when he asked about them—that had to mean something.

  “There are these two guys she was with the night she disappeared. I think they might be connected somehow.” He told him about following Tyler, about the envelopes, and about the pushback Harold received when he asked about their connection to Hannah.

  “There’s a couple of ways to fit them in,” he said. “The easy one is that Tyler’s day job has nothing to do with this—he and Ju’waun are just witnesses, and they’re worried about being blamed for something they didn’t do.”

  “What’s the other way?”

  “They or whomever they work for is involved. I don’t have any evidence that Franky is crooked, but he would hardly be the first developer to have those kinds of ties. Maybe he’s given an envelope or two to Tyler in his time. So—however it went down in that townhouse, now Franky is there with her body, and he needs help. Who is he going to reach out to? Someone close, someone he knows already operates outside of the law.”

  “You seem convinced that she’s dead.”

  “I don’t want it to be true, but at this point—what else? The Sewards haven’t heard from her, right?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “So she’s just disappeared, and it’s not like Franky or Buckley would have any reason to kidnap her. I want you to try and verify if it was really Hannah they were fighting about at the holiday party. I’m sure one of your friends heard something. Do that and find out if anyone knows her family.”

  “Mrs. Leland may be able to help. I will speak with her and be back in touch tomorrow.”