Free Murder in Alphabet City by Lee Harris

simply stopped eating because it became too difficult to order food?”
    â€œIt’s possible although not likely. His death occurred almost two years after the last time I saw him. I don’t know whether his condition was the same or had deteriorated. I don’t know if he kept up with his medication. I’m aware that his sister didn’t believe he died a natural death or a self-inflicted death, but I understand there was no evidence of anything else. May I ask why you’re investigating his death so many years later?”
    Jane and Defino exchanged a glance. “Why we’re investigating is because Mrs. Constantine has put pressure on the police department to find a killer. Why it’s so long after his death is that she’s been trying for years to reopen the case, and apparently she succeeded recently.”
    â€œIt sounds as though you consider this a wild-goose chase.”
    â€œWe’ve been assigned the case, Doctor. We’re pursuing it.”
    â€œI see. Well,”—he paused to take a sip of coffee—“not having seen Mr. Stratton for nearly two years at the time of his death, I can’t say anything definitive. Yes, he could have become despondent, especially if he stopped taking his medication, and he may have gradually stopped eating. This is pure speculation, you understand.”
    â€œHis sister told us he was a poet.”
    â€œThat’s in my notes. He considered himself a writer, a thinker, a philosopher if you will. He hoped to teach one day.” He looked down at the paper in the thin file. “There isn’t much I can tell you.”
    â€œWhat’s your opinion of Mrs. Constantine?” Defino asked.
    â€œDevoted, concerned, willful, opinionated. The Stratton family has a lot of money and paid handsomely for the clinic Anderson had been in. She was willing to do whatever it took to give her brother a normal life.”
    â€œThanks, Doctor.”
    He rose and shook their hands. As they turned to leave, he reached for the
New York Times
and pulled it over near his coffee.
    They had lunch and took the subway back to Centre Street. MacHovec was at his desk, back from his morning of digging in the files at Social Services.
    â€œGot something?” Jane asked, taking off her coat.
    â€œSocial Services had Stratton under their wing. He wasn’t always nice to them, from what I saw in the file. He pissed them off so they kept transferring his case from one social worker to another. Most of the time he wouldn’t let them in, but I gather he was a loner.”
    â€œWhat are you leading up to?” Jane asked, sensing a kicker in all this.
    â€œWell, looks like they sent a supervisor over and she worked her way into the apartment and maybe into his heart.”
    â€œShe have a name?”
    â€œErica Rinzler.”
    â€œNot a
B
anywhere.”
    â€œAnd she’s gone. Want to guess when she left?”
    â€œWhen Stratton died.”
    â€œYou got it.”
    â€œEllis tells me you’ve got something.” The whip stood in the doorway. An hour earlier, Jane had spoken to Lieutenant McElroy about the missing Social Services supervisor, whose name appeared on no local phone lists including suburbs of New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut.
    â€œSomething very thin, Captain Sean?”
    MacHovec cleared his throat. “They went through a bunch of caseworkers that Stratton either ignored or tossed out on their ear. So they tried a supervisor, Erica Rinzler, and that seemed to work. She documented visits on a regular basis and said he was doing OK. She left the department sometime after Stratton’s body was discovered.”
    â€œWhen was her last visit?”
    â€œAbout two weeks before the body was found.”
    â€œAnd he was dead for a while when the call came in.” Graves took the sheet of notes from MacHovec. “Looks like she visited every two weeks. That would mean he was alive two