Free Murder in Hell's Kitchen by Lee Harris

pressed the play button and listened to his voice one last time. Then she erased the tape.

6
    JANE RANG THE bell to Catherine Phelps’s apartment on West End Avenue at a quarter to eight. She identified herself through the intercom and made her way in a shaky elevator to the ninth floor. When she walked down the hall, she held her ID in front of her. The door opened and a woman, perhaps in her fifties, scrutinized the ID before smiling and inviting her in.
    â€œI’ve got coffee for you, Detective Bauer. Just drop your coat on a chair and come sit at the kitchen table. Can I give you an English muffin?”
    â€œNo, thanks.” Jane did as she was told and took a seat in front of a tall mug of coffee. She had had breakfast at home but this was a nice way to hold an interview. “You said you knew Miss Margaret Rawls.”
    â€œI did. Knew her for years. Tried to get her to leave that place she was living in and move up here, but she wouldn’t have it. Said the rent was just right and it left her enough money to take a nice trip every summer.”
    â€œWhen was the last time you saw her?”
    â€œYou want a date?”
    â€œAs close as you can get.”
    â€œWell, I’m not too good on dates, but it was a few years ago. She called me one evening in a panic. She sounded over the edge, I can tell you that. There’d been a murder in her building some months before and it had left her looking over her shoulder everywhere she went. Then someone else in the building died, but I can’t remember the circumstances.”
    â€œDo you remember if it was a man or a woman?”
    Miss Phelps closed her eyes and tilted her head downward. She could have been praying. “A woman, I think. Died of old age. But you know, it was very unsettling, the way they found her there.”
    â€œI understand. Then what happened?”
    â€œMargaret said she’d stick it out. Then one day something else happened, a mysterious death, and she found the body, poor thing. That was when she called me and asked if she could move in, just until she found something permanent.”
    â€œDid she tell you anything about the mysterious death?”
    â€œI guess he tumbled down the stairs is what she said. Don’t ask me for any names. I’ve got a head like a sieve. But coming home and finding that poor soul . . . it was the last straw.”
    â€œDid she move in with you?”
    â€œShe did. She grabbed a suitcase and took a cab up here.”
    â€œHow long did she stay?”
    â€œA couple of weeks. I don’t think it was as long as a month.”
    â€œThe coffee is very good, Miss Phelps. I really appreciate it.”
    She smiled. She was a well-proportioned woman wearing a gray wool suit with an antique pin on the lapel. Her fingernails were manicured and polished with a shade of pale pink. Antique gold rings decorated many of her fingers, and several gold bracelets were visible at the cuff. A light scent perfumed the air. “I enjoy a good cup of coffee,” she said.
    â€œWhere did Miss Rawls go when she left you?”
    â€œShe sublet an apartment, as I remember, somewhere around here. I never got to see it because she didn’t stay very long. She said her sister called her one night and said there were several openings in the company she worked for, and why didn’t Margaret come back to Tulsa.”
    â€œThat’s Tulsa, Oklahoma?”
    â€œThat’s right. The sublet was only for a couple of months, so she could find a place without feeling rushed. When it was over, she picked up and moved back home.”
    â€œDo you know where she went?”
    â€œI’ve got the address right here for you.” Miss Phelps pushed a piece of paper across the table. “She went to live with that widowed sister who called her. They’d always been close, and it seemed like the right thing to do.”
    Jane looked at the address and phone number. “Then