New York Dead

you going to do after you check the records? It won’t take you very long.”
    Dino thought for a minute. “Shoot myself, if the note is there,” he said.

    Stone drove downtown faster than he usually drove, resisting the temptation to using the flashing light and siren. He parked in front of a fire hydrant on West Tenth Street and put down the visor to ward off tickets.
    Hank Morgan lived in a handsome brownstone that had been divided into two duplexes; he wondered how she could afford it. Well, hell, he was only a cop and he lived in a whole brownstone in Turtle Bay. Must be her daddy’s money. He rang the second bell, the one that said VINCENT.
    “Yes?” a woman’s voice said over the intercom.
    “Good morning, I’m Detective Barrington, NYPD. May I speak to you for a moment, Ms. Vincent?”
    A pause. “All right, but I want to see a badge through the peephole.”
    “Of course.”
    She buzzed him through the outer door, and he held his badge so she could scrutinize it.
    She opened the door but kept the chain on. “How about some ID with a photograph?” she said warily.
    Stone handed his ID wallet through the opening.
    She closed the door, unhooked the chain, and let him in. “Sorry about that, but you can’t be too careful,” she said.
    Ms. Vincent was a pleasingly plump woman in an apron. “I was just about to have some coffee. Can I offer you some?”
    “Thanks,” Stone said. “I’d like that.” He welcomed the opportunity to stretch out his visit.
    She led him into the kitchen and gestured for him to take a seat at the breakfast table. When she had poured them both a cup, she joined him.
    “What can I do for you?” she said.
    “I want to talk with you about your upstairs neighbor,” Stone said.
    Ms. Vincent’s eyebrows went up. “Really? Is Morgan in some kind of trouble?”
    “She’s helping us with an investigation, and the credibility of witnesses is always important. Also, I wanted to see if there was anything you could add to her information.”
    “Sure.”
    He took her back to the night of Sasha Nijinsky’s fall. “Did you see Ms. Morgan at all that evening?”
    Ms. Vincent thought for a moment. “We were in Bermuda,” she said. “My husband’s sister lives there, and we go at least once a year.”
    “Did anyone stay in your apartment while you were gone?”
    She shook her head. “Nope.”
    “How well do you know Hank Morgan?”
    “Not very well. We set up this place as condominiums four years ago with some friends. Then the friends got transferred, and they sold the place to Morgan about three months ago.”
    “Did you know Hank Morgan before that?”
    “Nope. Neither did our friends; a real estate agent found her. I was a little worried at first. Shit, I’m still worried.”
    “Why?”
    “Have you met Ms. Morgan?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then I don’t have to tell you she’s a lesbian.”
    “No. She was quite frank about it.”
    “Well, it’s not just that she’s a lesbian — hell, I don’t have anything against gays in general — it’s that she’s so…
involved
.”
    “Involved in what?”
    “Well, she’s apparently in two or three organizations about gay rights, and something to do with AIDS — you know those people who did that sit-in in St. Patrick’s Cathedral?”
    “I know the group.”
    “Well, she’s always doing things like that; she’s a real activist, which is, all too often, another way of saying ‘pain in the ass.’”
    “Why does that bother you?”
    “She’s always having meetings upstairs, and, believe me, there are some pretty weird people at those meetings. My God, there have been women in this house who should be playing pro football! It gives me the willies. I’m here by myself a lot; my husband travels in his work.” “Have these people behaved oddly toward you?”
    “No, it’s not that. I’m not really afraid of being raped, I guess. It’s just that I’m an Italian girl from Queens, a Catholic, and I’m nervous about things like that. I was brought up to be nervous about things like that.” “Did you ever recognize any of Ms. Morgan’s visitors?”
    Ms. Vincent grinned. “Yeah, I recognized Sasha Nijinsky, once.”
    “Was she here for a meeting?”
    “Nope, she was alone. I guess that means Sasha was a dyke, too, huh?”
    “How often did you see her here?”
    “Only once, and then through the peephole. It was her, though. She and Morgan were holding hands.” She gave a little shudder.
    “Do you