“Do you know why he reached out?”
“I’ll be blunt again. Probably because he found out I had a government job again and some stability. To Robbie, that means a now-and-then payday loan. I heard from him after a long silence once before. It was when I started my law firm years back. At least this time he hasn’t hit me up. We’ll see how long that lasts.”
“Detectives will have to interview him as well,” Mimi said. “Any reason to believe he’d be a suspect in her death? I have to ask.”
“I understand. No, I don’t think Robbie would hurt anyone physically. He’s slippery but not violent. And as far as money goes, whoever my mother was when she died, it doesn’t look like she had any.”
“No,” Mimi said. “It doesn’t.”
“I wish I could help you more. I have a few old photos, somewhere. A box of stuff from way back.”
“They might help,” Len said.
“Okay. I’ll look for them. We’ll also claim the body, my brother and I, when OCME releases it. We found a place in Brooklyn where she can be cremated. We understand if it’ll take time.”
“I’ll update you,” Mimi said. “Oh, and the personal notes that Detective Hernandez found—the ones to a Joe, or Joey?—I may ask you to look at them at some point.”
“Notes to me?” he asked. Mimi noticed a change in his demeanor. It wasn’t suspicious, but it was odd. He seemed clueless about what most people would remember as a significant detail.
“They were found with the body,” Len said. He hesitated for a moment. “With a business card of yours. We told you about them when we found you on Friday night.”
“Oh, of course,” he said, but his eyes were blank. Then he shook his head and sighed. “Look, I won’t bullshit you. I don’t remember much about that conversation. I drink; I’m not sure how else to put it.”
“I kinda sensed that,” Len said with a shrug. “Anyway, the notes were on paper that looked newer than the other items she was carrying around.”
“And a business card,” he said, sounding bewildered. “I swear I don’t know how. I mean . . . I don’t know where she would have gotten it.”
“We don’t know how or when she got it,” Mimi said. “I know you’re at the AG’s office now. The business card is old, right? It was from a firm called Abrams & DeSantos.”
“Yes, at least three years old.” He’d been looking down, but his eyes snapped back to the two of them. “Jack Abrams was my old partner. The firm dissolved in early 2014.”
“Have you been back to that office?” she asked. “I saw the address was in Kew Gardens, near the courts.”
“Not in months. I had an appearance out there on one of my AG cases, but it was before Christmas.”
They discussed a few other details, and Mimi looked to bring things to a close. “Thanks for coming in,” she said, standing and offering her hand. “The detectives told you about victim services, right? I can walk you over there.”
“They did,” Joe said. “And I did this job, so I know how it works.” He made eye contact with Mimi and Len in turn. “I thank you—on behalf of my brother also. But we’re really not the victims. My mother was. For us, she was gone a very, very long time ago.”
CHAPTER 19
Thursday, July 20, 2017
Sixtieth Precinct
Brooklyn
4:45 p.m.
“Hernandez,” Zochi said into the phone, taking a gulp of coffee. She was at her desk in the Six-Oh squad room, buzzing with the usual elevated summertime level of activity.
“Zochi, it’s Quinn.” As usual, he sounded hoarse, like he’d just woken up. Dr. Adam Quinn was a forensic pathologist at the OCME. He was in his midfifties, built like a fireplug, and Zochi’s image of a walking heart attack. He was thorough, though, and competent.
“Hey, Doc. You callin’ about that old lady? DeSantos?”
“Yeah. I’m curious—when you saw the bra, what did you think?”
“I didn’t think it killed her. ADA said the same thing.”
“Bingo,” he said with a chortle that turned into a cough. “Yeah, she wasn’t strangled.”
“More like someone wrenched her head back? Broke her neck?”
“You shoulda gone to med school. Yeah, that. Perp gave her a snap, then rotated the head back straight. Must have made a nasty sound.”