“You’re sure?”
“Uh . . . yeah. I can’t think of anyone I’ve ever known with that name.”
“Okay. And the two men you encountered tonight, the homeless man and the one who attacked you—I know this is covered territory, but I’m confirming—you had no prior connection to either of them that you know of?”
“That’s correct,” Nate said. “The homeless man was no one I’d ever seen or worked with. The other one, well, I really didn’t get a look at him, as I told the others. There was no sense of familiarity, though, nothing that made me think I knew him or had any idea who he was.”
“Okay. I also understand that you were the person in your building who was playing point with the landlord, dealing with those issues?”
“Yes,” he said. “I was informally appointed once the hardball stuff started happening. I’m not sure how else to put it. I’m older. I’m alone. I was a career city employee, and I have experience dealing with agencies and the like. I guess I seemed like a logical choice.”
“Makes sense. So, in connection with that, did you ever feel threatened personally? What I’m getting at is whether anything that happened to you last night was something you expected. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” he said firmly. Zochi was impressed. Whoever this old man was, he seemed to be as sharp as a tack, not fuzzy or spacey at all, which so many people were in the wake of trauma. “The building manager is a man named Daniel Cana. He’s the guy I usually butt heads with. He’s not violent, though. It’s been kind of a test of wills between us, but not much else. I don’t think Cana sent a killer to attack me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Basically, it is,” she said. “Thank you. There’s just one other name I need to run by you—Joseph DeSantos. Does that name mean anything to you?”
She didn’t expect that it would, and at first that’s how it seemed. Then recognition sank through the man’s face, his eyes slowly brightening with it.
“Joey DeSantos?” He shook his head like he needed to clear it. “I mean, that’s the only Joseph DeSantos I can think of, but this was many, many years ago.”
“How many, Mr. Porter?” Her heart picked up a beat.
“Well, he was a little boy. I knew him and his older brother through their uncle, Mike Carroll.”
“That’s interesting,” she said. Porter did look a little spacey now, as if recalling a dream.
“Joe was ten when we met. I’d guess he’d be around fifty now.”
“He’s exactly fifty, yes.”
“Wait,” he said, lifting his hand. “That isn’t Joe down in that elevator shaft, is it?”
“What? No.” For a moment she wanted to kick herself. This was the dangerous thing about interviewing witnesses shortly after traumatic events. Nate Porter might seem completely together, but he was still rattled, whether he knew it or not. She needed to be patient and take things slow. “Uh, that person hasn’t been officially identified, but it’s not Joe DeSantos. I’m afraid Joe was arrested for murder a few weeks ago. Two murders, actually.”
“Oh,” Porter said. He appeared confused, not necessarily shocked, but not fully processing it either. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He paused and looked down, then wrinkled his brow and looked up at her. “I think I understand. Evan Bolds is the man at the bottom of the shaft, isn’t he?”
“That needs to be confirmed,” she said, feeling like she should wink at him. “I can tell you Bolds is a person who’s relevant to the case against Joe DeSantos. That’s really why I’m here.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s back up some to your connection with Joe. I have some information on Joe’s backstory, including how he was raised for a while by his uncle. I assume you knew the uncle as well? Mike Carroll?”
“Of course,” Nate said. It was as if the first mention of Joe’s name had brought the whole time period back to him. Now he seemed confident, not dreamy.
“Can you tell me about him?”
“Mike Carroll and I were lovers. I mean . . . there were thousands of men in this town who could have said that about each other in the ’70s, but . . . we were a thing for a while.”
“A couple.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Oh man.” He sighed. “I met Mike in ’76; I remember Rocky came out later that same year. We were both in social work. He was in Staten Island. I was in Chelsea. We met at a city conference. The New Yorker Hotel.”