I nod.
‘We’re real sorry. I mean it – we were talking about how tragic it is and all. That kinda thing happened a lot back when I was growing up. I’m from a rough part of Queens. The murders and all, the street crime. Times Square isn’t like it used to be, I can tell you, all the chain stores and frozen yogurt shops. Anyhow, I just wanted to say how sorry we all are.’
I look around and there are only two other people in here now besides me. One guy eating an omelette, and one woman reading the paper with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.
‘Thanks.’
‘And we wanted to say – and say no, or whatever, if it makes you uncomfortable – but we wanted to pick up your check for you tonight. Janet overheard you and your folks were flying back to England tomorrow. What I’m saying, doll, is that this is all on the house.’
I sit up straight. This angel is wearing a name badge that says ‘Susan’。 She is tired, she’s been here as long as I have, five hours or more, and yet she takes the time to offer me this kindness.
‘Thank you. Before I came here, I always imagined New York to be this massive scary place full of weirdos. But it’s not really. It’s surprised me.’
‘Oh, it’s full of weirdos, you bet your life. The stories I could tell you, the subway rides. But yeah, it’s the best city in the world even when it’s a shithole, excuse my language. Tonight even, all this weather, all the trouble with floods and blackouts that might or might not come, we’ll still be here next week. Nothing can hold us down, see. Nothing.’
‘I needed to hear that tonight. I appreciate it.’
‘You want me to skedaddle, leave you to your novel or whatever you’re writing here?’
‘No, it’s OK. Susan . . .’
‘Yeah?’
‘Have you ever been to a cremation?’
Her face drops. ‘Yeah, sure I have. Too many. You going to a . . . I mean, is it for . . .’
‘KT’s cremation service is tomorrow near Bushwick. I’ve never been to one before. I’m pretty scared, truth be told.’
She smiles a sympathetic smile and says, ‘It’ll be beautiful, you’ll see. Your sister will be in a better place.’ She points to the ceiling and crosses herself. ‘I haven’t always had faith but now I believe in something bigger, you know? She’ll be in a better place.’
‘Was it . . .?’ I pause. ‘Do you see the fire, at the crematorium?’
‘Oh, don’t worry. It’s a beautiful service, beautiful. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, just like it says in the Bible. You’ll be OK, doll. Just stick close to your ma and pa and you’ll get through it, I know you will. Say goodbye to your sister and tell her you’ll see her again one day.’
The woman eating scrambled eggs coughs and half-raises her hand so Susan says, ‘Excuse me.’
I cannot imagine my sister’s body engulfed in flames. I read online that the crematorium heat can get up to nine hundred and eighty degrees Celsius. She and I shared one egg. Most people, in these circumstances, they say, you enter the world on your own and you leave on your own, but that’s not true for twins. You enter with your twin. And then you leave on your own. That difference makes it all so much more traumatic.
Susan refills my coffee and then turns the volume up on the TV. The storm’s coming closer and the mayor is consulting on whether to shut down the subway system and the New York Stock Exchange. There’s a lot of talk about extra firefighters and utilising the National Guard. FEMA are ready. Independent contractors have been put on standby to assist with repairing infrastructure. Outside my window there’s nobody walking around. The street is empty.
By three a.m. my heart is racing from all the caffeine but I’m getting closer to the core of Kandee’s family operations. There are limited liability partnerships established in the Caribbean that own companies based out of Geneva that fund charitable foundations based in the UK Channel Islands. A web of organisations and law firms. Tax havens and shell companies. James has his fingers in a lot of pies. African desalination projects and joint ventures in oil refineries. Through his Instagram feed I have discovered the hotels he frequents: the Dorchester in London, the Georges V in Paris, the Four Seasons and Carlyle in New York, the Mandarin Oriental in Sydney. I trace three women he’s been photographed with repeatedly in the past thirty-six months. They are never named or tagged in the photos. Usually their faces are partially hidden. They all look a lot like KT. A lot like me. A casual observer might even think they’re the same person, a long-term girlfriend, but they need to zoom into the photos and pay closer attention to hairlines and mole patterns like I am. James Kandee has girlfriends, or girlfriends, in multiple cities. They make him look good on his social media. They make him look popular.