Daddy's Gone a Hunting

13

When he knew he was going to move permanently to New York, Mark Sloane made some carefully considered decisions. He signed up with a well-recommended real estate agent and told her what he wanted. A roomy two-bedroom, two-bath condo in the Greenwich Village area. His law office was in the Pershing Square Building, opposite Grand Central Terminal, so the commute would be easy by subway or foot.

The furniture he had gathered in his post-law school days had seen better days. He decided to pitch it and start from scratch. It also gave him a chance to completely eliminate any traces of the several ladies along the way who had been more than willing to move in with him.

The real estate agent had introduced him to a decorator who had helped him select a comfortable couch and chairs, a coffee table and end tables for the living room, a bed, dresser, and lounge chair for the bedroom, and a small table and two chairs that fit perfectly below the unusual luxury of a kitchen window.

Mark had shipped the bulk of his clothes, his bookcases, books, the native art he had collected over the years, and the hand-woven rug in vivid shades and intricate designs he had bought in India.

“The rest we’ll fill in as I get the feel of the place,” he had told the decorator, who had been all too anxious to plan window treatments and accessories.

He left Chicago that Thursday morning in a heavy snowstorm. His plane was three hours delayed in taking off. Not an auspicious start, he thought as he disembarked into the gloomy late afternoon at LaGuardia Airport. But then as he waited for the luggage at the carousel, he acknowledged that he was glad to be here in this place at this time. The job he’d been in for the past five years had lost its challenge.

He planned on Skypeing with his mother regularly. That way he wouldn’t have to take her word for it that she was “just fine.” And he had plenty of old friends in New York who were fellow graduates of Cornell. Time for a new beginning.

And time for something else to be resolved, he thought, as he reached down and with an easy movement lifted his one heavy suitcase from the carousel. With fellow passengers who also had been fortunate enough to have their bags among the first to come tumbling down the chute, he made his way to the cab stand outside and stood patiently in line. His height had made him a star basketball player in college. His hair had once been auburn like his sister Tracey’s, but it had darkened to a deep brown shade. His somewhat irregular features, caused by a badly broken nose during a game, were complemented by warm brown eyes and a strong mouth and chin. To strangers, Mark Sloane gave the immediate impression of being the kind of guy you’d like to know better.

Finally he was in a cab and on the way to the apartment. On previous visits to New York City, Mark had observed that many drivers talked on their hands-free cell phones and were not likely to strike up a conversation. This cabbie was different. He had a classic New York accent and wanted to talk. “Business or tourist?” he asked.

“Actually as of today I’m a resident,” Mark answered.

“No kidding. Welcome to the Big Apple. I don’t see how anyone who comes here would ever want to go home. Always something going on. Day and night. I mean it’s not like living in some burb where the most exciting thing you can do is watch somebody get a haircut.”

Mark was sorry he’d let himself in for a dialogue. “I’ve been living in Chicago. Some people consider that a pretty good town, too.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Fortunately the traffic got heavier and the driver turned his attention to it. Mark found himself wondering what his sister Tracey’s reactions were when she first arrived in New York. She hadn’t flown, probably because she didn’t want to spend the money. Instead she’d come by bus and moved into a YWCA rooming house before finally getting the apartment where she was living when she disappeared.

I’ll get settled at the job quickly, he thought, and then figure out how I can get the detectives interested in her case again. I guess the best place to start is the district attorney’s office in Manhattan. Those detectives were the ones who investigated the case. I have the name of the lead guy, Nick Greco. I should be able to track him down.

With his plan set, he tipped the driver generously when he arrived at his newly purchased apartment on Downing Street, took his shiny new keys from his wallet, let himself into the vestibule, and then entered the lobby. It was just a few long strides to the elevator, where two attractive women were waiting, one tall with vivid red hair, the other dark-haired, small-boned, and with heavy sunglasses covering most of her face. It was obvious she was crying.

The redhead had certainly noticed Mark’s suitcase. “If you’re here for the first time, you’ll notice that the elevator is slow,” she told him. “When they renovated these old buildings, they didn’t bother to replace the elevators.”

Mark had the feeling that she was making conversation to divert his attention from her tearful friend.

There was a ring at the vestibule door and in a moment, the only apartment door in the lobby opened. The superintendent, whom Mark had met before, stepped out and let two men in. Mark could clearly hear the voice of one of them. “We have an appointment with a Ms. Hannah Connelly.” Mark recognized the voice of authority, and he instinctively felt that even though neither of the men was in uniform, both were in law enforcement.

“She’s right there,” the superintendent said, pointing to the young woman with the dark glasses. “She must have just come in.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, they’re here already. You didn’t even get a chance to get something to eat,” the redhead said, her voice low.

The other young woman’s voice sounded faltering and resigned as she said, “Jessie, whether they come now or later, there’s no difference. Whether they believe it or not, I can’t add a single thing to what I told them this morning.”

What is this about? Mark wondered as the elevator door opened and side by side, he, the two women, and the two men got into it.