Where Are You Now?

53

L ate on Monday morning, I drove up to Mack’s old apartment building. I pushed the Kramers’ button on the intercom, and was rewarded after a moment by a hesitant greeting. I knew I had to talk fast, “Mrs. Kramer, this is Carolyn MacKenzie. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, no. My husband is out this morning.”

“I want to talk to you, not to him, Mrs. Kramer. Please let me come in for just a few minutes.”

“Gus won’t like it. I can’t…”

“Mrs. Kramer, you must be reading the newspapers. Surely you know that the police think my brother may be responsible for that girl’s disappearance. I need to talk with you.”

For a moment I thought she had hung up, but then I heard a click as the door to the lobby unlocked. I went in, crossed the lobby, and rang her bell. She opened it a crack as though to reassure herself that I didn’t have an army of people ready to storm the apartment, then opened it just wide enough for me to enter.

The room that had so reminded me of my paternal grandmother’s living room in Jackson Heights was in the process of being stripped and dismantled. There were large cartons stacked in the corner. The curtains and draperies had been taken down from the windows. There were no pictures on the wall, and the side tables were bare of the lamps and bric-a-brac I’d seen on my last visit.

“We’re moving to our cottage in Pennsylvania,” Lil Kramer said. “Gus and I are more than ready to retire.”

She’s running away, I thought, as I studied her. Even though the room was cool, she had tiny beads of sweat on her forehead. Her gray hair was pulled away from her face and anchored firmly behind her ears. Her complexion was the same dull gray as her hair. I am sure she was unaware that her hands were massaging each other in a fretful, nervous pattern.

Uninvited, I sat on the nearest chair. I realized there was absolutely no use in not coming directly to the point. “Mrs. Kramer, you knew my brother. Do you think he’s a killer?”

She rubbed her lips together. “I don’t know what he is.” Then she burst out. “He told lies about me. I was so nice to him. I really liked him. I took such good care of his clothes and his room. And then he accused me.”

“Accused you of what?”

“Never mind. It wasn’t true, but I couldn’t believe my ears.”

“When did that happen?”

“A few days before he disappeared. And then he ridiculed me.”

Neither one of us had heard the outside door open. “Shut your mouth, Lil,” Gus Kramer ordered as he strode across the room. He turned to face me. “And you get out of here. Your brother had the nerve to treat my wife the way he did, and now look at what he’s done to those young girls.”

Furious, I stood up. “Mr. Kramer, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t believe Mack mistreated your wife in any way, shape, or form, and I would stake my own life that he is not responsible for any crime.”

“Keep on believing that, and let me tell you what I’m talking about. My wife is going to have a nervous breakdown worrying that when they catch your killer brother, he’ll turn on her and accuse her with his dirty lies.”

“Don’t call him a killer,” I said. “Don’t you dare call him a killer.”

Gus’s face flooded with rage. “I’ll call him what I want to call him, but I’ll give you this. He’s a killer who goes to church. Lil saw him the day he left the note in the collection basket, didn’t you, Lil?”

“I didn’t have my glasses with me, but I’m still sure.” Lil Kramer began to cry. “I recognized him. He saw me looking at him. I mean, he had on a raincoat and dark glasses, but it was Mack in that church.”

“Just for your information, the cops were here an hour ago, and we told them that,” Gus Kramer shouted at me. “Now get out of here and leave my wife alone.”