Read Online New York Nocturne by Walter Satterthwait - Free Book Online

the wall with her arms crossed, stood a thin, middle-aged woman in a starched black uniform. She was rather alarming, with pinched eyes and a bitter mouth. Behind her narrow, corded neck, her gray hair was clenched into a ball as tight as a fist.
    â€œMrs. Hadley,” said Mr. Vandervalk, “take young Amanda down to the WC, would you?”
    Without a word, the woman led me down the hallway. She smelled of talcum powder and peppery old perspiration, and she jangled as she walked—attached to her thin black belt was a short chain and a ring of keys. When we came to a wooden door, she knocked on it and waited. Nothing happened. She opened it and gestured for me to go inside. I entered into the reek of old cigars and older urine.
    It was a men’s toilet, and I had never before seen a wide porcelain trough like the one that ran along the entire wall. I would be happy, I decided, if I never saw one again.
    Before I left the room, I rinsed the salt from my face and tried to wash the red from my eyes. I looked around. The towels hanging on the wooden racks were grimy, streaked with black. I shook my hands in the air, then dried them, or attempted to, along the back of my dress.
    I looked at my watch: one o’clock.
    Silently, Mrs. Hadley led me back to the room, knocked on the door, pushed it open, and looked down at me. After I stepped into the room, she pulled the door shut behind me.
    Mr. Vandervalk and Lieutenant Becker were sitting in the two adjoining chairs. In front of Mr. Vandervalk was a large notebook and a fountain pen. He nodded to me. “All right now,” he said. “You just take a seat over there, Amanda, and we’ll get this over with as soon as we can, eh?”
    I walked around the table and sat down in the single chair, opposite them.
    Lieutenant Becker’s hands were on the table, his long, thick fingers interlaced. Blond hair, like bristles of thin white wire, grew on the skin between the knuckles. He looked at me now as he had looked at me from the very first, without even the tiniest flicker of interest.
    Mr. Vandervalk had uncapped the pen and opened the notebook. He smiled at me again and adjusted his glasses. “Now, Amanda,” he said. “First of all, why don’t you tell us where your mom and dad are right now. Are they here in the city with you?”
    â€œTibet,” I told him. “They’re in Tibet.”
    â€œTibet?” he said merrily. “My goodness! What are they doing in Tibet?”
    â€œThey’re traveling. They’ve always wanted to go there.”
    â€œWell, good for them,” he said. “Well, travel is broadening, I always say.” He looked down to write something in the notebook. I thought it was the single word Tibet . He looked up at me. “And when will they be getting back to the USA? Do you know?”
    â€œIn September or October. It’s a long trip.”
    â€œIt is, indeed,” he said and smiled again. “It is, indeed.” He wrote something in the notebook— September , probably—and then adjusted his glasses. “Now. Tell me. Do you have any other relatives?”
    â€œMy brother. In Boston.”
    â€œHere in the city, I meant. Here in New York.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNo.” He nodded. “All right. Fine, thank you.” He wrote something else in the notebook. Then he sat back and clasped his hands together on his lap. He made his face go serious. “Now suppose you tell us just exactly what happened.”
    I had nothing to gain by pointing out that I had already told my story to Detective O’Deere. Lieutenant Becker knew this, and so, probably, did Mr. Vandervalk. The police were still dotting their i ’s and crossing their t ’s.
    â€œWhere should I start?” I asked him.
    â€œWhy don’t you just start with last night? You and your uncle went out to dinner, I understand.”
    The only way he could have known about that