“No, but—”
“We can and will ask our patrol units to be on the lookout for him,” Sigrid said.
They took the boy’s description and that when last seen he was wearing jeans, boots, a Columbia University sweatshirt, and a Yankees hoodie.
“What about the sled?” asked Sigrid. “Are you convinced that’s where he intended to go? Did he take it with him?”
“He keeps it stored in the basement,” Mrs. Wall said. “I just assumed he went and got it and left from there.”
“Show us,” Sigrid said.
By then it was a few minutes past four, and when the elevator came, it was operated by the night man, Sidney Jackson, whose dark eyes were solicitous as he looked into Mrs. Wall’s anxious face. “You feeling all right, Mrs. Wall?”
“I’m fine, Sidney, thank you. We need to go down to the basement.”
Tactfully, the man did not ask further questions, and he ignored a buzz from the fourth floor in order to take them directly there.
Unaware that the detectives had already examined the basement, Mrs. Wall explained that every apartment had its own storage space. “But we have a common area with racks for bicycles and bulky equipment off to one side.”
They walked down the shadowy passageway to the storage area where the detectives had examined Phil Lundigren’s files over pizza yesterday. Mrs. Wall flipped a light switch in a side passage to illuminate an open storage room with many large hooks upon which to hang bicycles. Steel rings were bolted to the wall so that things could be secured with locked chains.
“That’s his sled,” she said in disappointment. “So he did lie. He didn’t go sledding after all.”
She pointed to a battered old Flexible Flyer that hung from a hook next to a bike that was missing its front wheel. The stenciled name—Fred Wall—had almost worn off. “It was my husband’s. Corey sold the expensive Hammerhead we gave him for Christmas two years ago.”
“What time did he leave your apartment yesterday morning?” Sigrid asked.
“Before nine. That was the crack of dawn for him, but one of his friends called and woke him up. They were going to meet for breakfast at a diner on Broadway and then go on to the park. Or so he said. His friends say he never came and they went on without him.”
“Nine o’clock,” Hentz murmured. “That’s around the time that Antoine quit, wasn’t it?”
“Was it?” She looked up at him with a troubled frown. “Yes, I suppose it was, because someone on the eighth floor called me about nine-thirty to complain that the elevator wasn’t working. I had already arranged for one of the porters—Vlad Ruzicka—to come in at ten to check on the boiler, so when I heard Antoine had quit, I called Sidney and he volunteered to come in early and work a double shift.” She turned impatiently and switched off the light. “Oh why are we even talking about porters and elevator men? They don’t have anything to do with Corey missing.”
“No?” said Sigrid. “Some people think Antoine quit because Corey took the elevator when his back was turned.”
“Don’t be silly.” Mrs. Wall looked from one detective to the other. “I know it’s wrong for my son to annoy the men like that, but this is a desirable job for someone with little education and no marketable skills. Good benefits and lots of tips as well. Even though our management agent hasn’t advertised it yet, we’ve already had three applicants for Phil’s job and a substitute for Antoine as well. No, Lieutenant Harald. Antoine didn’t quit because of Corey.” Her tone became defensive. “Besides, the elevator is never supposed to be left untended. If Antoine had done his job properly there would have been no opportunity for Corey to take it.”
Hentz said, “Sometimes people snap and say ‘take this job and shove it,’ Mrs. Wall. If Corey did play that trick on Antoine yesterday morning, maybe it was one time too many.”
The older woman suddenly froze. “Are you saying that Corey—? That Antoine—? That Antoine could have hurt him? Oh my God! Antoine killed Phil, didn’t he?”
Sigrid and Hentz escorted a panicky Mrs. Wall back upstairs. She gave them the names and addresses of the boys he was supposed to meet with Saturday morning. “Drew Narsetti’s his closest friend. He lives around the corner on West End Avenue and he’s called twice to ask if I’ve heard anything from Corey.”
She gave them a recent snapshot that showed a boy with a marked resemblance to her: small frame, pointed chin, hazel eyes. They said they would put out a BOLO for him and promised to keep her informed.
“What do you think?” Hentz asked Sigrid when they were back out in the hall.
“Probably what you’re thinking,” she said slowly. “Corey was at the party Saturday night and Antoine was in the building during the relevant times. Now Corey and Antoine are both missing. I’ve never cared much for coincidences. Have you?”
They met in the lobby with Detectives Albee and Urbanska, who had finished their canvass of the eight apartments that had not responded earlier. Hentz and Urbanska pushed some of the lobby chairs over to a couch in a secluded corner so that the four of them could sit and spread their notes on the low table while they shared their findings.
“No help from any of them,” Elaine Albee reported. “Two of them are still out of town.” She gestured toward the elevator. “According to Sidney Jackson, neither apartment was occupied this weekend. 2-A is something in the movie business and goes out to California for weeks at a time. The people in 11-C own a condo in Florida and always spend January and February down there.”
“I talked to the Peterson kid from 11-B,” Urbanska said. “He spent the weekend skiing with some cousins in Vermont. He also says Antoine’s lying if he says he stole the elevator anytime lately. He swears he only took it once. Over a year ago. His parents heard about it and took away his cell phone for a week, so that was his only time.”
As the others talked, Albee leaned back in her chair and looked through the two glass doors to the dirty snow heaped along the sidewalk. She found herself thinking about sunshine, blue water, and palm trees. Then Jim Lowry came up from the basement to join them and the afternoon felt suddenly warmer. She patted the broad armrest of her chair to offer him a perching place.
