Surprised, Lowry took it. She had held him at arm’s length for so long, he had almost given up. Now he reported that he had separately interviewed the two porters on duty and he, too, had spoken with Sidney Jackson again. “To hear them tell it, they’re just one big happy family here. They don’t think Lundigren liked Antoine much, but they don’t know why. Both porters agree that Antoine doesn’t like Sidney because he only laughs when the Wall boy steals the elevator. They say Antoine doesn’t like to be laughed at and he’s always bitching about privileged kids. On the other hand, Vlad Ruzicka says he saw Antoine give Corey some money Friday afternoon.”
Sigrid frowned. “Not the other way around?”
“Maybe Corey sold him something his mother hasn’t missed yet,” Hentz suggested.
He proceeded to bring the other three up to date on their interview with Mrs. Wall, her admission that Corey had a gambling addiction, that he got the money to gamble by selling things he stole from the Wall apartment, and that he was supposed to have gone sledding Saturday morning, yet never made it.
“And his sled is still in the basement,” Sigrid said.
She turned to Hentz. “Try calling that Narsetti boy. If he lives just around the corner, perhaps he’ll come down and talk to us.”
All through this session, people had passed in and out through the lobby. Various delivery people came and went, including FedEx, Postal Pizza, and a dry cleaners. Now one of the building’s older residents approached from outside, pulling a loaded shopping basket behind her. Urbanska jumped up to hold the inner door open and was rewarded with a sweet smile. Close on her heels came a tall and gangly teenage boy who followed the woman toward the elevator with a cell phone in one hand and a latte in the other. As he passed them, his phone rang and he answered immediately just as Hentz said, “Drew Narsetti? This is Detective Hentz of the NYPD. Mrs. Wall —”
“Hey, cool!” the boy said, turning back to them. “I never had that happen before. I’m Drew. Are you the detectives Mrs. Wall said were trying to find Corey? She asked me if I’d come talk to you, but I really don’t know where he is.”
He sat down on the couch next to Hentz, unzipped his jacket, and took the lid off his coffee. The warm aroma of caffeine and hot milk filled the air and the detectives looked at it longingly, but none of them wanted to risk the lieutenant’s displeasure.
“Where did you get that?” Sigrid asked.
“There’s a coffee shop on the corner. Want me to get you one?”
“I’ll go,” said Urbanska as the others quickly dug in their pockets. She took their money and their orders, then hurried out.
Drew Narsetti seemed like a nice all-American, Mom-and-apple-pie kid—shaggy brown hair that was squeaky clean and a long thin face that seemed to have escaped most of the ravages of acne. He told them that he and Corey had been friends since their sandbox days when their mothers used to push their strollers over to the park. “He’s five days older than me and we’re in the same class.”
“When did you last speak to him?” Sigrid asked.
“To actually talk to? Yesterday morning. I was his wake-up call. He didn’t think he’d hear the alarm. But we were texting back and forth till like midnight. He was at a beach party here in the building and he freaked when he heard their super got killed.”
“Did he send you pictures?”
The boy gave a reluctant nod.
Hentz held out his hand for the boy’s phone. “May I take a look?”
Drew took a long swallow of his latte to hide the embarrassment that suddenly reddened his face. “Well… see… I mean, like he didn’t know somebody was going to get killed.”
With a wry smile, Sigrid said, “And there were girls in bikinis?”
He gave a sheepish nod. “One of ’em was smokin’ hot.”
“We may already have those,” Hentz said, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. “We asked everyone who had taken pictures to send us copies. It helps us document who was on the sixth floor Saturday night.”
Drew hesitated then, with a what-the-hell shrug, said, “Let me pull up just the ones he sent, okay?”
“Fine. And I’ll forward them to our computer, if that’s all right with you?”
The boy nodded.
“Let’s talk about yesterday morning,” Sigrid said. “Did Corey sound as if anything was bothering him?”
“No, everything was cool. I called him at like a quarter to nine and told him where we were meeting to grab a bite before heading over to the park. He was a little down about the super. He really liked the guy and couldn’t understand how he’d get killed right there with a party going on down the hall. He said his mom was really bummed about it, too. She’s the head of their co-op board. But he said he’d see us at the diner. We waited till almost nine- thirty, but he never showed. I called and texted, but he didn’t answer. Just blew us off.”
“Has he blown you off before?”
“Not like this. He usually lets me know if he’s changed his mind.”
“No problems at school?”
“He’s flunking trig, but not like what you mean.”
“What about at home?”
Again the hesitation, and he seemed grateful when Sidney held the lobby door open for a florist with a cellophane-wrapped plant and for Urbanska, who carried a cardboard tray loaded with paper cups of coffee thick with foam. If the teenager had hoped that the coffee would bring a change of subject, he was disappointed.
