The Hard Way by Benjamin Carol Lea

Author:Benjamin, Carol Lea [Benjamin, Carol Lea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-12-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

I checked my notes on the way to the clothing store where Lucille DiNardo worked, a funny feeling coming over me as I did.

The shop, Lula, was on Washington Street, around the corner from Fourteenth Street, half a block from GR Leather and not far from the station where she had seen Gardner Redstone get killed.

For someone involved in fashion, the term used loosely in this case, especially in the now gentrified meat market, I expected Lucille to be young, or if not young, put together perfectly. I expected a size four, or even a two, hair coifed and perfect, nails painted the color of the moment. But that’s not what I found. Lucille DiNardo was in her fifties, her hair brown with streaks of gray, her size, I’d guess, fourteen or sixteen, which meant she would not be able to wear anything being sold in the faux fancy shop where she worked. A moment later, checking out the other salespeople, it occurred to me that Lucille didn’t work there. She owned the place. Because no one, not even Lucille, would have hired her to work the floor in this neighborhood.

We went to a small room in the back, nothing elegant there, just a desk in the corner and racks of clothes with notes pinned to them everywhere else. She sat at the desk. I sat on the folding chair at the side of the desk and for a moment, we each waited for the other to begin.

"Thanks for seeing me," I said. "I really appreciate it."

"So what's the deal? You’re not with the cops, is that right?"

"It is. I work privately. I’m working for Mr. Redstone’s daughter."

"Eleanor."

"Yes."

Lucille nodded.

"She wanted me to try to locate the homeless man who pushed Mr. Redstone, her father, onto the tracks. She wants to know he won’t be able to do that again."

"The black man?"

"Yes, I believe that’s what you told the detectives."

She nodded, drummed her unpolished nails on the desk, looked harried. "I have a lot to do here," she said. "Can we get to the point?"

"I wonder if you recall where you were standing that day, in relation to . . . ?"

"Right behind him."

"Behind the homeless man?"

"Behind the one who did the pushing. Yeah. That’s what I said." She pulled a cigarette out of the pack lying on her desk but didn’t light it.

"And you saw the push?"

"Of course."

"And you saw Mr. Redstone fall?"

"No. I only saw the first push."

"The first push?"

"Yeah. The black guy pushed this tall man who was standing next to him asking him for money. He shoved him to the side. You understand? I didn’t want to be that close to whatever the hell that was all about, so I’d turned around. I figured I’d go around the column where the black guy was leaning, go to the other side, not get shoved myself, you see?"

I nodded. My mouth might have been open.

"So I didn’t see when he pushed Mr. Redstone. I was behind the column, heading for the other side, when I heard the train, when that poor man got shoved onto the tracks.

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