tenants.
He went around to collect the rent in person. The first of the month, or once a week in some of the buildings. He would carry certain tenants for months if they were going through hard times. Others he had out on the street if they were five days late. He said you had to be a good judge of people."
"He must have been quite a man."
"He still is. He's retired now, of course. He's been living down in Florida for five or six years now.
Picks oranges off his own trees. And still pays his dues in the plumbers union every year." He clasped his hands together. "It's a different business now.
We've sold off most of the buildings he bought.
Ownership is too much of a headache. It's a lot less grief to manage property for somebody else. The building where Miss Hanniford lived, 194 Bethune, the owner is a housewife in a suburb of Chicago who inherited the property from an uncle. She's never seen it, just gets her check from us four times a year."
I said, "Miss Hanniford was a model tenant, then?"
"In that she never did anything to draw our attention. The papers say she was a prostitute. Could be, I suppose. We never had any complaints."
"You never met her?"
"No."
"She was always on time with the rent?"
"She was a week late now and then, just like everybody. No more than that."
"She paid by check?"
"Yes."
"When did she sign the lease?"
"What did I do with the lease? Here it is. Let's see, now. October 23, 1970.
Standard two-year lease, renewing automatically."
"And the monthly rent was four hundred dollars?"
"It's three eighty-five now. It was lower then, there've been some allowable increases since then. It was three forty-two fifty when she signed it."
"You wouldn't rent to someone with no visible means of support."
"Of course not."
"Then she must have claimed to be working. She must have provided references."
"I should have thought of that," he said. He shuffled more papers and came up with the application she had filled out. I looked at it. She had claimed to be employed as an industrial systems analyst at a salary of seventeen thousand dollars a year. Her employer was one J.J. Cottrell, Inc. There was a telephone number listed, and I copied it down.
I asked if the references had been checked.
"They must have been," Kalish said. "But it doesn't amount to anything. It's simple enough to fake. All she needs is someone at that number to back up her story. We make the calls automatically, but I sometimes wonder if it's worth the trouble."
"Then someone must have called this number. And someone answered the phone and swore to her lies."
"Evidently."
I thanked him for his time. In the lobby downstairs I put a dime in a pay phone and dialed the number Wendy had given. A recording informed me that the number I had dialed was no longer in service.
I put my dime back in the phone and called the Carlyle. I asked the desk for Cale Hanniford's room. A woman answered the phone on the second ring. I gave my name and asked to speak to Mr. Hanniford.
He asked me if I was making any progress.
"I don't know," I said. "Those postcards you received from Wendy. Do you still have them?"
"It's possible. Is it important?"
"It would help me get the chronology in order. She signed the lease on her apartment three years ago in October. You said she dropped out of college in the spring."
"I believe it was in March."
"When did you get the first postcard?"
"Within two or three months, as I remember it. Let me ask my wife." He was back a moment later.
"My wife says the first card arrived in June. I would have said late May. The second card, the one from Florida, was a few months after that. I'm sorry I can't make it more specific than that. My wife says she thinks she remembers where she put the cards. We'll be returning to Utica tomorrow morning. I gather you want to know whether Wendy went to Florida before or after she took the apartment."
That was close enough, so I said yes. I told him I'd call him in a day or two.
He went around to collect the rent in person. The first of the month, or once a week in some of the buildings. He would carry certain tenants for months if they were going through hard times. Others he had out on the street if they were five days late. He said you had to be a good judge of people."
"He must have been quite a man."
"He still is. He's retired now, of course. He's been living down in Florida for five or six years now.
Picks oranges off his own trees. And still pays his dues in the plumbers union every year." He clasped his hands together. "It's a different business now.
We've sold off most of the buildings he bought.
Ownership is too much of a headache. It's a lot less grief to manage property for somebody else. The building where Miss Hanniford lived, 194 Bethune, the owner is a housewife in a suburb of Chicago who inherited the property from an uncle. She's never seen it, just gets her check from us four times a year."
I said, "Miss Hanniford was a model tenant, then?"
"In that she never did anything to draw our attention. The papers say she was a prostitute. Could be, I suppose. We never had any complaints."
"You never met her?"
"No."
"She was always on time with the rent?"
"She was a week late now and then, just like everybody. No more than that."
"She paid by check?"
"Yes."
"When did she sign the lease?"
"What did I do with the lease? Here it is. Let's see, now. October 23, 1970.
Standard two-year lease, renewing automatically."
"And the monthly rent was four hundred dollars?"
"It's three eighty-five now. It was lower then, there've been some allowable increases since then. It was three forty-two fifty when she signed it."
"You wouldn't rent to someone with no visible means of support."
"Of course not."
"Then she must have claimed to be working. She must have provided references."
"I should have thought of that," he said. He shuffled more papers and came up with the application she had filled out. I looked at it. She had claimed to be employed as an industrial systems analyst at a salary of seventeen thousand dollars a year. Her employer was one J.J. Cottrell, Inc. There was a telephone number listed, and I copied it down.
I asked if the references had been checked.
"They must have been," Kalish said. "But it doesn't amount to anything. It's simple enough to fake. All she needs is someone at that number to back up her story. We make the calls automatically, but I sometimes wonder if it's worth the trouble."
"Then someone must have called this number. And someone answered the phone and swore to her lies."
"Evidently."
I thanked him for his time. In the lobby downstairs I put a dime in a pay phone and dialed the number Wendy had given. A recording informed me that the number I had dialed was no longer in service.
I put my dime back in the phone and called the Carlyle. I asked the desk for Cale Hanniford's room. A woman answered the phone on the second ring. I gave my name and asked to speak to Mr. Hanniford.
He asked me if I was making any progress.
"I don't know," I said. "Those postcards you received from Wendy. Do you still have them?"
"It's possible. Is it important?"
"It would help me get the chronology in order. She signed the lease on her apartment three years ago in October. You said she dropped out of college in the spring."
"I believe it was in March."
"When did you get the first postcard?"
"Within two or three months, as I remember it. Let me ask my wife." He was back a moment later.
"My wife says the first card arrived in June. I would have said late May. The second card, the one from Florida, was a few months after that. I'm sorry I can't make it more specific than that. My wife says she thinks she remembers where she put the cards. We'll be returning to Utica tomorrow morning. I gather you want to know whether Wendy went to Florida before or after she took the apartment."
That was close enough, so I said yes. I told him I'd call him in a day or two.
Similar Books
Billionaire Misery
Lexy Timms
Smashed: Story of a Drunken Girlhood
Koren Zailckas
His Last Duchess
Gabrielle Kimm
Zane (Alluring Indulgence)
Nicole Edwards
Her Only Salvation
J.C. Valentine
Wind Chime Wedding (A Wind Chime Novel Book 2)
Sophie Moss
The Nine Lives of Christmas
Sheila Roberts
Coming Attractions
Robin Jones Gunn
Finn Finnegan
Darby Karchut
