I'm back here in the kitchen!
Mrs Sherman, if you don't mind. You from Seagram Realty?
Yes.
You have my money?
I wanted to ask you a few questions first.
You're welcome to ask me anything you'd like. AFTER you give me the money :jew: . You got it?
I sure do.
It's about time. Give it here.
Hm. It's all here, sure enough. I'd say thanks, if I hadn't had to fight tooth and nail to get it.
What teeth, you old bat?
Don't worry about it.
Oh, I won't. Now, you wanted to ask me something?
So, tell me about yourself?
Me? Why do you want to know?
Your name came up during an investigation I'm working on.
Investigation? Don't you work for Seagram Realty?
Not exactly
Aaah... you just used them as a way to get to me, huh?
Yes. Is that a problem?
Oh, not at all. Just don't expect your money back.
Charming... :jew:
She's all heart.
What can you tell me about the construction site on 53rd street?
You've been there? How's the old place looking?
It's a big hole in the ground.
Hah! Can only be an improvement. I used to live there, then Seagram Realty bought it and tore it down. Going to build something new and fancy, no doubt.
They kicked you out of your own home?
No big loss. The place was a dump. Plus, they wanted it so badly that they paid most of us a monthly stipend just to leave. Pretty generous, actually. I can almost forgive them for nearly robbing me.
So they paid you money to leave?
Yep. Like I said, it was a pretty generous deal. Building was about to get condemned anyway, so everyone was grateful for the offer. Well, everyone except for Mavis Wilcox.
Who was Mavis Wilcox?
A lunatic, is what she was. She lived down the hall from me, so I know how crazy she was.
Why was she crazy?
She refused to leave, is why. Seagram was offering her a fortune, but she still refused.
Why did Mavis refuse to leave?
She was a lunatic, I believe I already established this. A total shut-in. The prospect of leaving her little apartment terrified her. I'm old and feeble. If I could manage the move, she could have. Course, it doesn't matter now.
Did they ever get Mavis to leave?
Oh, you could say that. You could DEFINITELY say that. She left, all right. Left the entire world, in fact.
You mean she died?
Yes. Someone broke in and choked her to death, right in her apartment she loved so much. I'd call it ironic if it weren't so tragic.
uh... that sounds familiar.
Did they ever find out who killed Mavis?
No, some street kid, most likely. Thought the building was empty and went in to steal whatever was left over. Didn't count on anyone being there, bumped into Mavis and had to kill her. Happens all the time.
How well did you know Mavis?
Like I said, I lived just down the hall from her, on the third floor. I didn't know her well, but she did get some mail right before they smashed the place up. I took it, just in case a relative or something came looking. It's been six months, and nothing.
Do you still have Mavis' things?
Yes I do. Such as they are. There wasn't much, just that envelope on the counter.
Could I look at it?
You knew Mavis?
Sort of, yes.
Well, you might as well take a look at them. Nobody else has come looking.
Good bye, mrs Sherman.
Don't mention it.
Phat loot?
Just a photograph and a letter
Meh
Mitchell? Peculiar that he's involved again, isn't it?
That's the ghost at the construction site.
So our ghost's name is Mavis Wilcox.
I'd bet the farm on it.
The kid doesn't look too happy to be with Mavis.
I'd just say he looks like he has down syndrome.
He's wearing a Columbia University sweatshirt.
Columbia University, operator speaking. How may I direct your call?
Uh... oops?
We'll need more evidence before we can phone the University!
So let's visit our good friend Director Skinner in the meantime.
Do you know anything about a strange old woman wandering the streets?
I've met plenty of strange old women, miss Blackwell. Some stranger than others. Can you give me more details?
She calls herself The Countess.
...
Mr Mitchell?
I'm thinking. No. I can safely say that I've never set eyes on this woman. I'm sorry.
Orly?
Did you know Mavis Wilcox?
Miss Wilcox? Yes, I remember her. Lived uptown aways, before she died.
How did you know her?
I wanted to write a piece about her, so I met her for a spell. Interesting woman. How did you know her?
I'm looking into her death.
I see.
So what can you tell me about Mavis? I get the impression that she didn't get out much.
That's an understatement. I came in touch with her through a colleague who was covering the demolition. I wondered what made a woman like that tick, so I made an appointment to meet her.
What was she like?
A very gracious woman. Brought me in, made a cup of tea. Showed me pictures of her family. All-in-all, it was a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.
What happened to her?
Killed, so they say. Was found choked to death in her apartment.
Any thoughts on who did it?
Well, there were rumours that the Labour Union decided to take matters into their own hands, as it were. But I doubt that. The police ruled that it was a squatter or drifter, or something. And left it at that.
What do you think?
Me? I have no theory.
Why did you want to write about her?
I found her fascinating. She was asked to leave, she was begged to leave. She was even offered lots of money to leave. But she kept refusing. She was too scared. I had to know why.
And what did you discover?
That, miss Blackwell, is the eternal question. I've spoken to hundreds of people over the years, and most of them were odder than Mavis. It's impossible to decipher the whys and the hows. As time went on, I've contented myself with just the whats.
I'd like to read your piece on Mavis.
I'm afraid I no longer have it.
Do you know what issue it was in? I'd like to look it up.
I never published it. I was going to, but then Mavis died, and it just seemed wrong somehow. I don't have the rough copies anymore, I'm sorry.
Well, that's all for now, I think.
All right. You have a good night now.
His little story resembles the one about the jazzman a little bit too much, don't you think?
For now let's check if we can get some new info from the ghost, since we have some background on her.
My, I'm popular today. Oh... you again.
I'd like to ask you some questions.
Look, I've had enough. I'm not going to stand here and indulge in idle chit-chat. Who are you?
[bluff] It's me, your son.
[success] Sam?
Yep, that's me.
Sam! It's been sooo long, look at you!
Yeah, look at me.
Sorry I was so rude. I almost didn't recognize you. Come on in, Sam, I'll make you dinner.
Ah, no, I can only stay for a dinner. I have some questions I need to ask you.
Of course, Sam.
So. Mom. How's it going?
Oh, you know me, Sam. It's tough living here on my own. But I get by.
Yeah, I can see that. Listen, mom. I need you to think very carefully. What's the last thing you remember?
What do you mean? Answering the door and seeing you, of course!
And before that?
Nothing. You know nobody comes here. Except the grocer, sometimes. And that...
That who?
Nobody.
Ominous!
So, mom. How are my brother and/or sisters?
Very subtle, Joey. Very subtle.
That's not funny, Sam. You know you're an only child.
Right, just checking. How's dad, mom?
Oh, Sam. You know that your father is dead. John Durkin died years ago.
Waaaaaait a minute...
Huh?
Ah, right. Sorry.
Mom, look around carefully. Are you SURE that you're at home?
You're so confusing, Sam. Look at the door, it says 'D', clear as day.
Have you been talking to a reporter from The New Yorker?
Yes! Such a nice man. He came over and talked to me for a bit. I liked him. He listened to me.
What did you talk about?
Oh, this and that. Don't know why he was so interested.
Have you seen any strange old women lurking around here?
An old woman...?
Yeah.
I... No. No, I haven't.
Orly?
You sure?
Yes, I'm sure.
So tell me about yourself, mom.
Sam, since when did you become so interested?
Just trying to get to know you better.
Well, isn't that sweet! But I honestly don't know what to tell you.
So... what can you tell me about... me?
You're so confusing, Sam.
Nevermind. Do you know a guy named John Durkin?
Is that a joke Sam? You know he's been dead for ten years.
Ah, sorry.
How can you forget? He was your father!
Slipped my mind.
Smoooooooth operator.
Slipped your MIND?
Just look, forget it. I'm going to go now, mom. I'll come back to visit you soon.
Sure, Sam. I'll be here.
Oh, just dandy.
Ok, time to
properly call the university. But we can't just ask for 'Sam', so...
Mavis Wilcox is Sam's mother. Stands to reason his last name would be Wilcox too.
Columbia University, operator speaking
Can you direct me to Sam Wilcox?
Sorry, there's no Sam Wilcox listed.
No? Are you sure?
He's not in the directory.
Thanks anyway. I thought for sure that would work.
Hmm...
Maybe Sam didn't use his mother's last name. He could have used his mother's.
Sam Durkin, eh?
How about Sam Durkin? Is there a Sam Durkin listed?
Sam Durkin... yes, hold on please
It's about time.
Durkin.
Is this Sam?
Yes, who's this?
My name is Lauren Blackwell. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your mother.
Oh, questions, huh?
Yeah.
All right, I'll bite. How do you know my ma?
I'm investigating her death.
Oh, you're a cop, are you? Because my dad was a cop. I know people, I can check.
No, I'm not a cop.
Didn't think so. Just a concerned citizen, huh?
That's right.
Somehow, I don't believe you. Nobody in their right mind would be concerned about my ma.
Whether you believe me or not, it can't hurt to talk to me.
Maybe, maybe not. But if you knew her, you'd know what apartment number she was in.
I would?
Sure you would. She never left the damn place. So what was it?
Hmmm....
All right. Maybe you DID know her.
Score!
Thank you.
So, what do you want to know about her?
What do you know about her death?
It was suicide.
She killed herself?
Not literally. But it was like she chose to die. She had every opportunity to leave. They were going to pay her and find her a new place and everything. I tried to get her out, but that's my ma. She couldn't be dragged out of that dump by anybody or anything.
Do you know who killed her?
She was killed by some junkie, wasn't she?
So they say.
You think different?
That's what I'm trying to find out.
Well, good luck to you.
How close were you with your mother?
Close? Think of the farthest place you can, then add another ten thousand miles. That's how close we were. Woman wasn't a mother. Just crazy on wheels.
Did Mavis EVER leave her apartment?
Never. Not once in the last fifteen years.
So, she had a bunker like Cleve?
You don't seem... upset by her death.
Upset? Sure, she was my ma. But am I gonna lose sleep? No. She drove my pop out of the house and into an early grave. I once thought I'd follow in his footsteps, but not anymore. The woman didn't go anywhere. Never DID anything. But she was killing me, just by existing. Now I feel like I can breathe again. That's the truth.
What was it like, living with her?
You kidding? I lived with my pop. After three years of marriage he had enough. Glad he had the sense to take me with him.
And after your father died?
I got by.
You never visited your mother?
Yeah, I visited her on Mother's Day, if that's what you want to know. Even got her a present once.
Really?
Yeah, for all the good it did.
What did you give your mom for Mother's Day?
I don't think that's any of your business, lady. It's been years. Just dust in the ground now.
Bye, Sam. Thanks for your time.
Yeah.
And the last thing for today, let's have a chat with Joey, why the hell not?
Hey, Joey.
What's the deal?
Joseph Mitchell certainly is... interesting.
Yeah, interesting. Did you notice his typewriter?
No, what about it?
There was dust on it. And the paper was blank. That thing hasn't seen much use in a long time.
Maybe he uses a pen and paper?
Hm. Maybe.
That's it for now.
A reporter who doesn't write anything? Is that odd or what?