CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: Cops, Caseworkers, Code-Violators

The police listened to my complaints, interviewed Kristina, and told me there was nothing they could do. 

I told them she still had a #lease for the Stanley Street #apartment. “I don’t suppose you can just make her move back there?” I tried.

“Not our responsibility, Ma’am. Call Social Services and take her to Court.”

The next day, Sunday, Giselle phoned again: this time to report that there was water dripping in the basement. Wim duly went to Schemmerhorn, tightened a few pipe couplings, and returned home with the news that he had turned Kristina’s water off.

"I'm not sure we’re allowed to do that," I ventured, envisaging angry phone calls from Kristina and #code-violation officials.

"Why not?” Wim proclaimed in his usual, brash, Dutch fashion. “There was a leak … I turned the water off … simple as dat!"

Next morning, bright and early, I called Kristina's #caseworker to tell her about the police visit and broken window. “I just want Kristina to move back to Stanley Street,” I finished.

“Not much I can do since she signed the lease and you gave her the key,” Ms. Siman said. “Evict her through the courts if you have to.”

"I will, but that could take a while and I've got another #tenant ready to move in in September."

"Sorry. Call the #Fraud Department. Maybe they can suggest something." Ms. Siman recited the number.

I dialed it and, lo and behold, who should answer but my dear friend, Mr. Catcher.

I greeted him like an old pal and told him about my Kristina situation.  Although he couldn’t help me either, he was sympathetic and we swapped landlord horror stories for a while. His were much worse than mine.

“We should quit our jobs, go on welfare, and take the System for all it’s worth,” he joked, once we’d thoroughly succeeded in depressing each other. “But then we'd have to face ourselves in the mirror each day."

I glumly agreed but felt I had found a kindred spirit in Mr. Catcher. Before we parted our telephonic ways, he told me he could find no record of any damage claims involving my prospective tenant, Charmayne. At least that was something.

A few days later, I received a call at work.

"This is the Building Inspector for Schemmerhorn Code Enforcement," a male voice announced.  "Am I speaking to Anastasia Scuttlebutt?"

"You are."

"Ms. Scuttlebutt, we've received a complaint from your tenant, Kristina Carter, that the water's been turned off in her apartment since Sunday.  That's a violation, Ma'am."

"But . . ."

"We're going to have to take a look and see what's going on," the voice continued.

"There was a leak in the basement," I quickly put in, "so my stepfather turned the water off. I’m in the process of evicting Kristina. She ignored my initial three-day notice and has since caused damage to my property.”

"Oh," said the building inspector. "Well, it’s still a code violation, you still gotta turn the water back on, and we still gotta come out and check."

"My stepdad will call you as soon as possible," I promised.

Thanks, Wim. Now I’m in trouble with Code Enforcement!

I drove home that night in what was rapidly becoming my usual foul mood.