With a Kiss I Die

by J. A. Hennrikus

  I looked through the crack of the open door. I’d braced my foot on the back of the door so it would only open a few inches in case I wanted to keep somebody out. I wished I’d checked my lipstick before I’d come down, in case there were cameras, but I could live with another bad picture of me in the press. There’d been plenty six years ago when I decided to—been forced to—leave the force.

  “Letter for Sully Sullivan, is that right?” An arm wearing a black jacket with a yellow neon stripe along the side shoved an envelope through the crack. I bent my head and looked at the label. It was to me, and at this address.

  “That’s me,” I said. I took the envelope from the arm and went to close the door.

  “Hold up!” the arm’s owner said. “I need a signature.” I carefully put the envelope down on the mail table to the right of the door.

  “Do you have a sender’s address on this?” I opened the door halfway, bracing my knee to keep it from opening the entire way. A sinewy man stood on the stoop. He was wearing tights with baggy shorts over them. He had a mock turtleneck on, his company jacket, fingerless gloves, and goggles on top of his bike helmet. There was reflective tape all over his body. I felt cold just looking at him. He reached into his bag and took out a clipboard.

  “Law office of Knight, Smythe, and Brown,” he said. “Sign here, print your name there.” I did as he said and he handed me a receipt.

  “Kind of old school, isn’t it?” I asked. “Carbonless copies? Handwritten receipts?”

  “We specialize in law firms. Lawyers love hard copies and handwritten receipts. You have a nice day now. I mean night.”

  “You too,” I said. “Be safe out there.”

  “Always,” he said, sliding down the railing. He swung his leg over the bike that had been resting on the front stairs. He took off, going the wrong way up the one-way street, taking on Beacon Hill as if it were a prairie plain. I envied his thigh muscles, and his nerve. I was a nervous wreck riding my bike around Trevorton. Around Boston, even at my bravest, I was never that brave. Especially on a dark February night.

  “Someone sent me a letter,” I said, carefully putting the envelope on the corner of the kitchen table that hadn’t been overwhelmed with pizza boxes, salad, wine bottles, and glasses. I stepped back and looked at it carefully. I picked it up again and looked at the underside, trying to only use the corners. I doubted there were usable prints, but just in case—

  “What are you doing?” Eric asked.

  “The envelope is from Gus’s office. It’s addressed to me, at this address.”

  “You think it’s from him?” Emma said. “Maybe he put a delay on the delivery for some reason?”

  “Or it’s from Kate.” I took out my cell phone and started snapping pictures of the envelope from all angles, including the ends, the wrapping, and the printing on the label. I was, no doubt, being overly paranoid. But I couldn’t help but think about three cases that I’d worked back in the day. About those poor slobs who opened boxes, not expecting it to be their last act on earth. There couldn’t be a bomb in this envelope, but maybe there was something else? I thought back to my training and tried to remember if I should be looking for something that would let me know if this package was dangerous.

  “Earth to Sully. What are you thinking? Should we be worried? Should we call your friend Toni?” Emma asked.

  I walked over and took the rubber gloves off the dish rack. I put them on and took a paring knife out of the utensil holder. I turned the envelope over and slid the knife under the flap while I held my breath. No powder spilled out. Nevertheless, I continued to hold my breath as I opened the envelope. A 4 x 6 card was sitting inside. I pulled it out carefully.

  The card had Gus’s firm’s address on the top. I didn’t recognize the handwriting, but I knew the name on the signature.

  Gus left me a note—told me to give you certain case files if I didn’t hear from him in twenty-four hours. It’s been twenty-nine hours. I wanted to talk to you after the memorial service, but I had to get out of there. Call me when you get this—I don’t have your cell number. I want to arrange a time to get you this information ASAP.

  ~Kate 617-555-0191

  “What case files?” Emma asked.

  “Why wouldn’t she just bring them over?” Eric asked.

  “No idea on either front,” I said. “Let me give her a call and ask both of those questions.”

  I didn’t get voicemail. But I also didn’t get a “hello” or even a “who is this?” Instead, I got silence with some heavy breathing on the end of the line.

  “Hello, Kate? This is Sully Sullivan. I just got your note.”

  “Hey, thanks for calling. So, Gus left a package for you. He left one for me too. Probably the same package, but he knew we’d do different things with them. Anyway, I’m wrapping up some stuff here at the office. I thought we should meet so I can hand it over to you.”

  “Why don’t you come over to Emma’s house?”

  “I’m on a deadline and have a couple of other meetings this evening before I leave town.”

  “You’re leaving town? When?”

  “Don’t get any ideas about calling anyone. You bring the cops, I’m going to deny we ever spoke.”

  “I have your note—”

  “Which can be interpreted a number of ways. Listen, if I didn’t care about Gus, I wouldn’t even be calling you. But I still can’t find him and I’m worried sick. So you come here, I’ll give you the package, and then you can decide what to do.”

  “We can decide together—”

  “I’ve decided what I’m going to do. I’m doing it. Get here by nine. That gives you about a half hour. I’ll give you the package, and let you in on a few other facts you should know. By nine.” Kate disconnected the call.

  “Kate wants me to meet her at the office. By nine. Is it possible to get there in a half hour?” I asked.

  Emma took out her phone and clicked on a couple of apps. “It is if we hustle,” Emma said.

  “You mean walk?” I said.

  “I mean walk. Given construction, by the time a cab got here and ran the traffic gauntlet we’d be cutting it close. Better to walk. Gives us more control of time. I make this trek all the time.”

  “Emma, you don’t have to go with me,” I said.

  “Do you want me to go too?” Eric asked.

  “No, stay here and work,” Emma said. “I care about Gus too. We’re in this together. We’ll go out the back way, just in case the fourth estate is parked outside. Put on your sensible boots, Sully. We need to get a move on.”

  Gus’s office was on the other side of Beacon Hill in a large, very nondescript office building. Emma was right; we got there in eighteen minutes by winding our way through the hill, zigzagging a path.

  Emma went in the side entrance of the building and signed in. There was a sign on the front desk: Everyone Must Sign In. No Exceptions.

  “I bet this is challenging, getting everyone to sign in,” I said to the security guard, taking the pen.

  “It is, but owner’s orders. Been some action around here lately, folks lending out their building IDs. Management wants to know who’s where when. This is the best plan so far.”

  “No cameras?” I asked, flashing my best “you have a tough job, I’m sympathetic” smile.

  “None that do much good,” he said. “We’ve got them on the entrances, but none in the hallways. Those are coming. Not soon enough for some people.”

  “That’s a huge job,” I said. I looked back down at the list. I didn’t see Kate’s name, and the log page went back to yesterday. “We won’t be long,” I said.

  “I’ll be here,” he said.

  “Kate wasn’t on the list,” I whispered as we headed toward the elevator.

  “Look at you, Miss Detective,” Emma said.

  “I’m tryin
g. Maybe she isn’t here yet? Or she’s been here overnight?”

  “Or maybe she drove in,” Emma said.

  “Drove in?”

  “There’s a garage downstairs. Gated entrance. For the residents of the building and sometimes for their guests. Gus gave us a pass, but he asked for it back so that someone else could use it. Anyway, once you’re in the garage you can get up into the building using the same card pass.”

  “Can you get outside from the garage?”

  “You can. There’s a fire exit you aren’t supposed to use, but everyone does if they need to get out to the coffee shop around back. Folks can use their fob to let them out. But the only way back into the garage is through the lobby, unless you have a parking permit.”

  “Sounds like pretty tight security,” I said.

  “It is. There are some heavy hitters who rent office space here. A few government offices, a couple of other lawyers. Those are just the ones I know of.”

  “I noticed there wasn’t a building directory.”

  “Nope. You have to know where you’re going. Which I do.”

  We got off on the fourth floor. Gus’s office was on the right, a beige door along a beige wall. A small office sign in the holder on the side of the door let you know that you were at the offices of Knight, Smythe, and Brown. I noted that the other sign holders on the floor were empty. Emma went up and tried the door. It wasn’t open.

  “Maybe she’s running late?” I said. “I don’t suppose you have a key?”

  “As a matter of fact … ” Emma started to rummage through her purse again. “Here it is. Gus gave it to me in December. We were using his office while things were settling down at home.”

  “Don’t you have offices in Boston?”

  “We were in lockdown after the murder. Gus’s place was safe. Not sure if he’s changed the code on the keypad or not.”

  “Keypad?”

  “Extra security on the door. You can also set it to buzz when the door opens, to let you know if folks are coming in. Annoying, but helpful if you’re in the office alone.

  “All we need is to set off an alarm,” I said, knocking on the door. I pulled my cell out and tried Kate’s number. We heard the song “She Works Hard for the Money” waft through the door. I cut the call off and the song stopped. I knocked again, but no answer. I hung up and redialed. The song blasted out again.

  “Step back,” I said to Emma. I took the key from her and opened the door. The keypad had a green light. I rang Kate again and followed the sound of the phone.

  I found her right away. She was face-down in the hallway behind the front desk. From the color of her skin to the tightness of the scarf around her neck, I didn’t think she was alive, but I checked just to make sure.

  “Don’t touch anything,” I said to Emma. “Walk out the same way you came in, in the same path if you can.” I called Toni and she picked up right away. I was relieved. Telling her that Kate Smythe was dead wasn’t a voicemail I wanted to leave.

  Toni, John Engel, and various cops and crime scene techs were quick to arrive. Neither Emma nor I were on the suspect list, though John did his best. The signed receipt from the messenger gave me a specific time for being at home. Emma and I alibied each other; John seemed upset when we offered Eric as another witness. Emma and I had hustled over the hill, and in that short window of time Kate had been killed. I shuddered at the thought. That meant that we’d just missed the murderer, but how? I told Toni about the garage entrance and the side door. She wrote it down and nodded her thanks.

  This, of course, took a couple of hours to clarify. John wanted Emma and me to go back to the station, but Emma made some well-placed phone calls that helped convince him to let us go back to our apartments after having made statements on site. The scene would take a while to process, so Toni and John had to stay put. We both promised to remain available.

  By the time we headed back to the townhouse it was past eleven. I was looking forward to writing things down, sorting through the facts that I knew, spending some time alone, and thinking through things. But then I heard the hum of male voices coming through the door.

  “Rehearsal must be over,” I said to Emma.

  “Do you want to come upstairs and work?” she asked. She looked exhausted, and pale.

  I shook my head. “My computer and notes are in there. I’ll head to my bedroom when I can. Come in to say hello?”

  “Just to pick up my computer,” she said.

  “Sully, where the hell have you been?” Dimitri boomed as we opened the door. He was reaching for one of the last two slices of pizza.

  “Pour me a glass of wine, will you?” I said to him. “I’m going to wash up.”

  “Everything okay?” I heard Harry ask from the other room. I ran some cool water over my face and washed my hands again. It didn’t help. I still felt grimy.

  “What happened, Sully? You were both gone so long I assumed Kate had a lot to say,” Eric asked as I came back in the room. Emma was nibbling on a cookie with a far-off look that precluded conversation. Stewart handed me a glass of wine and I took a huge gulp. It was good wine, which was a shame because I didn’t intend to savor it. I took a smaller sip.

  “Kate Smythe was murdered tonight. Emma and I found her,” I said. That stopped all conversation.

  “Who’s Kate Smythe?” Stewart asked.

  “My ex-husband’s partner.”

  “Is he a suspect?” he asked.

  “He would be. He might be, but he’s disappeared,” I said. My voice caught on the word “disappeared.” I looked over at Eric, who’d put his arm around Emma.

  “I assume that has something to do with all of this?” Harry said, gesturing to the index cards we’d taped all over the kitchen.

  I nodded.

  “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, darling, but are you sure your ex has nothing to do with this?” Dimitri asked. I glared at him. “Calm down, calm down. But you must admit, the dramatic arc of all of this points to the guy who’s disappeared.”

  Gus might have been a suspect in Mimi’s death, but he was one of several. I had to admit, he was also a suspect in Kate’s death. No one had said it, but who better than the lover and business partner as the prime suspect? Were the two murders connected? Again, I could only surmise. From all accounts Mimi had been strangled. And Kate had definitely been strangled.

  I thought back to her cryptic note. And to our phone call. Kate had seemed odd. But all of our conversations had been odd. She’d asked us to come in by nine. Had she set up a meeting in advance? I closed my eyes and tried to remember the sign-in sheet. I didn’t recall seeing any name I recognized.

  “I truly believe that Gus didn’t commit either of these murders,” Emma said. “We need to find Gus to find out more.”

  “Do you think he’s in trouble?” Harry asked. He’d gotten up and was loading the dishwasher. Stewart was putting away leftovers. We’d killed the party mood.

  “I think that Gus either knows what is going on or is trying to figure it out,” I said. “Yeah, I think he’s in trouble.”

  “Well, the cops need proof that he—”

  “If these two women were killed by the same person, that person is dangerous. If he thinks that Gus knows something—”

  “Then Gus is in danger.” Emma swallowed hard. Eric handed her a napkin to wipe her tears.

  “We need to find Gus,” I said.

  I went into my room a half hour after we got back, when the waves of exhaustion could no longer be ignored. Emma had gone upstairs a few minutes earlier. The boys offered to help us talk it through, but I encouraged them to all focus on the show. Catch Eric up on rehearsals and the stories of the Bay Repertory Theater. A few minutes later, Dimitri knocked on my door, carrying my computer and the notepad I was using. I thanked him for both.

  “Do you think B
abs Allyn had anything to do with any of this?” Dimitri asked.

  “She intersects, but I’m not sure. I don’t know her well, but she doesn’t strike me as somebody who—”

  “Sully, we both know that when pushed, even the most unlikely amongst us can do extraordinary things.”

  “True enough,” I said. “I’m not going to tell you not to worry, but I will tell you to focus on the show. If you hear anything, or see anything, or remember anything, give me a call or text me and let me know. But you do your work—”

  “And let you do yours. The work you are called to do.” Dimitri gave me a big hug, and I held on. When I leaned back, he gave me a kiss on the forehead and left. I plugged in my computer and sat on the bed.

  I was mindlessly web-surfing a few minutes later when my cell phone rang. “You have to step back from the case, Sully,” Toni said. No hello, how are you, that must’ve been a terrible shock, are you okay. Just the warning to step back. Her words had their normal effect. They got my back up.

  “What are you talking about?” I hissed. “Step back from what? The only thing, the only case I’ve been working on is finding Gus. I’m so worried about him—”

  “Listen, I’m worried too. And doing all I can to stay on this case despite my friendship with Gus. It’s not always great when the prime suspect—”

  “Prime suspect? What happened to missing person?”

  “One woman’s missing person is another man’s prime suspect. John Engel has it in his head that Gus did a business deal that went wrong, got called out by Mimi Cunningham, panicked and killed her. Then—”

  “What the—”

  “Stop it, Sully,” Toni said. “I’m telling you what John thinks, not endorsing it. He thinks that Kate found something out that incriminated Gus, and that Gus killed Kate.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Of course not,” Toni said. She sounded angry. I wasn’t sure if it was at me, at John, or at the entire situation. “A second death, a second strangulation? Either these cases are connected or someone is working hard to make them seem connected. In any event, the attention has been ratcheted up. A lot of folks are working on this case now. Including some feds.”