Murder at the Art Class

by Nic Saint

  She sent a message to Ansel that she’d be home late that night, then set foot for the subway station on Knickerbocker Avenue for the second time that day. Her feet were hurting, but then that was the life of the intrepid sleuth: pounding that pavement relentlessly until some elusive and well-hidden clue suddenly popped out at you.

  Just then, her phone sang out the Bee Gees’ Staying Alive. Ansel’s tune. “Hey, Ansel,” she said. “I’m just heading back into town for a bit. Don’t wait up.”

  “I thought we were in this together,” he said plaintively.

  She grinned. “You mean you want to see what a suite at the Ritz-Waldorf looks like.”

  “I just think you can’t go interviewing suspects without your brilliant sidekick.”

  “So you’re my sidekick now?”

  “Or I could be the great detective and you can be my sidekick.”

  “Okay, but hurry up. I promised Taryn I’d be there in an hour.”

  Chapter 15

  Knickerbocker Avenue subway station was crowded as usual, though the platform where Emily and Ansel took the M train into Manhattan wasn’t as crowded as in the mornings. The elevated platform, reached by taking the stairs up from the street level, was very familiar to Emily. This was the train she took to head downtown to Thornton Staffing, the temp agency she mainly worked for. She had plenty of others, but Thornton usually offered her the best jobs—the most interesting ones as well as the best-paid. Thornton Staffing was part of the Thornton Group, run by the wealthy Thornton family, and of course located in a mastodon building called Thornton Tower, right in the heart of Manhattan.

  As the train rattled across the Williamsburg Bridge, which crossed the East River and connected Brooklyn with the island of Manhattan, Ansel couldn’t stop grinning as he held onto the handrail.

  “What are you smirking about?” asked Emily.

  “I’m not smirking. I’m smiling.”

  “You’re smirking. This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that we’re about to meet a member of the Silvistanian Kardashians, would it?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. You googled Taryn Skrzypczak, didn’t you?”

  “So what if I did? It’s called research. Any detective worth his salt will tell you that research is most important when on the trail of a murderer. Research, not intuition.”

  She rolled her eyes. “For a goofy sidekick you’re awfully cocky.”

  “I’m not a goofy sidekick. I’m a brilliant sidekick.”

  “Sure. So has all that research taught you something?”

  “Taryn Skrzypczak is very beautiful,” he said reverently.

  She laughed. “I know—I met her, remember?”

  “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  “What do you care? I thought you weren’t into women?”

  “I’m not—this is all part of my process. So does she have a boyfriend?”

  “Didn’t your ‘research’ tell you that?”

  “It didn’t, actually. Which is weird. For one thing, she’s never been featured on Page Six.”

  “I didn’t know Page Six was the go-to site for would-be sleuths.”

  “Oh, but it is. Sleuthing is a people business, first and foremost. And where else can you learn more about the glitterati that populate our fair city’s upper crust than Page Six?”

  “Taryn Skrzypczak and her family hardly belong to the city’s upper crust.”

  “They’re not the undercrust, either.”

  “That’s not even a word.”

  Ansel was right, though. If you could afford a suite at the Ritz-Waldorf you definitely didn’t belong to the lower social strata. The train rattled on, and so did Ansel, who seemed to enjoy this opportunity to poke around in other people’s business for once. She’d told him all about Emmerich and Isabel, and now asked him if he’d had a chance to study the picture of the evidence board she’d sent him.

  In response, he took out his phone and brought up the picture, then pinched out to zoom in on the top, where Justyna’s picture dominated the rest of the board. “They still haven’t charged her,” he said, echoing Clara’s words from before. “Don’t you think they would have charged her by now—if she did it, I mean?”

  “I guess she hasn’t confessed,” she repeated what she told Clara.

  “I’ll bet she didn’t do it. The police have ways to make people confess. They simply beat it out of them with a phone book. Or shove matches under their fingernails and set them on fire. Or hose them down with ice water. Stuff like that.”

  “I think you’re confusing the NYPD with the police in your home country,” she said.

  “Oh, they don’t do stuff like that in Ukraine,” he said. “You simply pay the cops when you’re guilty, or the judge, or both. The person who pays the most gets off. No torture involved.”

  She blinked. Each time Ansel told stories about his country she wondered if he wasn’t making it all up. He very well might. “So who’s your latest suspect, Dr. Watson?”

  “I think I’m going to defer judgment until I’ve collected more clues,” he said. “At this point it would appear to me everyone might have done it, simply because we have no idea how they did it.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I mean, the way a person is killed says a lot about the killer, doesn’t it?”

  “But we do know how Jan was killed. With a bolt from a crossbow.”

  “Which would suggest a hunter was involved. Only this was no ordinary crossbow, was it? This particular crossbow fired its bolt in a way that is absolutely impossible.”

  “Which tells us the killer is exceptionally smart.”

  “Which rules out this Emmerich guy.”

  “Why? You don’t think he’s smart enough?”

  “Oh, he’s probably smart enough. But I know his type. If he was the killer he wouldn’t have used such an ingenious method. He would have simply beaten Jan up with his fists.”

  Ansel had a point. She couldn’t imagine Emmerich thinking up such a clever scheme, just to get back at the man who’d humiliated his sister. “So that leaves Justyna?”

  He grimaced. “I don’t know. This feels like a very ostentatious way to kill a person. State-sanctioned murder usually isn’t this elaborate or showy. A knife in the back or a shot to the head or a poison pill mixed in Jan’s coffee would have done the trick just as well.”

  “They not only wanted to kill Jan, they wanted to make a whole production of it,” Emily said thoughtfully. “They wanted the world to know what they’d done.”

  “Which is why they did it in front of a group of people. Almost like a theatrical thing.”

  “So we’re looking for a person with a grudge against Jan—and a desire to show off.”

  Ansel arched his eyebrows. “Which tells us… nothing much at all, really.”

  “It does tell us that Detective Shakespeare is on the wrong track.”

  Chapter 16

  Tanton Skroch was surprised to see Ansel joining Emily, but didn’t let it deter him from going through with the interview. Taryn had closed the doors of the office, and the moment the young woman left, the bodyguard seemed to relax and decide to speak freely.

  “I failed the Skrzypczak family,” he said, looking more subdued than before. “I failed them miserably.”

  “You couldn’t possibly have prevented what happened,” said Emily. “None of us could.”

  “None of you were paid to protect young Mr. Skrzypczak,” he said.

  He’d wedged his formidable frame onto one of the suite’s Downton Abbeyesque chairs with red-and-gold velvet armrests and sat there, his shoulders slumped, his square face crumpled, and a sad-puppy look in his eyes.

  “What’s going to happen to you now that you failed your employers?” asked Ansel. Emily would have kicked him in the shins but he was too far away.

  The big man shrugged. “Mr. and Mrs. Skrzypczak are arriving tonight. They’ll decide my f
ate, I’m sure. Taryn has been most kind to me—most kind. I’m not sure her parents will be equally forgiving.”

  “The worst that can happen is that you’re fired, right?” said Emily, starting to feel sorry for the man.

  “I could be flogged,” said Tanton, his eyes drifting towards the window. “Or caned. Or…” He briefly reached for his throat and swallowed. “Hanged or beheaded.”

  Ansel and Emily simply stared at him.

  “Or the firing squad,” the bodyguard said. “Could be lethal injection, of course.”

  “But… they wouldn’t do that,” said Emily. “Would they?”

  Tanton nodded sadly. “Jan was President Skrzypczak’s son. The people of Silvistan treat their president like royalty. So in a sense Jan was their prince. You don’t fail to protect a prince and expect not to suffer the consequences.” Then, on a more cheerful note, he added, “They might lock me up for the rest of my life, which is always preferable.”

  “Maybe you could stay here?” Emily suggested. “I’ll bet they’d give you asylum.”

  “I’ll bet they won’t,” said Tanton. “Besides, that would be the coward’s way. I failed to do my duty, and now I must accept my fate with dignity. Doing otherwise would only make matters worse for my family. They’d be cast out—looked upon with contempt.”

  “Right,” said Ansel softly. “So do you have any idea what happened, exactly?”

  Tanton shook his head. “I’ve been going over that evening in my mind many, many times now. And I can’t think how they could have pulled this off.”

  “They? You know who did this?” asked Emily.

  The bodyguard looked up. “Of course I know who did this. Everyone does. The enemies of Jan’s father. Manta Kanczuzewski’s government. They wanted to send a message and they did. The instrument of her wrath is currently under arrest—which is why I don’t understand why Taryn insisted I talk to you.”

  The implication was that he would do whatever a member of the Skrzypczak family told him to, even if he didn’t see the point. The faithful servant—loyal to the very end.

  “You think Justyna Tamowicz did this?” asked Emily.

  “Naturally. She was working for the Silvistanian government. She’s their assassin.”

  “But how? How did she do it?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. She’s very cunning. I never even once suspected her. I saw her as just another silly girl who threw herself at my master. And all this time she was plotting against him—setting him up.” He’d grabbed hold of the chair’s armrests and was squeezing them tightly. Emily had a feeling they’d soon snap under the pressure.

  “You liked your master, didn’t you?” said Ansel, launching into a new line of inquiry.

  “Of course. I was absolutely devoted to Jan. As I’m devoted to the Skrzypczak family.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Ansel with a smile. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

  Uh-oh. Emily shot warning glances at her ‘sidekick’ but he blithely ignored her.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Tanton frostily.

  “I mean that you were in love with him.”

  Tanton stiffened. “I don’t like what you’re implying, sir.”

  “Oh, come off it. I’m gay myself, and there’s nothing wrong with my gaydar.”

  Tanton studied Ansel for a moment, then turned to Emily. “Can I speak freely?”

  “Please,” said Emily.

  “Not a word of this will reach Mr. or Mrs. Skrzypczak’s ears?”

  “Not a word,” Emily promised.

  Tanton considered for a moment, then rubbed his face. “This is a nightmare, isn’t it? The thing is, homosexuality is a punishable offense in my country. Punishable by death.”

  “No one knew?” asked Ansel, shifting in his chair uneasily. It’s never much fun to hear that countries exist where a person can be hanged or shot for loving another person.

  “No one, and I made sure to keep it that way.”

  “Not even Jan?”

  “Not even Jan. Though he might have been more forgiving. Then again, there was no way I was going to take that chance. Especially since it was perfectly obvious he didn’t, as you Americans like to say, swing that way.”

  “Can’t have been easy for you,” said Ansel commiseratingly. “Seeing him with all those girls.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Tanton, who seemed to relax now that his big secret was out. “I wished him well, of course, and I was happy that he enjoyed himself. But sometimes it was difficult to watch him make out with a never-ending procession of girls, night after night.”

  “Did any of the girls he dated commit suicide?” asked Emily, remembering Emmerich’s words.

  Tanton shook his head slowly. “Not to my knowledge. It was all fun and games for them. They knew Jan wasn’t in this for the long term. Just… dating. Harmless flings.”

  “Did he bring them all back here?” asked Emily, suddenly wondering about the logistics of Jan’s love life.

  “No he didn’t. He knew his parents wouldn’t approve. There are plenty of places where you can rent rooms for the night. Or sometimes he’d take them back to their place.”

  “And where were you when that happened?”

  He grimaced. “Parked outside, making sure no one went in who had no business there.”

  “Tough,” said Ansel.

  “That is what I signed up for,” said the faithful bodyguard.

  “What about Isabel Bernadzikowski?” asked Emily.

  The bodyguard narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “Who?”

  “Chechen girl. Jan dated her then dumped her. She took it pretty hard and then her brother started stalking Jan. He was at the Roast Bean, and also at the art class yesterday.”

  “Skinny guy? Black hair?”

  “Here,” said Ansel, holding out his phone and zooming in on the picture of Emmerich as posted on Detective Shakespeare’s evidence board.

  Tanton studied the picture, then slowly nodded. “I wondered about him. He kept looking at Jan. I hoped he wouldn’t be trouble. So he was the brother of a girl Jan dated?”

  “His name is Emmerich Bernadzikowski,” said Emily. “He wanted to avenge the dishonor his sister’s actions had brought on the family.”

  “He’s Chechen,” said Ansel. “Family honor seems to be a big thing for them.”

  Tanton nodded. “As it should be. Yes, I remember her now. Very pretty girl. Very young, too. Just another notch on Jan’s belt, I’m afraid. He was unconcerned that way.”

  “Could he be behind Jan’s murder?” asked Emily, who hadn’t ruled Emmerich out as a suspect.

  “I don’t understand. We know who did it. She’s in custody right now.”

  “The police still haven’t charged her,” Ansel explained. “It’s possible they arrested the wrong person.”

  This seemed to trouble Tanton. “They didn’t arrest the wrong person. I saw it on the news. Justyna Tamowicz is a Silvistanian agent. She killed Jan on behalf of the Silvistanian government. This is all perfectly clear-cut.”

  “And you don’t think anyone else could have done it?”

  “No,” said Tanton, who was visibly agitated at the thought of Jan’s murderer escaping punishment. “No one else could possibly have wanted to kill Jan. He was a very charming young man. Beloved by all. He was… wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.” Tears had formed in the man’s eyes, and he wiped them away with a hint of embarrassment.

  A knock at the door indicated the interview was over, and when Taryn entered, Tanton quickly plastered his customary placid look on his face, got up and walked out.

  “My parents are here,” said Taryn. “I told them all about you. They’d love to meet.”

  Before Emily had a chance to object, a stout little man strode into the room, followed by a statuesque woman, and presently she was curtsying the way she’d seen the Duchesses of Cambridge and Sussex do on TV, and feeling absolutely ridiculous in the process.
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  Chapter 17

  “Ooh,” said Taryn’s mother when Ansel performed the most perfect curtsy in the history of curtsying. “Aren’t you the most remarkable young man.”

  “This is Emily Stone,” said Taryn. “And this is her friend Ansel Petrov. They’re both trying to figure out who killed Jan.”

  Taryn’s mother pressed a hand to her lips at this, a mournful expression crossing her face. Then she asked, “Are you two professional detectives?”

  “Oh, no,” said Emily with a laugh. “I’m a temp, and so is Ansel.”

  “A temp?” asked Hideko Skrzypczak, cutting a look of surprise at her daughter.

  “A temporary worker,” Taryn explained. “Employed by a temp agency.”

  “I know what a temp is,” said Mrs. Skrzypczak doubtfully.

  “Do you work with the police?” asked Mr. Skrzypczak, who seemed like a kindly man.

  “No, we don’t, actually,” said Emily. “In fact the police are not aware of our… investigation.”

  “Is that legal?” asked Mrs. Skrzypczak.

  “Oh, sure,” said Emily, even though she wasn’t all that sure.

  “This is America, dearest,” said Taryn’s father. “Anything goes, remember?”

  This seemed to be some kind of inside joke, for Taryn’s mother raised her eyes heavenward. Then she directed a scornful look at Tanton. “Well, don’t just stand there, Tanton. Make yourself useful for a change.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the bodyguard demurely, and melted into the background.

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do about that man,” said Mrs. Skrzypczak, shaking her head.

  “We’re not going to do anything,” said her daughter. “Jan’s death wasn’t Tanton’s fault.”

  “Yes, it was. My son died on his watch, so surely there should be some kind of repercussion for his negligence.”