by Nic Saint
She nodded a few times in quick succession, happy that the detective was taking her suspicions so seriously. “Yes! So you see? He—or she—must have had access to the school somehow. And with these pictures, it’s obvious our best candidate is Adelric Lidd. Jan must have found out about his despicable habit of spying on our models, and threatened to go to the police. So he decided to murder Jan to protect himself—his reputation and his job.”
“Anyone could have waltzed into that school and set up that murder,” said the detective.
“Isn’t the school locked at night?”
“Not that hard to duplicate a key. So far we know at least a dozen people had a spare made over the years. Teachers, cleaners, secretaries—anyone seems to have had a reason at one time or another to need a key. There’s no telling how many there are in circulation at this point, as they all might have had more made than they admit.”
“So you do think the killer gained access to the classroom at some point before the murder,” said Emily.
The detective lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “They can’t have fired that bolt through the window. They can’t have fired it from the wall—not at that angle. So the only explanation is… that there must be another explanation. One we haven’t been able to discern so far. But it stands to reason it wasn’t a ghost that killed that kid—or the Invisible Man.”
“What about a drone?” asked Ansel, who’d been following the conversation with glittering eyes. “They could have used a drone.”
“No one in that class saw or heard a thing, Mr. Petrov. Don’t you think that if there was a drone someone would have noticed the damn thing? Well, they didn’t, so there was no drone.” He raked his hands through his graying mane. “The whole thing is baffling.”
It was, Emily thought. She’d hoped that with these pictures the mystery would be solved: that the janitor had hidden a crossbow where he’d hidden the camera. But the angle was all wrong, she saw that now. “You’re going to talk to the janitor, though, right?”
“Yes, I’m going to talk to the janitor,” said Detective Shakespeare. “He just graduated to the unenviable position of prime suspect—thanks to your Nancy Drew act, Miss Stone.” He seemed resigned about their snooping around now. Well, he had to admit they’d found something the police hadn’t. A very important clue indeed. Maybe even the key clue.
“What about Justyna?” she asked. “Are you going to release her?”
“Justyna Tamowicz is still a suspect. She remains in custody. Besides, there’s the whole diplomatic angle, so…” He gave them a stern look. “Now you better get out of here before I arrest you both for conducting a private investigation without a license.” As he said it, though, there was a twinkle in his eye, and Emily had the distinct impression there was no such thing as being arrested for practicing private detection without a license.
She’d have to ask her brother. He’d know.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Ansel once they were out on the street again.
“Very,” Emily agreed. “At least now we know that the police don’t know.”
“I’m not surprised. Whoever killed Jan Skrzypczak must be a very clever person.”
And as they set foot for the former brewery they called their home, Emily thought about that. Adelric Lidd, whatever his sordid hobby, hadn’t struck her as a genius. So was it possible Jan’s killer was someone completely different? Going in, she’d have bet the janitor was their guy. Now? She wasn’t so sure. Which meant… they were still nowhere.
Chapter 27
Ansel was sprawled out on the couch, zoning out in front of the television, while Emily sat with her legs tucked under her on the same couch, a notepad on her knees, tapping her front teeth with a pencil. She was determined to make a list of all the suspects they’d identified so far, with all of their motives neatly written out next to the names, means, opportunity, and any possible clue that she’d come across in the course of her ‘investigation.’
Tanton Skroch - was at the scene - was in love with the victim.
Emmerich Bernadzikowski - was at the scene - wanted to avenge his sister’s lost honor.
Aurora Moray - was at home watching Project Runway - held Jan responsible for her daughter’s suicide.
Adelric Lidd - was at the school - Jan caught him taking his picture???
Justyna Tamowicz - was at the scene - Jan had dumped her. Worked for her aunt???
Judyta Kenworthy - was at the scene - Jan had dumped her—called her old.
Clues: dummy in classroom. Pictures taken by Adelric Lidd.
She studied her notes for a moment, then sighed and put them down next to her. To be perfectly honest she didn’t have the first clue what had happened that night, even though she’d been right there. In fact anyone could have done it as far as she was concerned. She could see how Detective Shakespeare would be at his wits’ end.
“Watch this, Em,” said Ansel. “It’s about Justyna.”
The news section was indeed dedicated to Justyna. A reporter had managed to interview Jan’s parents, who were both adamant that Justyna was a spy for Chus Skrzypczak’s enemies and responsible for their son’s death.
“She should be hung in our capital’s main square,” said Mr. Skrzypczak, glowering into the camera. “Hung, drawn and quartered, at the very least. And I’ll see to it that she is!”
“Honey, honey,” said his wife. “People aren’t drawn and quartered anymore. That’s so medieval!”
“Well, they should be! It’s the only punishment that fits the crime. My son was taken from me—my boy! Who had so much to live for.”
“He was the apple of my eye,” Mrs. Skrzypczak said tearfully. “A lovely, wonderful boy.”
“Not that wonderful,” said Ansel, and Emily was just thinking the same thing.
Jan hadn’t been the lovely, wonderful boy his mother had just described. He’d caused a lot of heartbreak and misery in the brief time he’d been in this country. And who knew what he’d done back home in Silvistan. Maybe he’d left a trail of pain and suffering in his wake as well.
Shakespeare appeared on the screen, interviewed in front of the 83rd precinct on Knickerbocker Avenue. He was scowling, too, but more out of habit than because he’d just lost his son. Yes, Miss Justyna Tamowicz was still a suspect. And no, there had been no other arrests so far. When the reporter asked if the police had discovered how the murder had been committed, he grumbled something about further inquiries being made and then declined to answer any more questions, leaving the reporter to speculate that the police were obviously as flummoxed by this strange case as the rest of the city—or the nation.
Emily’s phone sang out Avicii’s Hey Brother and she picked it up. “Yeah, Bill.”
“Mom called,” her brother said. “She wants me to convince you to drop this murder business you’ve gotten yourself involved in. I think her exact words were that I should tell you to stop acting like a little moron. So are you going to stop acting like a little moron?”
She could hear the smile in her brother’s voice. “This little moron just discovered a very important clue that could solve this whole case.” When Ansel gesticulated wildly, she amended, “What I meant to say was that Ansel is a little moron.”
“I found that clue!” Ansel said. “Tell him—tell him!”
“Ansel found some pictures the school janitor has been taking of the models in the life drawing class. We think they’re probably connected to the case and so do the police.”
Bill whistled through his teeth. “Pervert janitor, huh? Who would have thunk? So how did he do it? How did he manage to kill the kid without any of you noticing?”
“That, we haven’t figured out yet. But we will,” she was quick to add.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. Just don’t tell Mom. She’s freaking out enough as it is.”
“It’s just a favor I’m doing for Jan’s sister,” she said.
“Well, I think it’s very courageous of you—and very nobl
e.”
“It isn’t noble. I’m just curious. And since I was right there when it happened I should be able to figure it out, right? Besides—it’s not as if I’ve got a lot going on in my life right now.”
“Still no luck finding an eligible male with a great pedigree and an even greater career on Wall Street so the two of you can settle down in a fancy brownstone in leafy Greenwich Village to start on Mom’s two point four grandkids, huh? Shame on you, sis.”
“Shame on you, too, Bill. It’s not as if you’re getting any closer to providing Mom with those grandkids.”
“First I need to convince Danny to get out of the closet and into wedlock.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Oh, I’m wearing him down,” said Bill. “It won’t be long now, I promise.”
“Fat chance!” the voice of Daniel sounded in the distance.
“Like I said, we’re getting there,” said Bill.
Daniel Washington, Bill’s boyfriend, was reluctant to tell his bosses at the Hell’s Kitchen precinct about his sexual inclination, afraid it would jeopardize his career opportunities. Even though Bill kept telling him everyone knew about the two of them anyway, he still wasn’t convinced.
“So what can you tell me about Shakespeare?” asked Emily.
“I like him. Especially his Hamlet. You should see the musical version.”
“Detective Robin Shakespeare, you smart-ass.”
“He’s smart,” said Bill. “Gets the job done. Tough but fair, as the cliché goes. If anyone can crack this case it’s him.”
“I got that impression.” Only Shakespeare hadn’t cracked this case, had he?
“So how’s the painting going?”
She darted a lazy look at her latest masterpiece, which sat unfinished in a corner of the loft. “Um, great, actually. Yeah.”
“Listen, sis,” said Bill.
“Uh-oh. I hear a snatch of brotherly advice coming my way.”
“Don’t diss brotherly advice. It’s the best kind. Don’t lose track of your true passion, ok? I know there’s a tendency to get caught up in the drama of these temp jobs you need to do to put food on the table and all that, but don’t for a moment take your eye off the ball. You’re an artist, Em. Not a waitress or a barista or a secretary or whatever, you hear?”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“I know you’re not.”
“You came to this city for a reason. Carve out some time every day for your artist self.”
She rolled back her head. “Time. When do I ever have time to paint?”
“You have to make time.”
She groaned and rubbed her face. “You’re really big on the clichés tonight, Bill.”
“Yeah, well, they’re only clichés because they contain a kernel of truth. Now when was the last time you picked up a paintbrush?”
“Airbrush.”
“Whatever.”
She pondered. “A… week?”
“Em,” he said warningly.
“Okay, it’s been a month. But I’ve been busy!”
“Well, get busy on your true vocation. You promised me and Danny a portrait to hang over the mantel, remember?”
“I remember,” she said with a smile.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
Her phone made a funny beeping sound and she said, “I’ve gotta go, Bill. It’s Mom.” Then: “Hi, Mom. I was just talking to Bill.”
“Oh, finally!” Mom cried. “I thought he’d never call. Are you going to listen to him? I know you never listen to me but he’s your brother, Em. And he’s a police officer. So you better do as he tells you. It’s the law.”
“Sure, Mom,” she said, as she settled back to listen to another long harangue.
On TV, a woman was complaining that her husband told her to get rid of her cat now that she was having a baby. “Can you believe he told me to choose between my cat and my baby?!” the woman said as she petted a bright orange cat that looked easily twice as big as a regular tabby. “Brad Kitt is my baby. And I’m not going to get rid of him whatever that man says. Isn’t that right, snoozle poozle?” She dug her nose into the cat’s fur, which started to purr audibly.
And as Emily watched, suddenly a thought sprang out at her. It didn’t come to her fully-formed, however. More like a dream that you try to catch after you wake up. One moment she had it, the next it was gone. She frowned. What was it? Something she heard?
“And if you think I’m going to let you throw your life away on this silly detective business you’re very much mistaken, missy. You studied hard to get that degree and you should put it to good use.”
She remembered distinctly that her mother had railed against her coming to New York and getting an art degree. ‘Silly waste of time and money,’ she’d called it then.
“I thought you wanted me to get a job in Dad’s department?” she asked.
Mom was speechless for a moment, then: “Finally! Finally she sees the light. Oh, my sweet, sweet darling. I’ll tell your father right away. He’ll be so happy! He’ll be over the moon!”
“No, Mom—Mom!” she said, but her mother had already hung up on her.
“So you’re finally going to get that job at NYU, huh?” said Ansel, mimicking her mother’s crisp delivery. “About time, missy! About time you made something of yourself instead of wasting your life on that artsy fartsy nonsense!”
Emily threw a throw pillow at her roommate, which he deftly evaded by ducking out of the way. And as she grabbed his bag of nacho tortilla chips and dumped a generous handful into her mouth, her mind returned to the elusive thought that had briefly flitted through her head just now.
If only she could grab a hold of it.
For some reason she had a feeling it was important.
Chapter 28
Sleep only came fitfully that night. It took her ages to finally drift off, and even when she did she kept tossing and turning and waking up. Ansel’s intermittent snores didn’t help of course, floating in from his part of the loft. Emily had taken to playing soft music on her phone that was supposed to induce a sense of relaxation and help her sleep but that night it did little to assuage the thoughts that kept flitting through her head. Thoughts connected to the murder case she’d so carelessly taken on.
She was dreaming of Jan—he was slapping her with a large fish, cackling all the while with unrestrained glee. She tried to fend him off and a crossbow materialized in her hands, with which she shot the fish. As she did, the crossbow slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor, making a loud crashing sound and waking her up.
As the fabric of sleep was rudely ripped apart, she blinked in the darkness of the room. Another crash—this one real and not part of her dreamscape.
“Oh, hell,” Ansel’s voice muttered from below, and she could hear him crawl from his room and pad barefoot across the hardwood floor.
“What is it?” she asked groggily, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.
“Some idiot threw a rock through our window,” he said.
She smiled. “Ha ha. Very funny, Ansel.”
“I’m glad you think it’s funny. I don’t.”
It was then that the sound of a man’s shouts reached her ears.
“I know you’re up there, Emily Stone!” the man screamed. “I know you took my pictures and gave them to the cops! I’ll get you for this!”
This time she was out of bed in a flash, and moving towards the source of the altercation.
“Careful,” said Ansel as she moved next to him. “There’s glass everywhere. Here. Put on these slippers.”
She did as she was told, and both of them carefully navigated the glass-strewn floor in the direction of the window, where now a cool breeze wafted through, a football-sized hole having been created where the rock impacted the pane.
“They were my pictures!” the man was shouting.
And it was then that Emily realized who the midnight marauder wa
s.
“It’s the janitor!” she cried.
“I know. And he’s off his rocker,” Ansel confirmed.
He’d taken out his phone and was dialing 911. He shouldn’t have bothered, though, for sirens were already wailing, the sound quickly drawing closer.
“Oh, crap,” the man below said.
Emily and Ansel gazed down at him, and she could clearly see Adelric Lidd outlined against the streetlight, pacing the sidewalk frantically. He was clutching his head and looking very much like a man in the throes of some extreme emotion.
“He’s drunk as a skunk,” said Ansel.
That was also an explanation, of course. And it would definitely account for his weird behavior.
“It’s all her fault!” he was yelling now, pointing up at the loft. “She did this to me!”
A cop car arrived and Ansel said into the phone, “Yes, they’re here now. Thank you.”
They watched as a second car pulled up next to the aged janitor, and then the officers were approaching him and talking him off the proverbial ledge. Two more officers approached the entrance to the loft, and Emily moved towards the intercom, reaching it just when a loud buzzing sound announced that New York’s finest wished to have a word with them. She pressed the button and then quickly crossed over to the couch to pick up a sweater to cover the Minnie Mouse T-shirt and panties she liked to sleep in.
Ansel flipped on the lights and opened the door for the officers. The interaction was brief and to the point. Emily and Ansel made a formal complaint against the janitor, and the police officers made a note of the damage that was done to the window. By the time they were ready to leave, Adelric Lidd had already been carted off to the eighty-third precinct.
“How did he know we took his pictures?” asked Emily the moment the police had left.
“He must have discovered them gone and put two and two together,” said Ansel, whose hair was more spiky than ever—and also flattened on one side. He yawned. “I hope you don’t mind but I’m going back to bed.” He gestured in the direction of the broken window. “We’ll deal with that tomorrow, shall we? I’m too tired to bother right now.”