by Nic Saint
Odelia joined Chase, who stood discussing things with the same state trooper we’d seen earlier. It was clear this thing was big, as more cops arrived.
“Who can do such a thing?” Dooley asked as we approached the house.
“Humans,” said Brutus.
“Greedy humans,” I corrected him.
“You’re right,” he conceded. “Not all humans are the same.”
“Odelia would never do something like this,” said Dooley.
“No, you’re right about that,” Brutus admitted. “Odelia is a saint.”
And he meant it, too.
We darted inside the house, making sure we didn’t get in the way of the cops who were still coming and going. We passed what looked like barracks for the workers to sleep. Rickety tables and chairs. Bunk beds with ratty blankets and dirty old mattresses where they spent their nights.
Another large, ill-lit and ill-ventilated room held rows and rows of sewing machine stations, large ironing boards and piles and piles of material used to turn into the expensive, exclusive clothes sold under the Ziv Riding label. There was a pile of those labels, and I wondered who’d written the notes that had been smuggled out sewed inside those labels.
“This is way depressing,” Dooley said.
“Yeah, even more depressing than Diego,” Brutus chimed in.
We quickly took a peek in the lavatories—as dirty and unhygienic as any I’d ever seen—and the canteen where the workforce had taken their meals—and then I’d had enough. This much human misery I’d never seen before. Even cats were treated better in Hampton Cove.
“I hope they catch whoever is responsible for this and lock them up for a long stretch,” I said as we stepped out and breathed in fresh air again.
“Or better yet, lock them up and throw away the key,” said Brutus.
“Must be this Ziv Riding guy, right?” Dooley ventured a guess.
We returned to where Odelia and Chase stood discussing things and parked ourselves at their feet. I didn’t want to be trampled on by the dozens of cops and other personnel that had by now descended on the site, and I didn’t feel like walking all the way back to the center of town, so sticking close to Odelia was our best option. Sticking close to Odelia was always our best option, period.
“So what’s going to happen now?” Odelia asked.
“Now we’re going to talk to our NYPD colleagues and ask them to arrest Ziv Riding,” Chase replied.
“Do you think he knew about this?”
“I can’t see how he wouldn’t. This is his collection being created here. How could he not know?”
“I don’t know,” she said, looking at the dozens of people still being led to the ambulances. “The people at the top don’t always know what’s going on at the bottom.”
“Riding is a control freak. I’m sure there’s no aspect of his business he’s not fully aware of.”
“Then I hope he goes to jail for this,” she said resolutely.
“Hey, that’s what I just said,” I said.
“And I hope they lock him up and throw away the key,” Chase grunted.
“And that’s what I said!” Brutus cried.
Yep. Cats often turn into their humans. Or the other way around.
“So do you think we’re getting meat tonight?” Dooley asked, already losing interest in the human drama in progress right in front of us.
“I hope so,” said Brutus. “I haven’t had a decent piece of meat in ages.”
“And here we always thought you got raw meat every single day,” I said.
“Yeah, I kinda lied about that,” he admitted.
“But why?” Dooley asked.
He heaved an exasperated groan. “It’s complicated.”
“Explain it to me,” said Dooley. “I’m smart. I’ll understand.”
Brutus gave him a dubious look.
“Explain it me, and I’ll explain it to Dooley in two-syllable words,” I said.
“Hey!” Dooley cried. “I’m right here!”
“When I saw how good you guys had it with the Pooles, I kinda got jealous,” Brutus admitted. “So I decided to…”
“Make it look like you had it better than us?” I suggested.
He nodded, a little embarrassed. “Something like that. I just figured if you thought I ate raw meat every day, you wouldn’t feel sorry for me.”
“Feel sorry for you!” Dooley exclaimed. “Why would we feel sorry for you?!”
“Because you don’t know how good you’ve got it!” he barked. “You just don’t.”
“Yes, we do,” I said softly.
“Yes, we do,” Dooley echoed happily. “And now you do, too, buddy.”
“Thanks,” Brutus said in a choky voice. “Thanks, you guys. And sorry that I was such a pest.”
“That’s all right. We haven’t been very nice to you either,” I said.
“Well, I deserved it.”
“Yes, you did,” Dooley said.
We all laughed, and for the first time I was starting to think that we might actually be friends one day. I wasn’t saying we would, but there was definitely a chance.
Chapter 24
Uncle Alec had called to say he had big news. A breakthrough in the Niklaus Skad murder case. So Odelia and Chase had hurried over to the police station for an update. The state police were handling the sweatshop business, and would liaise with the NYPD to establish Ziv Riding’s involvement—if any.
They arrived at the station house and walked right on through to Chief Alec’s office. The big man was lounged in his chair, checking his computer screen. A first for the chief. He usually left all the computer business to younger, savvier officers or Chase.
He looked up when they entered, sporting the typical slightly confused and frustrated expression of a man not used to working on a PC.
“Hey, Uncle,” Odelia said. “So what’s this breakthrough you were talking about?”
“Well, looks like we finally cracked the case,” he said, then pounded a few keys on his keyboard angrily and finally threw up his hands with an exasperated groan. “How you youngsters can figure out this crap is beyond me. How do I open Niklaus Skad’s emails again? I know you showed me just yesterday, Chase, but I’ve gone and forgotten all about it.”
Chase walked around the desk and took over the mouse and keyboard. “You just click here and type in your password and you’re in,” he explained.
Chief Alec gave Odelia a grimace. “It’s all Chinese to me. I’m happy I can check my own emails. I don’t need to check anyone else’s.”
“What did you want to check?” Chase asked, stepping back.
“Well, the coroner called about an hour ago. He said he’s been all wrong about the time of death. Apparently it was a little tough to establish an exact time with the body being all burned up. But he did some more tests, and said time of death was an hour, hour-and-a-half earlier than he initially thought. Which means…” he said meaningfully, his eyes glittering.
“That we have to recheck all of the suspects’ alibis,” Odelia completed the sentence.
“Already done that,” said the Chief, picking up a yellow legal pad. He held it up. “This beats any computer any day in my book.”
“That’s because you’re old, Chief,” Chase teased.
“Yeah, I’m old, and I’m not too proud to admit it!”
“So where does this leave us?” Odelia asked, already going over each suspect in her mind.
“Well, let’s see what we’ve got,” said the Chief, frowning at his notes, which looked pretty illegible to Odelia. “According to Abe, time of death was around eleven, and not after midnight. Brainard and Isabella were engaged with their Echo from nine until three o’clock at night.”
“That was a marathon session,” said Chase with a glint of amusement.
“You can say that again. Guess I’ll have to read up on my Kama Sutra one of these days.”
“Or get yourself an Echo,” Odelia suggested.
“Never in my life,” said the Chief adamantly. “So who else is on this list? Hendrik Serarols. He’s in the clear, too. His interview at the other restaurant, which took place over a late dinner with the proprietor, lasted from eleven until well after midnight. And since he also had to get there and back, he’s in the clear.”
“Too bad,” said Chase. “I liked him as a suspect.”
“That leaves us with Cybil Truscott,” the Chief continued. “Whose toy boy exploits started around ten, as evidenced by multiple witnesses.”
“And Facebook videos,” Odelia added.
“So that leaves her out as well.”
“What about Stacie Roebuck?” Chase asked. “The bullied assistant?”
“Well, I talked to the guy in charge of security at the Hampton Springs Hotel. They have some complicated system installed, where they can check time stamps on the key cards. They were so kind to check the log for Room 327 and found that Miss Roebuck was in from nine until six o’clock in the morning, when she apparently went for a morning jog.”
“She could have snuck out through the window and jumped to the balcony of the next room,” Odelia said, remembering how Max, Dooley and Brutus said they’d gained access to Stacie’s room.
Her uncle pointed a finger at her. “And that’s why I had the neighbors checked. The family staying in 325 were in all night. Only left the room for dinner, and then retired for the night. Same story with the septuagenarian in 326. He went to bed at nine and got up at five to go for a walk.”
“Very boring people,” Chase muttered. “Who stays in all night?”
“Families and old folks,” said Uncle Alec with a stern look at him. “They can’t all be Cybil Truscotts or partying teenagers, Chase.”
“Fair enough,” he said, holding up his hands.
“Besides, I thought we already established that Stacie Roebuck doesn’t have the kind of physical strength needed to carry out this murder?” Alec added.
“Just making sure we’ve covered all the bases,” Chase said.
“Next—and now it gets interesting,” said the Chief, “is Konrad Daines.” He settled back, a smug expression on his face. “Mr. Daines was arrested for disorderly conduct and public intoxication when he crashed the Clintons’ party.”
“So? That gives him a rock-solid alibi,” said Chase.
“Officers were called to the scene at two o’clock in the morning,” the Chief added triumphantly. “We talked to the people he was partying with, and that particular party only started after midnight. So we have no idea what Mr. Daines was up to before that time. That wasn’t a problem when we thought Niklaus had been killed after midnight, but now…”
“He just might have done it,” Chase said.
“Exactly.”
Odelia stared at her uncle. “So you think Konrad Daines is our guy?”
“I think Konrad Daines is our guy,” the Chief confirmed. “And to that effect I’ve sent a couple of officers around to the hotel to pick him up.” He checked his watch. “They should be back any minute now.”
“We talked to Konrad,” Chase reminded Alec. “I liked him as a suspect.”
“Oh, and one other thing,” said the Chief. “I remembered seeing an email Niklaus wrote to Konrad. That’s why I was trying to access the emails.” He turned the screen so Odelia could follow along. Her uncle quickly scrolled through the emails, then tapped the screen with his pudgy finger. “Here it is. I knew I’d seen it flash by.”
“You have to click the mouse to open the email, Uncle,” Odelia said. “Tapping it with your finger won’t work.”
“Unless he’s got a touchscreen,” Chase added.
“I know that!” the Chief cried. “I may not know a lot about computers, but I know how to use a mouse!” He clicked to open the email. “Listen to this,” he said. “This is from the day before Niklaus died. ‘I heard about Chopped Liver being, well, chopped. I’m so sorry about your loss, Konrad. Not! I told you Kitchen Disasters was the superior show and I was the superior chef and now I’ve gone and proved it. I hope this will show you that I’m the greatest celebrity chef in the world, and you’ll always be a second-rate amateur. Take that, you whiny loser!’”
“That wasn’t very nice,” Chase said.
“No, that was outright mean,” Odelia said, shocked.
“And I think it’s motive,” said the Chief. “Konrad got this email, spent the day chewing on it, and by the time evening rolled around, he’d gone and whipped himself up into a frenzy of rage and revenge. He knew Niklaus was in town, and most likely to be found at Fry Me for an Oyster, so he went there on the off chance he’d find him. They met—they fought—he killed him and then shoved him into the oven to get rid of the evidence. And then he went on his bender.”
“Stacie said Niklaus never visited the restaurants he did,” Odelia said. “Konrad would never have found him there.”
“So he bumped into him somewhere else, and they went to the restaurant together. Or maybe he called him and they met out there.”
It all sounded a little fuzzy to her. “Has Abe discovered the cause of death yet?”
“No, he hasn’t. Most likely scenario is that Skad was strangled. But since the soft tissue around the neck is gone, he won’t be able to prove it.”
“So now all you have to do is get a confession and it’s case closed,” said Chase.
“You also think Konrad is our guy?” Odelia asked.
“Why? Don’t you?”
She shook her head slowly. “Something doesn’t sit right with me.”
“He’s got motive!” cried her uncle. “He had opportunity. He’s our guy!”
“Remember when we went to visit him, Chase?” she asked. “How he was certain we were there to talk about the drunk and disorderly thing?”
“So? He lied. He’s a TV personality. I’m sure he knows a thing or two about acting.”
“He didn’t strike me as dishonest,” she insisted. “He genuinely thought we were there to talk about Bill Clinton’s party. He had no clue we were there to talk about the murder.”
The two men shrugged. “I say we’ve got our guy,” the Chief repeated.
It was definitely possible, of course. After all, being taunted in such a mean way could have made Konrad Daines snap, especially on the day his own show had been canceled and he was already feeling very low. Still, the impression she got from him wasn’t that he was a killer.
Ten minutes later, the officers who’d gone to fetch Konrad finally arrived, the fallen celebrity chef in tow, and put him into the interrogation room. Chase and Odelia followed her uncle and watched through the one-way mirror as the latter entered the room and took a seat across from Konrad. The man looked much the worse for wear, as if being arrested was the final straw to his collapse.
“Mr. Daines,” her uncle began. “It’s come to my attention that Niklaus Skad wrote you an email the day before he died.”
Konrad stared at him. His bristly hair stood in all directions, and his skin had gone pale and blotchy. “An email?”
“Yes. Shall I read it to you? Jog your memory?” And as he did, Konrad’s face grew paler still. He looked nothing like the famous TV chef he was.
“I remember,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Niklaus was an animal. I hated him so much—so very, very much.”
“Is that why you killed him?”
Konrad stared at Chief Alec, his lips moving wordlessly.
The Chief slammed the table. “You hated him so much you killed him, isn’t that right, Konrad?”
The chef started shaking. It was clear he was in the throes of a breakdown. “Yes,” he finally whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I wanted him dead. I wanted him dead so, so much. I wanted to kill him—cut him—skewer him—chop off his head—rip him to pieces!”
Spittle was flying from his lips now, his eyes wild and crazy.
“So you admit you killed him,” her uncle said calmly.
“Y
es! Yes, I killed Niklaus Skad!” Konrad suddenly cried, getting up from his chair. “I killed the greatest chef alive! Me, Konrad Daines! I destroyed the monster! I finished him off like the worm he was! I did it!”
“Settle down, Mr. Daines,” said the Chief, looking a little worried.
“I think he’s lost it,” Odelia said.
“I think you’re right,” Chase agreed. “But he still confessed.”
“I killed him! The monster is dead! The monster is dead!” Konrad screamed, pounding the walls of the room.
Uncle Alec darted a glimpse at the one-way mirror. He didn’t look at ease.
“I think we better get a couple of officers in there,” said Chase. “Before he attacks your uncle.”
“The monster is dead! The monster is finally dead!”
The Chief hurried out of the room while three officers moved in to restrain Konrad. When he joined them, he was wiping perspiration from his brow. “Phew. The guy just went nuts on me.”
“At least you got your confession,” Odelia said.
They both watched Konrad pick up a chair and smash it on the table. “Yeah, at least we got his confession,” Uncle Alec said, scratching his head.
“The monster is dead! I killed him! I killed him dead! Me! I won!”
Somehow, there was something wrong with this picture, Odelia thought. Whatever Konrad said, she couldn’t help feeling the real killer was still out there.
Chapter 25
Odelia had dropped the three of us off at the police station, where she had some urgent business to take care of. She said there had been some kind of breakthrough in the case of the celebrity chef, so that was great. Most likely Chief Alec had caught the killer and now Hampton Cove would return to its usual peaceful state. It let us off the hook, as we no longer had to root around to catch the killer. Not that I minded. For some reason sleuthing came naturally to me. Probably because I’m a naturally curious cat. It’s just the way I’m wired, I guess.
We were traipsing along Main Street when we saw Gran ducking into some alley with that ancient boyfriend of hers. Oh, God. Not again.