Unleashed (Sydney Rye Series #1)

by Emily Kimelman

  "What?" I said straining to keep eye contact.

  Mulberry shook his head then brushed past me to the front door. "Try not to touch anything in here. This could be an official crime scene before too long." He left, using his sleeve to protect the doorknob from his fingerprints.

  Oscar, unfazed by the stranger, curled his body around my left leg and purred. Could Charlene really be dead? Why was he convinced that I was involved in this mess? I found myself wandering through Charlene's place. The bedroom was a mess, but there was no sign that a person had been murdered there. I opened her closet. It was jammed full of clothing. But so was mine at home. For all I knew, she had packed half her wardrobe and left with it. Or she had been forced out of her apartment with nothing. Could Detective Mulberry know any differently?

  I walked into her bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Day face cream, night face cream, makeup remover, body lotion, hand cream all sat neatly next to each other. But there was no toothbrush, so she must have packed to leave. Or maybe she needed a new toothbrush and had thrown the old one away. I looked in the trash. It was empty. So maybe she had taken the trash out when she left. Then she definitely would have been leaving of her own free will. Kidnappers do not allow you to pack a toothbrush and take out the trash--unless they don't want it to look like you've been kidnapped. I noticed the clock on Charlene's bedroom wall. I was late.

  Gossip is a Powerful Drug

  I picked up Snowball and headed over to the dog run. The regular crowd was there, milling around the pen. I nodded to them and sat on a bench in the far corner facing the river. Why would Detective Mulberry insinuate that Charlene was dead? How was she connected to this case? What did he know that I didn't? I found myself wanting to go back to her apartment. What was he looking for? Or what had he found?

  I was surprised to see the Detective striding purposefully along the esplanade talking on his cell phone. His thick arms pushed against his summer-weight suit jacket with each step. His brow was furrowed and his face red. The sun caught glints of gray in his short, dark hair. I watched him walk into the park toward Gracie Mansion and out of my sight.

  "Hi."

  I looked up and saw Marcia standing over me. "Hi."

  "You know him?"

  "Who?"

  "I know him, you know. I know everyone in this neighborhood."

  "You do?"

  "Of course. I've been walking this neighborhood for 25 years. I know everything that happens around here."

  "Really?"

  The other dog-walkers started to move toward us.

  "This is Fiona," she gestured to the mousey-haired women who had introduced herself to me the other day. "And this is Elaine." A young woman with long chestnut hair and thick glasses smiled at me shyly.

  "Hi," I said.

  Marcia turned to me. "You're all mixed up in this case now, huh?"

  "Yeah. Well, no. Wait, what are you talking about?"

  "You know what I'm talking about."

  "You are certainly more mixed up in this case than most people," Fiona said. They had formed a circle around me now.

  "Were you scared when you found the body? I would have been really scared," Elaine said. She looked like the type of girl who was scared of squirrels.

  "Yeah, I guess."

  They all nodded.

  "That makes sense," Fiona said. "I could see how that could be scary." She picked at a hangnail on her left index finger, digging into it absently.

  "Did you throw up?" Elaine asked, her eyelids fluttering in a series of blinks that had to be a tic. "I'm sure that I would have thrown up."

  "I didn't throw up, but the doorman did."

  "Willy threw up! We didn't know that," Marcia said, delighted with the new detail. "He said that you threw up. But then again, you can never quite trust Willy for the truth." The other dog-walkers murmured their agreement. "Philip said that he thought Willy was the one who threw up." Marcia stated proudly.

  "Who's Philip?" I asked.

  "You don't know who Philip is?" Elaine said, her eyes wide.

  "Philip is the manager at Ten House," Marcia boasted.

  "Oh, where the Maxims live?" I asked.

  Fiona snickered.

  "Am I missing something?"

  "Stop it," Marcia silenced Fiona. "The Ten house is more than just where the Maxims live. It is a very well-known building. It is a GB," she said, her tone the same as my kindergarten teacher's when she explained to me what story time was.

  "A GB?"

  "A Good Building," Marcia told me patiently.

  "Oh."

  "Only certain types of people are allowed to live there," Fiona said, her hazel eyes following an unattractive mutt as it raced past us.

  "Wealthy families with the right last names," Marcia finished.

  "Oh. I see," I said.

  "Eighty-Eight is a GB, too," Elaine told me, trying to be helpful. I nodded and smiled so she'd know that I appreciated her gesture.

  "Julen, Mrs. Saperstein's--"I trailed off.

  "Mrs. Saperstein's lover," Marcia said. "Don't worry; it's not a secret. Everyone in the neighborhood knows that Jackie was using him to get back at Joseph."

  "Do you guys know who Mr. Saperstein was sleeping with?"

  "Only rumors," Fiona told me.

  "What kind of rumors?"

  "Well, I'm not one to gossip," Marcia started, "but I've heard from several people it was a man," she paused for dramatic effect, "and that his name was Charlie."

  "Has anyone told the detective this?" I wanted to know.

  "He has not come to speak with me," Marcia said. "A foolish mistake."

  "What can you tell me about Detective Mulberry?" I asked the group.

  "I think he lives in the neighborhood," Fiona said.

  "Is he a good detective? I mean, does he have a good reputation?" I asked.

  "He gets the job done. But he does it dirty," Marcia said. "He has been reprimanded more than once for breaking procedure." She looked around and continued in a whisper as loud as her speaking voice, "In other words, he has no problem with beating confessions out of people."

  "How is he still on the force then?" I asked.

  Marcia snorted out a laugh, which caused Elaine to giggle. "You don't have much experience with cops, do you?" Marcia asked me.

  "I've never been arrested, if that's what you mean."

  "You ever hung out with cops?"

  "No."

  "There are some really good ones. That Officer Doyle, he is a true gentleman." All of the women nodded.

  "I met him," I said. "He was really nice. He took my statement when--"I trailed off again.

  "We know dear, we know," Marcia comforted me. I looked past the dogs wrestling in the pen to the river.

  "Who do you think killed him?" I asked. A silence fell over the group.

  "I wouldn't know about that," Elaine finally said and then made a show of looking at her watch. "I have to go." She hurried over to pick up a dachshund, a miniature pinscher, and a small mutt. Their leashes became tangled as she moved toward the exit.

  "I think it must have been his lover," Fiona stated boldly.

  "Men can make you crazy," Marcia said with a smile. Fiona blushed.

  "Do you guys know if anyone saw anything? Like one of the doormen on the block or something?" The two women shook their heads. Elaine hurried down the esplanade away from us.

  "Someone must have seen something," I practically whined.

  "Oh, I'm sure someone did, but no one has said anything to us," Marcia told me. "You should talk to Michael. He was the last person to see Mr. Saperstein alive."

  "Who's Michael?"

  "You don't know him? He's one of the doormen at the Sapersteins' building," Fiona said.

  "Why would I know who Michael is?" I asked

  They smiled at me.

  "You'll know why when you meet him," Fiona said.

  I Become a Sneak

  Julen opened the door at the Saper
steins' building and pretended I was a complete stranger. "Hi, Julen," I said. He coughed and nodded. "I was wondering if you could help me with something?" He scanned the lobby.

  "I don't think so," he said, trying to get rid of me.

  "I need to speak to Michael."

  Julen smiled with relief. "Of course. He comes on at midnight and gets off at eight in the morning."

  "Do you have his number? I don't exactly work those hours."

  Julen shook his head. "Michael does not have a phone. You will have to see him at work."

  "He doesn't have a phone?"

  "No. He does not believe in them." Julen, looking amused, smiled widely, showing off clean, charmingly crooked teeth.

  "Doesn't believe in them?"

  "Michael is an artist," Julen said in explanation.

  "OK? Thanks."

  "You are welcome."

  I knocked on Mrs. Saperstein's door. There was no response, so I let myself in. The house was empty. No Mrs. Saperstein and no Snaffles. The living room was neatly put together, the cushions on the couches puffed, the lamps dusted, and the floor vacuumed. In the kitchen, the dishes were washed, the sink spotless and the counters uncluttered. It did not look like the house of someone who had been brutally murdered.

  The photographs in an album I found on their bookshelf showed the Sapersteins as a happy family. Joseph and Jackie at their wedding. She had long dark hair then. He had a bushy mustache. They had gone on vacation to somewhere tropical, when her hair was cut short and dyed blond. He had worn a Speedo. In the autumn of another year, they had gone to a bed-and-breakfast. Joseph had his arm wrapped tight around Jackie and she smiled with her whole body. Nothing foreshadowed that he would have his face blown away and she would be the prime suspect.

  In the kitchen, there was leftover Chinese food in the fridge and three apples. In the closet, Joseph's coat hung above his briefcase. I pulled out the obviously expensive brown leather case and opened it. A gold wedding band and a silver Rolex sat on top of a stack of papers with the letterhead Pilfner and Brown.

  Someone was putting a key in the door. I snapped the briefcase shut and shoved it back into the closet. Mrs. Saperstein, wearing loose jeans and a pink T-shirt, walked through the door holding Snaffles on a leash. She jumped and screamed when she saw me. "Jesus, you scared the shit out of me." She held her hand over her heart. "What are you doing here?"

  "I came to walk the dog, but he wasn't here, so I figured I would wait a while to see if you came back so I could walk him," I sort of lied.

  "Oh. OK." She took a breath. "I just gave him a walk, so I guess you don't need to worry about it today."

  "Alright. Do you want me to come back for his evening walk?"

  "No, I can do it." She sighed and looked past me at something not in the room.

  "I'll get going then."

  "Sure." I walked past her and out of the house. That was close. Why did I do that? Did those papers say something about life insurance?

  Creepy

  The next morning, on the subway, leaning over a man reading the New York Times, I learned that the police were looking for Charlene Miller. She was not a suspect. They just needed her to answer a couple of questions. The article also said that a search of the victim's home had turned up some interesting leads.

  The dog run was buzzing when I arrived. All the ladies came hurrying over to me. "Did you see the paper?" Fiona asked.

  "Yeah. It's crazy."

  "Do you know where Charlene is?" Marcia asked.

  "I wish. I only met her right before I took over the route. I don't know anything about her. Have you guys heard from her?" I asked.

  "None of us were that close to her," Marcia said. Fiona nodded. I turned to Elaine but she just shrugged.

  "What's her deal? Charlene's I mean. None of you knew her at all?"

  "She didn't really hang out with the likes of us," Fiona said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "All I'm going to say is that I guess membership in the Biltmore Club can't protect you from everything."

  "What is that supposed to mean?" I asked.

  "All I'm saying is that being the newest member of the Biltmore Club didn't do her much good did it?"

  "I didn't know she was the 'newest member.' Are you a member?"

  Fiona cast her eyes away. "I wouldn't join them if they begged me. They are all snobs, think they run the city don't they?"

  "Oh stop it Fiona," Marcia said.

  "I'm really lost, what is the Biltmore Club?"

  Fiona opened her mouth to answer, but Marcia cut her off. "It's a private New York Club with some very influential members."

  "They only let women become members in the mid-90s," Elaine said.

  "Another reason I would never join," Fiona interjected.

  "You know that gorgeous townhouse in the Mews covered in ivy?" Elaine asked, her eyes wide with admiration.

  I thought for a moment and remembered a townhouse right across from the park that was coated in a large green vine. The plant looked like some giant green muppet that was eating the roof and would eventually get at all the inhabitants. "Yeah, I know what you're talking about."

  "It's beautiful isn't it?" Elaine asked.

  "Easily impressed," Fiona muttered.

  "Charlene was a member. Isn't it hard to join?"

  Marcia answered me, "She must have some friends in some pretty high up places. You have to be sponsored by a member and then voted in or some such nonsense."

  I left the run, thoughts of the Biltmore Club floating in my mind.

  The Sapersteins door flew open as soon as I knocked. "Where is Charlene, and what does she have to do with this?" Jackie demanded. Her hair looked like it had been slept on wet.

  "I don't know."

  "What do you mean you don't know? How could you not know?"

  "You'd be surprised how much I don't know." She glared at my attempt at a joke. I laughed uncomfortably. It echoed in the hall. "Would you like me to walk Snaffles?" I smiled.

  "Come in." She moved aside, and I walked into the apartment. The dark blue drapes were drawn, but the sunlight managed to shoot through creating shafts of bright light in the otherwise dark room. Mrs. Saperstein walked to the kitchen. Snaffles was curled up in a ball in the corner, asleep.

  "He looks tired," I said because I didn't know what else to say.

  "I've been walking him a lot. We've been walking a lot." Her eyes shone through the half-light.

  "Have you given him his lunch?"

  She smiled. "Yes."

  "OK, then I'll take him out."

  "OK."

  "Come on, Snaffles. Come." He didn't move. I walked over to him. The corner was dark, and I stepped on a squeaky toy. The sound made me jump. Snaffles didn't even twitch.

  "Maybe you should just go," Mrs. Saperstein said.

  "Whatever you want." I started to back away from Snaffles.

  Mrs. Saperstein stood in the doorway of the kitchen silhouetted against the strange light of the living room. I walked toward her, but she didn't move. "Tell your friend Charlene I'm on to her," she hissed at me.

  "She's not my friend," I protested. A tense silence bulged in the space between us. Finally, she moved aside, and I squeezed past her.

  What was the f was that, I wondered as the elevator took me back down to street level. Snaffles had looked really dead. I mean dead. Did she kill her dog? Excuse me--her cheating husband's dog? As I stepped out into the warm light of the day I felt goose bumps rise on my flesh.

  Oh, Toby

  At the Maxims' I gave Toby his lunch, and then we headed out for a walk. Halfway through the marble-encased lobby, a tall gentleman with jet-black hair and gray temples wearing a tailored pinstriped suit intercepted us.

  "Ms. Joy?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "Yes."

  "I am a friend of Marcia's."

  This must be the famous Philip, I thought. "How do you do?"

  "Marcia told
me that you were wondering if anyone had seen anything on the early morning of your former employer's departure from this world and his unpleasant ascent to the next."

  "That's one way of putting it."

  "May I suggest that you talk to Gregory Chamers? He works at Eighty-Eight East End Avenue."

  "Why?" Instead of answering me, he floated off to the front desk, where a woman in her early sixties wearing a pink velour jumpsuit and carrying a gold lamé purse was talking in increasingly higher-pitched tones to a distressed-looking bellboy. I watched Philip soothe the woman, place his hand on her elbow, and lead her to the elevator banks.

  Toby and I left the building and turned uptown. The clip-clop of horses' hooves caused Toby to turn. When he saw the giant beasts approaching, Toby ran to me and squeezed himself between my legs. I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the sun and looked up at Doyle and O'Conner. "Hello, officers."

  "Hello Ms. Humbolt," they said in unison which I thought was pretty darn cute. Two strapping police officers on horseback was really quite a sight, I decided.

  "How's the investigation going?" I asked.

  Doyle frowned. "I'm sorry I don't know. Unfortunately, I knew the victim personally so have no access to the case." He saw the look on my face and continued. "It's fine," he said. "I didn't know him well. We just belong to the same social club." He threw a glance at O'Conner who tipped his helmet at me and rode off down the street. Doyle shifted in his saddle and leaned down toward me.

  "Is something wrong?" I asked.

  "No, no," he smiled. "I just wanted to know if you'd be interested in going out with me some time." He smiled with big white, straight teeth. "I'm not involved in the case in any way so there is no ethical reason why I shouldn't ask you out."

  I laughed. Doyle leaned back and touched his hand to her heart. "She laughs at me?" he said in mock shock.

  "No, I'm sorry. I just never had a guy mention ethics while asking me out."

  "Maybe the wrong kinda guy's been asking you out."

  "Ouch."

  "Are you free Saturday night?"

  I thought about fake checking my phone to see if I was booked but instead I laughed. "Yeah, I'm free."

  "Great," he grinned at me. "I'll call you tomorrow."

  "Perfect," I said. He trotted to catch up with his partner. I watched them as they turned toward the park, a huge grin on my face. What fun, I thought. Toby stayed cowering between my legs.