Unleashed (A Sydney Rye Novel, # 1) (18 page)

“I don’t know,” I yelled over Blue. “Hold on a minute. Blue shut up.” I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off the door. He continued to bark and bark and bark. “Shut up!” I screamed at him. But he just kept barking at the door, his hackles raised, his nostrils flared. I was a bit nervous myself as I peeked through the peephole. In the rounded, distorted view of my hall I saw Detective Mulberry staring back at me.

“Come on, open up,” he yelled over Blue.

“It's Mulberry,” I whispered to James.

“What? I can’t hear you. Speak up.”

“It’s Mulberry,” I said, cupping my hand over the phone to block Blue out.

“What? Did you say it’s Mulberry?”

“Come on, I can see your shadow,” the Detective yelled.

“Should I open it?” I asked James.

“Are you crazy? He’s probably crazed with rage. It’s your fault he got kicked off the case,” James said.

“No, it’s not and you know it.”

“But does he know it?”

I heard Nona’s door open. “Can I help you?” she asked Mulberry, raising her voice above Blue’s barking. I grabbed Blue’s collar and shook him, trying to make him shut up, but he kept on barking.

“I’m here to see Ms. Humbolt. Detective Mulberry.”

“She doesn’t appear to be opening her door, which means either she’s not home—”

“She’s home, ma’am. I can see the shadow of her feet under the door.”

“—or she doesn’t want to talk to you. You’re not arresting her, are you?”

“No, but I am investigating a murder.”

“I just heard you were off the case.” I could see Mulberry’s face flush red through the peephole.

“That’s part of what I need to talk to her about.”

“Apparently, you’re off the case for abusing her, so I think you should leave before I am forced to call the police, the ones who are still on the case,” Nona said. Mulberry opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out. Then he turned to my door.

“I just need to talk to you for a minute,” he yelled at the peephole. “I'm going to slip my number under your door. Please call me.”

“What’s happening?” James asked as Mulberry bent over and shoved a business card under the door. Blue stopped his barking and attacked the card. I had to drop the phone to wrestle it away from him. “Joy. Joy. What’s happening?” I heard James’s voice from the phone. Blue let go of the card—well, three quarters of the card. I picked up the phone and looked out my peephole. Nona was standing in front of my door.

“James, he’s gone. I’ll call you back.”

“Wait, what happened?”

“I’ll call you right back.” I hung up and opened the door. Nona’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the bruise on my face.

“Did he do this to you?” she asked.

“No. I fainted,” I said as we moved into the living room. She sat down on the couch, and I sat next to her.

“I saw on the news.”

“I know.”

“He was grabbing your arm.”

“Oh, I know. But he didn’t hit me. He was trying to warn me that I should stop doing what I was doing.”

“What were you doing?”

“Still am doing,” I corrected her. “I’m investigating Joseph Saperstein’s death.”

“But why?”

“I wish people would stop asking me that question.”

“I think it’s a pretty obvious one.”

“Well, I don’t know, but I’ll tell you something isn’t right.” I leaned toward her. “A lot of things don’t make sense. His toupee was not on him when he left his house and then it was when I found the body. Charlene has been missing ever since I took this job, and she left her place in a hurry, if not by force. Chamers saw a woman wearing a wig or with bleached-blond hair, leaving the scene of the crime. And now Tate Hausman, Joseph’s old friend, is dead and I don’t think it was suicide I think—”

“Slow down,” Nona interrupted me. “I still don’t understand how you got the bruise on your face.” I reached my hand up to the fading yellow on my cheekbone.

“I fell down on some marble.”

“How?”

“I fainted.”

“Why?”

“I became overwhelmed. It’s never happened to me before, and I don’t think it will happen to me again.”

“What overwhelmed you?”

“It was in the lobby of the building that I went to after I found the body. I didn’t recognize it at first and then when I did, I fell down.”

“It sounds like you should see someone.”

“For fainting? Come on.”

“Not for just fainting. You have had a very stressful experience, and a psychologist could give you some tools for dealing with it.”

“I'm fine.”

“Fine? You think collapsing onto marble makes you fine.”

“I feel fine. That kind of stuff happens all the time.”

Nona laughed. “I fainted once.”

“Really? When?”

“When Mr. Nevins died. You know how he died?”

“No.”

“We were on our honeymoon in Paris. We went to the amusement park next to the Louvre after dinner on our third night. We were both a bit drunk, I suppose, him more than me as was usual, and we went into the haunted house. It was very scary, not because they had convincing monsters or anything like that. It was scary because you might die.” She laughed again, although I was having trouble seeing the humor in her story.

“It was so dark in there. You really couldn’t see a thing, and the floor was covered in spinning disks that you could easily break an ankle on, and there were creepy things hanging from the ceiling. We linked arms and laughed and fell down in the dark. It was so much fun. We even did a little kissing.” She laughed gently, her eyes unfocused.

“But then we walked out onto the balcony area where the ground shifted beneath you, and we had to grab at the railing to keep from falling on our faces. Well, poor Mr. Nevins, the railing broke at his touch, and he fell face-first onto the ground below. When I saw the pool of blood that was forming around his head, I fainted.”

“That's horrible, Nona.”

“Yes, it was dear, but I got over it with the help of a psychologist.”

“Oh.”

“Just think about it. It could help you.”

After Nona left, I called James back.

“Why do you think he showed up at your door? Do you think he’s mad? You need to start carrying that Taser of Hugh’s.”

“I don’t think they’re legal in New York."

“Oh, and I suppose it’s legal for detectives accused of beating you up to show up at your door.”

“That might be legal.”

“Are you going to call him?”

“I want to hear what he has to say. I mean, it seems to me that something is wrong here. We know he didn’t hit me, so why is he off the case?”

“Maybe you should ask Declan.”

“I don’t know if I want to talk to him about this stuff. He would probably tell me to leave it alone. Everyone else has.”

“Well, I changed my mind about you leaving it alone. I support whatever you want to do. Just don’t get hurt, OK?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“Just be smart. Don’t go running off half-cocked.”

“Will do, captain.”

“Oh, shut up. I’ve got to go get ready for the party. I’ll see you at 9:30.”

“Yup. I fingered what was left of Mulberry’s card. Without too much thought, I dialed the number.

“Mulberry.” His voice came across the line gruff and assertive. He was definitely Mulberry, and he knew it.

“This is Joy Humbolt.”

“I'm glad you called.” His voice softened. ” Could we meet? I don’t want to talk over the phone.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible.”

“How about tomorrow morning?”

“You can’t do it tonight?”

“No. I have plans.”

He sighed. “OK. How about eight?”

“How about ten?”

“Fine. Where? “

“There’s a diner called Snow White on Chambers. That’s kind of in between our two houses.” And a public place, I thought to myself.

“I’ll meet you there at ten.”

“OK.”

Mulberry’s New Line

I woke up Saturday morning with a nasty hangover. My alarm just would not shut up, and Blue was whining because he had to pee. I pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, took Blue out, and squinted at the morning light.

Leaving Blue in my apartment, I walked the subway.

In the summer, packed trains are even worse than in the winter because of all the exposed skin. You have to be careful what you push up against. I had positioned myself against a door, which is a really good spot as long as it’s on the side of the train that doesn’t open, which this door was until we got into Manhattan. At Brooklyn Bridge a million people pushed me into the middle of the car, and exposed body parts surrounded me as I held onto the greasy center pole.

The train rumbled along, and I tried to see the stops, but the crush of people blocked my view. It would be just like me to miss my stop and end up at Union Square. “Don’t fucking move,” a hot voice said into my ear, and I felt the tip of something hard press into my back. “You’re a really stupid little girl,” the voice continued, “and if you’re not more careful, you’re going to die.” The train lurched to a stop, and the crowd shifted to allow people to exit and enter. An overweight woman wearing a giant floral-print dress pushed me back against the man in my ear. He put his arm around my waist and held me tightly.

“If you don’t let go of me I will scream,” I told him.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

I screamed a high-pitched, echoing, can’t-ignore-it scream. The shifting crowd stopped to look at us. The man immediately let go of me and barreled a path through the crowd, out of the car, and into the 59th Street Station. I never saw his face.

“What did that guy look like?” I yelled at the car full of people. The ding-dong announcing the closing of the doors sounded, and people hurried to be on the right side of them. “What the fuck did that guy look like?” No one looked at me. “Someone must have seen his face. He threatened my life. Hello!” A circle of space opened up around me as the mass of commuters pretended I didn’t exist.

I waited for Mulberry in a red vinyl booth at Bagels and Lox, shaking. I stirred my coffee aggressively just to give my hands something to do. Mulberry showed up ten minutes late. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry I’m late.”

“Yeah, well, someone just threatened my life on the subway in front of half the fucking city. But, of course, no one saw shit.” I gestured wildly and knocked over my coffee cup. Mulberry leaped up, avoiding the hot liquid racing across the table toward his lap. “Sorry, shit, I’m sorry.” I tried to soak up the spill with our napkins but they just turned limp and brown. The waitress came over with a wet towel and wiped the table down. “I’m sorry,” I told her.

“It happens all the time,” she said without looking at me. Mulberry sat back down, and the waitress brought me another cup of coffee.

“Sorry,” I said again.

“It's alright,” Mulberry said. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was on the subway because I was hurrying to meet you, who was late.” My anger about his tardiness seemed childish after tossing a cup of coffee at him, but I wasn’t about to give it up. I told him the rest of the story without any more dramatics. Mulberry’s eyes widened when I told him about the screaming, but he let me continue. “He ran out of the car. I never saw his face, and everyone on the train pretended like I didn’t exist when I asked them.”

Mulberry snorted. “No one saw nothing. That's how it always is.”

“That’s all you have to say? I tell you someone threatened my life, and you’re disgusted by the subway riders.”

“Hey. You got yourself into this.”

“So it’s my fault?”

“I'm just saying I warned you.”

“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” I slumped down in the seat and fell silent. Mulberry sipped his coffee and looked across the table at me.

“So, what’s up?” I asked. “Why are we even here?”

“You know what’s happened?”

“They kicked you off the case for beating me up,” he grunted. “I suppose you want me to go to the media, and tell them that it never happened. That you are an exemplary officer, and the whole thing is a big misunderstanding.”

“I think that would be a very bad idea.”

“What?”

“I warned you that this was something you should not become involved in, but now you are, and I need your help.”

“What?” This was not at all how I had pictured this meeting. I was thinking there would be some level of groveling on his part while I toyed with him until finally calling the
Post
and telling them the whole thing was shit. But Mulberry asking for my help with the case?

“You have no idea how deep this thing runs. I need your help. I need to know who killed Joseph Saperstein and Tate Hausman.”