Unleashed (A Sydney Rye Novel, # 1) (8 page)

“I asked that you please sit down.”

“No,” I put my hands out palms forward. “What are you talking about me being next? Are you just trying to scare me? Is that your thing? You like scaring young women.” I was pressed up against the wall now, my weight bending the blinds, causing them to crackle and snap.

“Mrs. Saperstein was arrested for assaulting Mr. Saperstein not three months ago. Did you know that?” I had a flash of Mrs. Saperstein hurling a pot of something boiling at Mr. Saperstein, him ducking and the pot smashing onto the wall behind where his head had just been.

“Why don’t you answer my question?”

“I think if you would sit down and think for a moment you might understand my point.” I didn’t sit down.

“I get your point. You’re implying that Mrs. Saperstein killed her husband and is going to kill me next. But that’s bullshit. I don’t even know these people.”

“I’m just letting you know that Mrs. Saperstein is not the woman you think she is.”

“You have no idea what I think of her. You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you have a short temper. You have proved that this evening.”

“Yeah, well, I learned you’re a dick.” Fuck, I should not have said that. But the Detective just smiled and looked down at his paperwork.

“You are free to go, Ms. Humbolt. Get home safe.”

I grabbed my bag off the chair and flew out of his office onto the street and into the subway. My adrenaline was pumping hard as I waited for the train. This guy was clearly insane. I mean, what kind of psycho implies that a woman you only just met is plotting your death? He obviously had no leads and was lashing out at whatever made a remote amount of sense according to his deluded understanding of the case. Then it occurred to me that I had forgotten to clean Oscar’s litter. “Dammit,” I said out loud. No one even glanced at me. The glassy stares of my fellow passengers continued to deny their surroundings. “Fuck,” I said a little louder. Nothing. I love this city, I thought to myself as the train clacked and squealed me back to Brooklyn.

Back at Charlene’s

I was running late when I got to Charlene’s apartment the next day. Snowball had escaped the dog run through a hole in the fence and then evaded me by hiding in a shrubbery. Oscar followed me into the bathroom where his litter was and meowed purposefully as I cleaned it out. “What, boy? You want more food or water?” He released a meow, arched his back, and puffed his tail. I rubbed his head. He took the pettings gladly and encouraged me by flopping onto his back. “I’d love to hang out and scratch your belly all day, but I’ve got to get back to work.” He just purred with his eyes closed. When I stood up, Oscar’s eyes opened, and he rolled back onto his paws.

I left the bathroom. He got under my feet, moving between my legs in a figure eight, purring, and tripping me. “Oscar, come on, I’ve got to go.” He just rubbed himself against my leg, begging for a little more attention. “Poor guy, you must be lonely here all by yourself.” He meowed in agreement. “Listen, buddy, I’ll come back later, alright? I have to go now.” I passed the open bedroom door and about ten steps later realized I was almost positive there had been a man in there. I stopped mid-stride, filled instantly with fear, the same kind I get at night when I’m alone, and I can’t sleep, and I swear I hear something, or someone, creak outside my bedroom door. Oscar took my pause to mean that I wanted to pet him, so flopped onto his back, wiggling his belly and stretching his paw toward me.

My ears fought through the buzzing sound of my fear to hear. My brain told me to move toward the door—it screamed for me to walk out the door. But my ears didn’t want the distraction. I held my breath and listened to the beating of my heart, Oscar’s purr, and the undeniable sound of a footfall on the carpet behind me.

“Hello, Ms. Humbolt.” I spun around. Detective Mulberry was standing in the hallway behind me, looking amused. He was shorter than I remembered, only about two inches taller than I, but he was stocky.

“What are you doing here?” I felt relieved, but adrenaline was still pumping through me. He pulled off a pair of white rubber gloves, the latex snapping in the air.

“Just looking into a lead.”

“Have you gotten ahold of Charlene yet?”

“No, I have not.” He shook his head looking at the inside-out gloves in his hands.

“Do you have a warrant to be here?”

His green eyes flashed yellow with anger. “Your little friend could be dead, and you want to know about a warrant.” He moved down the hallway at me. I stood my ground, fighting against a powerful urge to flee. He stopped six inches from my face. “Do you understand the gravity of the situation here?” Intense green eyes was all I could think.

“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 Sapersteins’ 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.