The Player

by Joe Cosentino

  “You don’t seem to.”

  “Neither do you.”

  Aunt Nia stared at him. “Have you been watching my apartment, Detective?”

  “Have you been watching mine, Ms. Purnell?”

  Since neither of them blinked, I asked him, “Are you sure Alexandria was murdered?”

  He finally broke eye contact with Aunt Nia. “The coroner is pretty certain, given the marks on her neck.”

  “Did you find the murder weapon?”

  He shook his head. “I’m guessing it was a scarf of some kind.”

  “What time was Alexandria killed?”

  “The coroner will know more later, but at this point she speculates Mrs. Sokolov was murdered right before you found her.” He focused on me. “Which is why I’m surprised you didn’t see or hear anyone.”

  “There might have been someone outside in the hall. I didn’t check.”

  “Wouldn’t your first instinct be to check the hallway?”

  “My nephew is not a detective.”

  Deferring to Aunt Nia, he asked me, “What was your relationship with Mrs. Sokolov?”

  “I barely knew her.”

  “How did you know her name?”

  “I’d seen her in the hallway a few times, coming and going.”

  Shawnee readied his pad. “Do you work, Mr. Beaufort?”

  “Not currently.”

  His thick eyebrows raised. “Unemployed?”

  “My nephew is an elementary school music teacher. The school term ended last week.”

  He asked me, “How long have you lived in this building?”

  “My whole life.”

  Aunt Nia explained, “Andre has lived in 3A for four years. Prior to that he lived here with me.”

  I added, “My parents died when I was four.”

  “That must have been difficult for you.”

  “We’ve managed fine,” Aunt Nia said.

  He seemed to play good cop. “I lost my parents this year.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  Aunt Nia turned the tables on him. “Where did they live?”

  “I thought I was asking the questions.”

  “Turnabout is fair play, Detective.”

  He sighed. “In a Navajo reservation in Arizona, where my sister and I were brought up.”

  “How did they die?” she asked.

  “They lost their health at the same time as they lost their government healthcare.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said.

  “Agreed.”

  Aunt Nia seemed determined to lead the interview. “Detective, when you interviewed with me about your apartment, you mentioned living with your sister in the next town. What brought you from Arizona to New Jersey?”

  “Can we stick to my investigation?”

  “Of course. As long as you answer my question.”

  He raised his eyes. “Education and employment as a detective.” He regained control. “Ms. Purnell, how long have you managed this apartment building?”

  She smiled proudly. “Nearly thirty years.”

  “Are you married?”

  “I’m divorced. Is that pertinent to the case?”

  “Possibly.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m single.” As if lobbing the ball back to her, he asked, “Who owns this building?”

  “The Tzar Me In Corporation.” After spelling Tzar for him, she added with a confident grin, “But they leave all decisions about the building to me.”

  “Do you work?” He smirked. “In addition to making all decisions about the building.”

  “I’m a high school guidance counselor.”

  “But not currently.” He gloated. “School is out for the summer, so you aren’t working.”

  “Not at the school, but I’m writing reports and doing research on my laptop at home.” She slid to the edge of her seat. “Is that all, Detective?”

  “No.” He grinned at her. “I have more questions for you, Mrs. Purnell.”

  She sat back. “All right.”

  “Where were you at eight thirty this evening?”

  “Here, in my apartment.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you hear or see anything suspicious in the hallway this evening?”

  “No.”

  “What was your relationship like with Mrs. Sokolov?”

  She sighed. “As Andre told you, the woman hardly spoke to us. She was always coming and going to business meetings.”

  He wrote. “Since you know she was ‘coming and going to business meetings,’ you must have spoken with her on occasion.”

  Aunt Nia crinkled her nose. “Not very often.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I found her arrogant and racist.”

  Cringing, I said quickly, “Aunt Nia means Alexandria kept to herself.”

  Shawnee probed Aunt Nia. “Tell me why you think Mrs. Sokolov was a racist.”

  To my horror, Aunt Nia told Shawnee about her encounter with Alexandria in the hallway, ending with, “Contrary to what Alexandria believed, I don’t fit the stereotype, Detective.”

  He smiled. “I can see that.”

  Aunt Nia was on a roll—down a cliff. After she went on about Alexandria’s insistence that her husband pay the rent and Alexander’s music in the hallway, I tried to smooth things over with Shawnee. “Aunt Nia didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t tell me what I mean!”

  I added, “And she would never hurt anyone.”

  “Except you, if you don’t stop apologizing for me.”

  Shawnee asked her, “When was the last time you saw Mrs. Sokolov?”

  Aunt Nia thought a moment. “Three days ago. No, that was her brother dressed in Alexandria’s clothes. I spoke with Alexandria four days ago.”

  Shawnee asked, “Alexandria’s brother dresses in his sister’s clothing?”

  I explained, “Alexander said he and his sister have been swapping clothes since they were kids. I think it’s a game they still play occasionally.”

  He glanced from Aunt Nia to me. “Do either of you know anyone who would want Alexandria Sokolov dead?”

  I spoke up—moving Shawnee’s suspicious eyes away from Aunt Nia. “Earlier today, in the hallway outside Alexandria’s apartment, I overheard her argue with her husband, and also with Hunter Buck from 2C.”

  Shawnee asked, “What were they arguing about?”

  “I couldn’t tell, but both arguments sounded pretty heavy duty.”

  Shawnee wrote quickly.

  Since Aunt Nia had inadvertently left her apartment door slightly ajar, Victor burst in as if giving a command performance. “Alexandria’s dead! After what I said to her, I hope the cops don’t suspect me!”

  Aunt Nia and I gasped. Victor stopped dead in his tracks. Glancing over at Shawnee, he asked, “And you are?”

  Shawnee rose. “Detective Takoda Shawnee.”

  Aunt Nia explained, “The detective recently moved into apartment 2B.”

  Victor let out a long sigh of relief. “That’s good news. I thought you might be here investigating Alexandria’s murder.”

  “I am.”

  Victor’s face paled.

  Aunt Nia led him onto the sofa next to her. “You don’t need to be afraid of the detective. Aunt Nia is here.”

  I said, “You’re my aunt, not his.”

  Victor shushed me. “Let her be whatever she wants.” Then he emoted to Shawnee, sounding like a character in a 1940s B movie, “Detective, I didn’t kill Alexandria. You have to believe me. I’m innocent!”

  I explained to Shawnee, “Victor is an actor.”

  He nodded in understanding. Then, readying his pad again, he asked, “What’s your full name?”

  “Innocent.”

  Aunt Nia placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You can answer the detective’s questions. He won’t bite—too much.”

  Shawnee smirked. “Thank you, I t
hink.”

  He calmed down a bit. “I’m Victor Martinez.”

  Aunt Nia added, “Victor has lived in 3C for a year now.”

  “And before that?” Shawnee asked.

  “I wasn’t in prison!”

  I explained, “He lived in St. Petersburg, Florida, with his family.”

  Shawnee asked him, “Can I speak privately with you in your apartment, Mr. Martinez?”

  Aunt Nia would have none of it. “Victor stays right here.” She stared Shawnee down. “And so do Andre and I.”

  Shawnee’s shoulders dropped. “All right, Mr. Martinez, where were you at eight thirty this evening?”

  “In my apartment.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t make me a killer!”

  Shawnee sighed. “And after eight thirty?”

  “At about eight forty, I left to visit Andre in his apartment.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  Shawnee rubbed his temple. “What was the purpose of your visit?”

  “Not to kill anyone!”

  I interceded. “Victor, just answer his question.”

  Victor replied like a witness on the stand in a television crime drama. “When I had seen Andre earlier today, he had behaved oddly. I was concerned about him.”

  Shawnee perked up. “Oddly? How?”

  “Andre told me to be quiet when I wasn’t talking. He seemed to be arguing with… himself. And he asked me if we were alone in the apartment, which we were.” Turning to me, he added, “Sorry, buddy. You said to tell the truth.”

  I explained to Shawnee, “I was distracted.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I had been playing my new player piano.” I thought fast. “And I couldn’t get the tune out of my head.”

  Shawnee turned to Victor. “So, at eight forty you were on your way from apartment 3C to 3A?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you hear or see anything unusual in the hallway?”

  “Did I ever!”

  Shawnee readied his pen.

  “Andre’s door was open. Yellow tape covered the doorway. Police were inside. EMT workers carried the still body of Alexandria Popov Sokolov down the stairs on a stretcher. I asked the coroner if it was murder. She told me her suspicions that Alexandria was strangled to death!”

  Shawnee looked at him skeptically. “Why would she tell you that?”

  “I may have said I was a member of the family.” Victor smiled sheepishly at him. “I assumed Andre was with his aunt, so I ran here to see if he was okay.”

  Shawnee glared at him. “Mr. Martinez, were you and Mrs. Sokolov friends?”

  “I tried, but she wasn’t interested.”

  Aunt Nia took Victor’s hand. “Alexandria had promised Victor an audition for a role in an upcoming Broadway show she was coproducing. Then she backtracked on the offer.”

  I wouldn’t want Aunt Nia as my defense attorney.

  “This must have made you angry, Mr. Martinez.”

  Oblivious, Victor replied to Shawnee, “Broadway show auditions are hard to come by. I wasn’t angry, I was enraged!”

  I added quickly, “But Victor and Alexandria talked it out, and all was fine.”

  Victor corrected me. “Actually, it was Alexander I spoke with, and he calmed me down.”

  “That’s Alexander Popov in 1C,” Aunt Nia explained.

  Shawnee seized on Victor’s comment. “Mr. Martinez, are you and Alexander Popov friends?”

  “Not really. But he was concerned about me.” He sniffed. “Unlike his sister, Alexander seems to have a heart.”

  I explained, “Victor ran into Alexander in the hallway, and Alexander was nice to him.”

  Shawnee asked, “Was Alexander wearing his sister’s clothing?”

  Victor answered cordially, “Not today. Alexander wore an expensive-looking gray suit. He looked really hot… handsome with his long blond hair and crystal blue eyes. We had a nice little chat, actually. Until his brother-in-law broke it up.”

  “That’s Denis Sokolov in 1A,” Aunt Nia explained.

  Victor added, “Denis leaned out from his apartment and asked Alexander to come inside so they could talk.”

  “About what?”

  Victor shrugged. “How should I know?”

  Shawnee closed his pad and stood. “Thank you all for the information. Needless to say, nobody in the building should leave town. The front door of the building was locked this evening, with no forced entry there or through any window.”

  “So you’re saying this was an inside job?”

  Aunt Nia echoed my fears. “And therefore someone in the building killed Alexandria?”

  “At this point, it seems that way.” Shawnee handed each of us his card as we rose. “If any of you thinks of anything else you’d like to tell me, please give me a call.”

  “I’m glad you’re in the building, Detective.”

  Shawnee glanced over at Aunt Nia. “I don’t think your aunt agrees with you.”

  Aunt Nia replied, “I don’t advise second-guessing me, Detective.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She seemed sincere. “And thank you for going to my nephew’s apartment when I called you.”

  Shawnee replied, “Thank you for calling me.”

  They gazed into each other’s eyes.

  Wondering where I would sleep, I asked, “Can I go back to my apartment?”

  Shawnee rested a hand on my shoulder. “Not until tomorrow afternoon. We’ll padlock it until then. Do you need a place to stay tonight?”

  “My nephew can stay with me.”

  Shawnee nodded. “I’ll be in touch. Good night.”

  After he was gone, we all plopped down in our seats.

  Aunt Nia said, “He’s a very self-confident man.”

  “Who suspects us of murder.”

  Victor’s eyes widened. “Do you really think he suspects us?”

  “If he doesn’t, he isn’t a very good detective.” I sighed. “We gave him plenty of ammunition.”

  Aunt Nia seemed focused on Shawnee. “I think the detective stayed so long because he enjoyed our company.”

  “Like a warden enjoys the company of his inmates,” I replied.

  “Now Shawnee knows about my disagreement with Alexandria. What if he arrests me?” Victor rose and sat on the arm of my chair. “If I go to prison, a tall, muscular inmate might want to have his way with me.” He thought about it. “Okay, maybe we shouldn’t rush into a defense.”

  “Let’s all try to focus.” Images from the last two days filled my mind. “Who do you think did this to Alexandria?”

  Aunt Nia shook her head. “Damned if I know.”

  “Ditto,” echoed Victor.

  “That makes three of us.” Rising, I said, “I need to talk to someone.”

  “Who?” Aunt Nia and Victor asked in unison.

  Not wanting to tell them about my ghost, I replied, “Myself. To sort this out.” I groaned. “But I can’t get into my apartment.”

  Aunt Nia stood and placed her arms around me. “You can think in your old room.”

  “Can I stay too?” Victor pointed to the sofa. “I’m afraid to be alone tonight—with a murderer in the building!”

  “You boys are always welcome—and safe in my apartment.” She kissed us both on the forehead. “Any murderer would have to get past me, and that would never happen.” Rubbing her hands together, she added, “Anyone care for some hot cocoa?”

  “Sure.” Victor added, “Let’s make popcorn and have a pajama party.”

  “No, thanks. I’m beat.”

  Aunt Nia took my hand. “It must have been horrible for you to find Alexandria like that. Are you all right, honey?”

  “I will be. I just need some sleep.”

  Aunt Nia nodded. “After a good night’s rest, we’ll all feel better in the morning.”

  “Good night.” I kissed her
cheek. “And thank you, Aunt Nia.” I headed to my old room. After I stripped to my T-shirt and briefs, I slid under the white sheet of the familiar twin bed with the Arctotis flowers carved into the headboard. Gazing out the window at the cobalt sky glittering with twinkling silvery stars, I was reminded of Freddy. I wondered if my time with him was nothing more than a daydream. As I rested my head on the fluffy pillow and recalled my day, I realized, at least on some level of my consciousness, Freddy was very real. Surprisingly, I couldn’t stop thinking about him and wondering if he was all right.

  Chapter Six

  I WOKE the next morning hugging my pillow, still thinking about Freddy. Then I heard the familiar sound of Aunt Nia preparing breakfast in the kitchenette. After rubbing my eyes and pushing myself out of bed, I washed and dressed. Next, I headed out to the dining alcove to join Aunt Nia and Victor for a delicious banana buckwheat pancake breakfast. Licking the maple syrup off my fingers, I rose. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  “Where are you going?” Aunt Nia asked.

  “To pay my condolences to Alexandria’s family. They must be totally freaked out about this.”

  “Join the club,” Victor said.

  “That’s nice of you, Andre. I’ll visit later with a quiche.”

  Victor sighed dramatically. “I hope we’re all still alive by then.”

  Aunt Nia pointed a finger at him. “This is frightening for all of us. But we need to let Detective Shawnee and his staff do their job.” She stood and came toward me with the hem of her leopard robe brushing against the floor. “Andre, a murderer could be loose in the building. Promise me you’ll be careful?”

  “Always, auntie.”

  She kissed my cheek.

  Victor stood and kissed my other cheek. “Let me know if Alexander says anything about me.”

  I patted his head and left the apartment. Then I walked down the hall to 1C and knocked on Alexander Popov’s door.

  A few moments later, I heard Alexander’s voice. “Come in.”

  Surprised to find Alexander’s door unlocked, I opened it and went inside. Alexander met me in the entryway. He wore a pink dress with matching heels. His normally clear blue eyes were puffy and red, and his long blond hair was matted. I offered him a warm smile. “I’m Andre Beaufort from 3A. Nia Purnell is my aunt.”

  He nodded. “I’ve seen you around the building.”

  “I apologize for disturbing you at this difficult time, but I want to offer my condolences on your loss. My aunt will stop by later.”