by Roger Hurn
Cleary pounced. ‘But if you went home empty-handed then maybe he wouldn’t be paying you anything at all. No … this is how I see it, Mr Shakespeare. You broke into the apartment, but Ms Montague wouldn’t hand over the play so you had a scuffle and then she fell and cracked her head on the coffee table. You hightailed it outta there and then went to see Ms Pendlas and gave her some bullshit story about gangsters that convinced her to come back to the apartment with you. You musta thought you’d hit the jackpot though when you found Ms Jones there.’
‘You see,’ said Martinez smoothly, ‘Mr Kapoor’s not a gangster, he’s a respectable businessman with not so much as a parking violation to his name. He says he was only helping you out because you’re a friend of his younger brother back in the UK.’
‘That’s right,’ said Cleary flashing his big nicotine-stained teeth at me in a poisonous grin. ‘And he’s pretty pissed that you’ve repaid his kindness by bad-mouthing him to Ms Pendlas … so I’d say your bad day just got a whole lot worse.’
This needled me and I couldn’t stop myself from snapping back. ‘Why’s that? If Sanjay Kapoor’s the solid citizen you two guys say he is, then what’s the worst he can do to me? Cross me off his Christmas card list?’
Cleary snorted and was about to say something when Martinez cut in quickly. ‘This is New York, Mr Kyd. People here are very litigious. He could bring a lawsuit against you for slander.’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Cleary. ‘And you really wouldn’t want that.’ He smirked at me and I had the feeling that he, and possibly Martinez, were in Sanjay Kapoor’s pocket. I knew for a fact that there were plenty of cops on the take back home and I had no illusions that the cops in New York were any different. It was just my bad luck that I’d fallen into the clutches of at least one of them.
Chapter Sixteen
I could feel the panic begin to rise like the steam from the New York sidewalks, but I kept a lid on it. ‘Look guys, you’re blowing smoke here. Was there any sign of any breaking and entering? Because, if there was, I didn’t see it when I arrived with Ms Pendlas.’ I held my hands open. ‘Maybe it’s because I’m an ex-cop but I tend to notice stuff like that.’
‘You’re ex-DPG according to our information and I’m betting that you’ve been trained to break into places without leaving any tell-tale traces.’ Cleary’s little eyes were hot with dislike. ‘I mean we’re always hearing how you guys think you’re James Bond.’
‘Actually, I wasn’t and I don’t, but never mind. Look, let’s get real here fellahs, if I killed Jezebel to get my hands on the manuscript then where is it? You know I don’t have it and I’m sure you’ve tossed my motel room by now and found zilch apart from the mildew on the walls.’
‘You could’ve passed it to an accomplice,’ said Martinez.
‘Oh come on! What accomplice? I don’t know anybody in New York.’
‘You know Mr Kapoor,’ said Cleary like he’d caught me out in another lie.
‘Yes, but according to you guys, he’s strictly legit and to say otherwise is to invite a visit from his lawyer.’
I sat forward and tried to make myself appear confident and sound convincing. ‘The truth is exactly what I’ve told you and, if I was in your shoes, I’d be asking where Angelica Rayburn is? She was as jealous as hell of Jezebel’s relationship with Monika and, from what I could see when I was at the apartment last night, she really wanted Jezebel gone.’
Cleary sat back in his chair and folded his arms, his face hard like cold grey stone, while Martinez’s eyes crinkled at the corners like he was faintly amused by what I was saying. I didn’t take comfort from either expression. ‘So here’s what I’m thinking. We know Monika and Angelica left the apartment together this morning because the nosy neighbour overheard them arguing. But then Angelica stormed off and didn’t come to the theatre with Monika. I reckon she then went back to the apartment and let herself in - hence no sign of breaking and entering.’
‘So you’re saying she went back to kill Jezebel?’ Cleary shook his oversized head. ‘That’s a pretty big stretch, buddy.’
‘No, I’m saying she went back to tell Jezebel she was a bloody cuckoo in her and Monika’s cosy little love nest and she wanted her gone. Given both women are pretty strong-willed and feisty it wouldn’t have taken much for them to get into a cat fight that went badly wrong.’
‘Two problems with that scenario, Mr Sherlock Holmes.’ Cleary raised his hand and counted off his objections on his thick fingers. ‘One: the “nosy neighbour” didn’t say anything about hearing a cat fight and, two: why would Angelica take the manuscript?’
I wasn’t fazed by this as I thought I had the answers. ‘Most women I know like to shower before they leave the house in the morning, so maybe that’s why she didn’t hear them going at it.’
‘My missus sure does,’ said Martinez. ‘And takes forever about it too, so I guess maybe you got a point there.’
I nodded at him. ‘Right. And why did she take the manuscript? I’d say to destroy it. That play was like Jezebel’s baby. It was precious to her above everything. Hey, I don’t know if you guys are familiar with the saying, “It’s not enough for me to win, my enemy must lose.”?’ They looked at each other blankly, but I ploughed on regardless. ‘Well, by killing Jezebel and then destroying her manuscript, Angelica wins and Jezebel loses big time.’
‘Whoa, hold up, buddy.’ Cleary looked unconvinced. ‘That’s bullshit.’
‘I’m not so sure, Cleary. What Mr Kyd’s saying’s not totally out of left field. Jealousy makes people do crazy stuff alright.’
Cleary pursed his lips. ‘Yeah, that’s true but …’
‘But I think Mr Kyd may be onto something here.’ Martinez was suddenly animated and acting like he was on my side. I hoped he was because otherwise I was drowning not waving.
‘Look, the way I see it is that it went down as Mr Kyd describes, OK? The two women have a spat and then Angelica shoves Jezebel who falls and cracks her head on the coffee table. It was an accident, but Angelica panics ‘cos, given her animosity towards Ms Montague, no one’s gonna believe her that it wasn’t deliberate. Anyway, then she has a brainwave and takes the manuscript, but not ‘cos she wants to destroy it to complete her revenge as Mr Kyd would have us believe, but to throw us off the scent.’
Cleary’s wide forehead puckered up like corrugated cardboard. ‘I don’t get it. How does taking the manuscript throw us off the scent?’
‘Because Angelica had no reason to take the script, but there are others, like Mr Kyd here, who do.’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Including Carmelita Jones, Byron St James … and Sanjay Kapoor.’
Both men gave me the cold-eyed stare at the mention of Kapoor.
‘Tell me again why you keep dragging Mr Kapoor into this.’ Cleary’s lips were set into a thin line.
‘Because he wants a slice of the action. As soon as he realised why I was in New York and how valuable the manuscript was, he told me to bring it to him and then he’d negotiate a ‘finder’s fee’ for himself for helping me return the script to Jason Mulwhinney.’
‘And Angelica knew about Mr Kapoor’s involvement did she?’ asked Cleary.
‘No, but …’
‘But it doesn’t matter,’ said Martinez. ‘There were already enough people in the frame for the gambit to make sense.’
I breathed a sigh of relief, but then the door to the interview room opened and the lead detective put his head round the door. ‘You can go, Mr Kyd. You’re in the clear … for now.’
Cleary’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’
‘The barista at Café Culture saw Mr Kyd here talking to our witness outside the apartment block and then hail a taxi and leave in it without going into the apartment.’ He smiled at me, but there was no warmth in it. ‘Guess it was lucky for you that the barista had nothing better to do than stare out of the window, Mr Kyd. So you have a good day you hear.’
Chapter Seventeen
&n
bsp; When I hit the street outside I was shell-shocked, jet lagged and fed up to the back teeth with the way my life was going. My wife was filing for a divorce, my associate, and the potential love of my life, Carly, had dumped me, a local mobster had it in for me and I wasn’t exactly flavour of the month with the NYPD. Not only that, but a young, talented girl was dead and I’d been powerless to prevent it. Maybe I hadn’t tried hard enough or maybe I was beating myself up because it seemed like everything I touched turned to shit. There was only one thing to do and that was to have a few beers and try and figure out what the hell I was going to do next.
I was sitting in an “Irish” pub, the Rainbow’s End but, if I’d been hoping to find a pot of gold there, I was bang out of luck. It was the kind of dive where you go to have a drink if you want to be alone and not be seen. The lighting was dim and moody and the definitely not Irish bartender paid me no attention after he’d served me - and that suited me fine. Then, out of sheer force of habit, I pulled out my phone and switched it back on. If I was hoping for a message from Carly, I was in for a disappointment. Obviously with her, I thought bitterly, it was a case of out of sight, out of mind. And, to make matters worse, I had about two dozen voicemail messages from Mulwhinney. I was going to delete them without listening to them, but my professional instincts got the better of me. He sounded like he was going out of his mind so I gave him a bell. The cocky bastard persona had gone and he was pathetically grateful to hear from me.
‘Thank Christ you called, Kyd. Jez’s been murdered and the police think Lita’s got something to do with it. They’re holding her for questioning. I think they can hold her for 48 hours then they’ve got to either charge her or let her go. I’ve got a top lawyer on the case, but it’s not looking good.’
He babbled on like this and it took me a while before I could get him to shut up and listen to me. I told him everything that had happened since I arrived in New York. I also made it clear that if he’d only trusted me to do my job then Carmelita wouldn’t be in police custody.
‘Yes, well OK, but Lita didn’t kill Jez and you’ve got to prove that by finding out who did … and don’t forget to get my fucking manuscript back while you’re at it.’ The guy was as likeable as a cockroach and I had the distinct impression it was the last of those things that was most important to him.
Anyway, he gave me the contact details of his lawyer and I told him that 48 hours was not a lot of time to do what he asked … but he didn’t want to hear that. Instead he offered me a huge bonus if I could come up with the evidence that would clear Lita and recover the MS. It was crazy. It was as if he thought the more money I could trouser the more likely I would be to unmask the killer and get his property back. But I guess rich people think that by throwing money at a problem you can make it go away. Maybe they’re right. I’ve never been in a position to find out.
‘Tell me one thing,’ I said. ‘And I need you to be honest with me. Did you really write The Girl From Tiger Bay … or was it all Jezebel’s work?’
He didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t tell if it was because he was pissed off by the question or because he was wrestling with his conscience. Then he said, ‘Of course I wrote it. Do you really think an illiterate little trollop like Jezebel Montague was capable of writing anything more sophisticated than her fucking name? Jesus, she even had trouble with that. Now stop wasting time and do the fucking job I’m paying you to do.’ Then he hung up.
I still had no idea who was telling the truth, but I knew one thing for certain, I really hoped it was Jezebel.
Chapter Eighteen
I was having one last beer before I made a stab at Mission Impossible when someone slid onto the stool next to mine. It was Detective Martinez.
‘Drowning your sorrows, Mr Kyd? Here, let me get you another.’ He signalled to the barkeep who nodded sullenly and pulled me a pint.
I didn’t want the Guinness, but I was intrigued as to why Martinez was here. I had the feeling it wasn’t a coincidence.
He ordered a bottle of Bud for himself which he sipped while his eyes watched my face without blinking. I returned his stare, but didn’t touch my drink. When he realised he was drinking alone, Martinez put the bottle down on the counter and smiled. Apparently, I’d won the staring contest, but I figured guys like him always hunted in pairs and it was a ploy to catch me off guard. I glanced round nervously. I didn’t fancy Detective Cleary sneaking up behind me unannounced. ‘Where’s your partner?’
Martinez’s smile grew wider. ‘If there’s one thing my dumbass Irish partner hates more than you Brits, it’s Irish pubs like this one. He thinks they’re as phony as a three dollar bill. So relax, he wouldn’t be seen dead in a place like this.’
Somehow I didn’t find this reassuring. ‘But you’re a big fan of the old shamrock and roll, are you?’ I said as another “rebel” song blasted out of the sound system.
He pulled on his earlobe and continued to grin. ‘Yeah, I’ve even got a lucky leprechaun on my key chain.’
Suddenly, tiredness swept over me like a tidal wave. I didn’t want another drink, and I didn’t want to play silly buggers with Martinez. ‘OK, let’s cut to the chase. What do you want from me?’
He pressed his lips together and gave the slightest of shrugs. I remember thinking when I first met him that he had gentle, intelligent eyes. Now they were hard as pebbles and glinting with malice. ‘I want you to do as you’re fuckin’ told is all. Mr Kapoor asked you to find the manuscript and give it to him, not rat him out to some fuckin’ dyke.’
I closed my eyes for a second. As usual, my ability to judge character was completely off kilter. I’d had Cleary down as Kapoor’s performing monkey, but no, it was Martinez. When I opened them again, Martinez was looking at me like I was something he’d just scraped off his shoe. I guess Cleary wasn’t the only one who didn’t like me much. It was OK though because the feeling was mutual.
‘I figure you’re on the money with your theory that Pendlas’ squeeze Angelica killed Jezebel in a jealous rage, but so far we haven’t been able to track her down. So, if you get to her first, you call me and I’ll deal with it but, above all, if you get your hands on the MS, you make sure you pass it on to me.’
I sucked on my teeth the way the boys at my football club do when they want to show you that you’re bang out of order. ‘You know, back in the UK, that manuscript would be what we call evidence.’
Martinez shrugged dismissively. ‘Not in this case, it ain’t. It’s all down to sexual jealousy between three lesbians and nothing to do with some faggoty play.’
I shook my head. ‘But even if you get it, you’ll have to enter it into the chain of custody. Or doesn’t that happen here in New York?’
His crocodile grin was back. ‘Sure it does, but stuff goes missing all the time. Remember the OJ Simpson case? Man, that was high profile and yet evidence still managed to vanish from the LAPD’s facility. But then shit happens.’ He handed me his card. ‘Don’t lose this though, otherwise you could end up as fish food in the Hudson.’ He smiled. ‘You have a nice day.’ Then he turned and sauntered out of the bar. Sod having a nice day, he hadn’t even paid for my bloody drink.
Chapter Nineteen
The afternoon light as I stumbled out of the Rainbow’s End was murky and depressing – or maybe that was just me. I could hear time ticking and I knew I had to do something to earn my corn so I called Shamak. He was on Sanjay Kapoor’s payroll, but at least he had a touch of sensitivity in his soul, unlike the other gorillas I’d met so far. Plus I needed his knowledge of New York. You see, I was hoping he might have an idea as to where I could find Angelica. Not that I thought he was a friend of hers or anything but, as a taxi driver, I reckoned he would know where the most likely LGBT bars were.
He didn’t seem surprised to hear from me and, within minutes of me making the call, I was riding in the back of his cab.
‘I’m trying to locate a friend of Monika Pendlas’ called Angelica Rayburn,’ I said. ‘Well
, I say friend, Angelica’s actually her live-in lover, but she’s been missing since the murder. The cops say they’re trying to run her to earth, though they’re not exactly busting a gut about it and I’d like to steal a march on them if I can.’
‘You think she did it?’
‘I’ve got her down as the prime suspect.’
‘Yeah, that right? ‘Cos the word is that the cops have some English girl, Carmelita Jones, in the frame.’
I chewed on my lips before replying. I wanted to ask him how he knew, but the answer was obvious. This surprised me because I hadn’t figured on Shamak being high enough up the food chain to be kept in the loop and it dawned on me that he might be more than the lowly water carrier I’d originally taken him for. Once again, my ability to spot a wrong ‘un was proving about as reliable as a cheesecloth condom. Still, I had no choice but to play along.
‘She’s Welsh, not English … but I guess that doesn’t matter. No, the cops have her in the frame because Carmelita was standing over Jez’s dead body when Monika and I arrived at the apartment and cops always go for the easy option.’
He nodded. ‘I don’t blame ‘em. I mean life’s not a freakin’ episode of Murder She Wrote. If you catch someone at the crime scene with a smoking gun then it’s odds on they did it … but you’re not buying it, right? Why’s that?’
‘Carmelita’s a tad too small and lightweight to get the jump on Jezebel in a fight. OK, so Angelica’s no heavyweight, but she looks like a gym bunny to me and taking Jez out wouldn’t have been a stretch for her. Plus she’s got one of the oldest motives in the book – sexual jealousy. Monika and Jezebel used to be lovers so Jez would have been about as welcome as a turd in a swimming pool as far as Angelica was concerned.’
He shrugged. ‘OK, I guess that kinda makes sense. But how you gonna find her?’
