Bright Lights, Big City: A Ryan Kyd Thriller (Ryan Kyd Thriller series)

by Roger Hurn

  The problem with playing ball with guys like Byron is they have a nasty habit of moving the goalposts without telling you first … so you end up scoring an own goal more often than not. I sat back and eyed him coldly.

  ‘So who is the killer if it isn’t Carmelita? And why in god’s name have they asked you to represent them? You’re selling them down the river and I’m willing to bet everything I’ve got that this isn’t what they had in mind when they came to you.’

  He laced his fingers together and sat back. ‘You got that right, buddy. Look, I may be a guy who sails close to the wind on occasion, but even I draw the line at murder.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I leaned forward in my chair and stared at him. He stared back. I could feel another staring competition coming on and I wasn’t in the mood for it.

  ‘OK, so if it wasn’t you, who did kill Jezebel?’

  His eyes flicked away from mine and he smirked and shook his head. ‘Haven’t you figured it out yet, Ryan? And there was me thinking you were the hot shot Private Eye from London.’ I didn’t reply to the jibe so he sighed and gave me a world-weary smile. ‘It was Monika.’

  Somehow I wasn’t surprised. ‘Was it?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sad to say it was.’ He pushed his face closer to mine and I caught a bitter smell on his breath that not even a good whiskey could mask. ‘I’m betting you figured she did it in anger ‘cos Jez wasn’t interested in being her lover … but that wasn’t it.’

  I shrugged. ‘So what was it?’

  Byron steepled his fingers. ‘Monika’s been looking all her life for that lucky break that’s gonna open doors for her.’

  I frowned. ‘Did she need a lucky break? I thought she was pretty well known and respected in her world.’

  Byron smirked some more. ‘Let me tell ya, Ryan, no disrespect but you’re from across the pond so you know doodly-squat about what goes down here in the big city. Monika’s been around since forever on the fringes of the action, but she’s never made it big. You know … like she’s always the bridesmaid and never the bride?’

  I nodded to let him know that, ever though I was a hick from out of town, I could just about follow where this was going.

  He cleared his throat and carried on. ‘So I guess that frustration’s just been building up inside her like steam in a pressure cooker. Then this chick from London shows up with a play that’s solid box office gold and no one can prove who wrote it. So Monika sees her chance. She has a spat with Angel then, when Angel stalks off, Monika slips back into the apartment, kills Jez and then brings the play to me.’

  I blinked in disbelief. ‘Why?’

  Bryon threw his hands up. ‘Why? Because she wants me to pass it off as her own work. That’s why. She thinks it’s gonna be her ticket outta nowheresville and straight onto Broadway.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘And she thought you’re the kind of guy who’d turn a blind eye to murder, right?’

  He held his hands out wide. ‘Look, Ryan, what can I tell ya? She’s flipped alright … but we’re kind of birds of a feather. I’ve been around this business a long time and I’ll level with you, it’s been a while since I was tearing up any tracks. So Monika figured I’d be just as hungry as she is to make the most of this opportunity. Well, I’m not gonna go along with her crazy scheme because I don’t wanna end up doing time as an accessory to murder. OK, so neither Mulwhinney nor that stupid bitch Jezebel had actually put their name on it, but way too many people know the history of the MS to pull off a stunt like this.’ He licked his lips and I guessed he was more nervous than he was letting on. ‘But I’m playing her along before we get the cops involved ‘cos I can see how you and I can both earn out of this.’ He peered at me. ‘Hey, buddy, am I making sense to you?’

  I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment while I thought this over. I didn’t like his proposal, I didn’t like him and I still wasn’t totally sold on the idea that Monika was a murderer. ‘Monika loved Jez,’ I said. ‘You don’t kill people you love.’

  Byron threw his head back and laughed. ‘Oh brother, you’re kidding me right? Most women who are murdered aren’t killed by some creep lurking in the shadows, they’re killed by their lovers.’ He scratched his head and grimaced. ‘I thought being a cop you’d know that.’

  ‘They’re killed by people they know!’ I spat back, ‘Not necessarily by their lovers. And anyway, Jez and Monika weren’t in love.’

  ‘Yeah, well, they knew each other and they’d fucked and that’s close enough.’ He gave me a look of pure exasperation. ‘Wake up, buddy, and smell the coffee. Jezebel had dumped Monika and now here she was outta the blue in New York looking to piggy back on Monika to get what she wanted and to hell with the fact that Monika was trying to get her life back on track with a new lover. I’d say that was pretty cold blooded of her and enough to tip Monika over the edge.’

  I didn’t want to believe him, but what he was saying had the ring of truth. I could see how Jez could have driven a woman like Monika, who was frustrated in both her career and in her love life, over the edge ... and I could also see how a lowlife creep like St James would try and use the situation to his advantage. However, I didn’t want to jump straight into bed with him.

  ‘So when did Monika come to you with this little proposal?’

  ‘As soon as she’d done the deed … when the fuck do you think? Jesus, Ryan stop dragging your ass here. She phoned me on my cell and I met her in Brooklyn Bridge Park. She showed me the MS and said that the cops would finger Angelica for offing Jez in a crime of passion. Monika got the idea when Angel stormed off and she just acted on impulse. I’m telling ya, Ryan, that girl is seriously wigged out.’

  I thought back to how Monika had seemed when she turned up at the Warehouse. I remembered that she’d been pretty pissed off and stressed out. Now the bust up with Angelica could easily have explained that … but then so could having just committed a murder. In my time as a copper, I’ve seen people react in just about every conceivable way when they’ve been involved in a violent crime … there’s no set pattern of behaviour. Some people are cool as a Coltrane sax solo while others are shitting their pants and calling for their mums. It takes all sorts.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So what exactly is the deal here?’

  St James let out a long sigh and his whole body relaxed. ‘It’s simple. You call Mulwhinney and tell him we can get his squeeze off the hook and give the cops Monika on a plate in return for him cutting us in for 30 percent gross of any money this manuscript generates … and that includes spin offs like book, TV and movie deals as well.’

  ‘So, that’s an even fifteen per cent split between us is it?’

  He nodded. ‘Sure is, buddy. I figure we’ll make enough to live high on the hog for the rest of our days.’ He shot me a wolfishly self-satisfied grin. I felt a wave of weariness sweep over me. I was sick of dealing with cheap little grifters like Byron St James. I was tired of making a mess of my life and I was sick and tired of always trying to do the right thing … even though most of the time I didn’t have a clue as to what the right thing was. But somehow I knew that if I did a deal with this guy I’d end up regretting it even before the ink was dry on the contract.

  ‘No, you’re alright,’ I said. ‘I’ll put you in touch with Mulwhinney and then you can broker a deal for yourself. I’ll settle for my daily rate plus expenses.’

  He couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d stripped naked and whistled God Save the Queen, but then he recovered himself. His eyes were diamond hard and bright with greed.

  ‘Your decision, Ryan, but just don’t come crying to me for a hand out when I’m drinking Ramos gin fizzes on easy street and you’re stuck working sleazeball divorce cases in London Town. Are we clear on that?’

  Suddenly, working sleazeball divorce cases in London Town sounded a pretty good option to me. At least I wouldn’t have to suck in air on the same continent as Byron St James … and that had to be a bonus.

  ‘
Yeah, we’re clear.’ I pulled out my mobile and glanced over at St James. ‘I’m calling him now. I’ll give him a brief outline and then you can talk to him.’

  St James pursed his lips together hard and scowled. ‘Tell him if he tries to get smart he’ll never see his MS again.’

  I shook my head. ‘Christ on a bike,’ I said. ‘Have you any idea how fucking idiotic you sound? At least try to behave like a grown up and not a pantomime villain.’

  I don’t think St James had any idea what a pantomime villain was, but he continued scowling like a tough guy. I guess he was psyching himself up ready for Mulwhinney. As it happened he could have saved himself the energy. I wasn’t phoning Mulwhinney at all. I was dialling my own office.

  ‘I don’t flaming well believe it,’ I said. ‘It’s his bloody voice mail.’ For St James’ benefit, I left a message telling Mulwhinney to call me urgently; then I hung up. I downed the last of my JD. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as he contacts me,’ I said. Then I stood up and walked away. There was someone I had to see.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I was dodging brass monkeys looking for welders on the corner of West 48th Street and 7th Avenue and beginning to feel that my date was going to stand me up when a heavy hand tapped me on my shoulder. I spun round and there was Detective Cleary, like a dyspeptic ox in an ill-fitting overcoat, giving me his beady eyed stare. I instinctively shot a glance over his shoulder.

  ‘Relax, pal,’ he said gruffly. ‘I didn’t bring Martinez.’

  I nodded. ‘Good. Thanks for agreeing to meet me.’ His face remained expressionless, but the fact that he’d come when I called, and without his partner, meant that he believed me when I’d told him I knew Martinez was in Sanjay Kapoor’s pocket. I’d taken a risk in telling Cleary that, but I figured it was the only card I had. Martinez was a smooth operator and I’d gambled that a bigot like Cleary would have resented his Hispanic intelligence and charm and the fact that he was cutting him out of a lucrative little side operation. Martinez’s snide remarks about Cleary when we were at the Irish bar had tipped me the wink that they weren’t two hearts that beat as one and that had given me the impetus to act on my hunch. Of course, I figured that Cleary wasn’t exactly Mr Clean, and he probably didn’t give a stuff that Martinez was on the take. No, the only thing that would’ve bothered him was that he wasn’t getting his share … but I did think he’d jump at the chance to get one over on his partner and it seemed I was right.

  ‘Look, I know you don’t think much of me, and I’m not exactly thrilled by you either, but I’ve got information about the Jezebel Montague case that you need to hear ... and Martinez doesn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, you said. So tell me.’

  I gave him a tight-lipped smiled. ‘I will, but it’s a long story so can we go somewhere out of this wind?’ I was taking a risk. If Cleary was crooked and energetic enough, he’d probably put a shakedown on me and try to cut himself a slice of the action St James was proposing. However, I had him down as too lazy for that and, so far, I’d read him right.

  Cleary took me to a bar called Havana City. It was full of tourists and I guess he figured that Martinez would no more be seen in a place like that than he would be in The Rainbow’s End. They were more alike than they thought.

  Anyway, I told him everything that St James had shared with me. I had to tell it three times. Like the Bellman in the Hunting of the Snark, I suppose he believed that what you’re told three times must be true. I wasn’t so sure. There was something not quite right with the tale Byron had spun me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

  ‘So, how come you turned down the deal, St James offered you? You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who can afford to turn his nose up at big bucks.’

  ‘It’s blood money and, anyway, my soon to be ex-wife would have it away on her toes with the lion’s share after her lawyers have finished shaking me down … so it’s not worth the hassle.’

  Cleary ran the flat of his hand over his spiky salt and pepper hair. ‘Yeah, ex-wives and their lawyers’ll do that to you every time.’ His voice had the weariness of a man who’s been there, done that and worn the “When will I ever learn?” T-shirt. I began to feel the glimmer of a connection.

  He showed me his teeth in a parody of a smile. ‘Not to mention the fact that the guy’s a scumbag and he’d probably screw you over anyway.’

  I grinned. ‘Yeah well, if there’s one thing I’m not short of, it’s people screwing me over.’

  He sucked on his teeth. ‘You and me both, pal. You and me both.’ He sighed. ‘There was a time when the Irish ran this fucking city, but the days when we had juice are gone. The mayor don’t even bother to come to the St Patrick’s Day parade anymore. And what do we got now? We got Astorino. We got Cuomo. We got de Blasio. We’ve gone from Tammany Hall to Carmine’s. For fuck’s sake, we Irish used to argue about jobs and rent and immigration and all these three guys argue about is whose mom’s lasagne recipe is the best.’ He shook his head in disgust and I nodded in sympathy. A few moments passed in silence and I decided we could either sit there drinking mojitos and crying on each other’s’ shoulders or we could actually try and do some police work. I wasn’t looking for a drinking buddy so I opted for the latter.

  ‘Right, shall we go have a talk with Monika and see what she’s got to say about her pal St James’ allegations?’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘You think she did it?’

  I shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but there’s only one way to find out.’ I stood up, but Cleary continued to keep his backside glued to the chair.

  ‘Who said anything about you coming along for the ride, buddy?’

  ‘Well, I may hail from London, but my Mum’s dad is County Cork born and bred … so I thought we Irish should stick together.’

  It was a lie. My granddad on my Mum’s side was an ex-carpet fitter from Romford, but Cleary wasn’t to know that and anyway, my sister had once been engaged to a bloke from Cork City.

  He breathed in deeply then lumbered to his feet. ‘Yeah, I expect he was born in Blarney. That would explain where you inherited your big mouth from.’

  I chuckled. He didn’t, but he let me tag along. In his eyes, even an Englishman with an Irish ancestor was preferable to a Puerto Rican. In Martinez’s particular case he may have had a point but, in my opinion, prejudice is stupid because it clouds your judgement and, as my mum always says, it’s how people treat you that matters - not their race, creed or colour. She’s not wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cleary drove me out to Monika’s apartment in Crown Heights. People often think that because a murder’s been committed in a place the residents have to move out. This rarely happens and it hadn’t in this case. A teary-eyed Monika opened the door to us. She still seemed to be in a state of shock and didn’t object when Cleary asked if we could come in and ask her a few questions. We followed her into the apartment and she slumped down listlessly onto the sofa and picked distractedly at her nails. If she was a murderer she was a hell of a good actress … but then that was her game.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Angel since this morning?’ I asked.

  She sniffed, but didn’t look up. ‘Yeah, she texted me about an hour ago to say we were done; that she was back with Sadie and that she’d pick up her things tomorrow.’

  ‘Did she say anything about Jez?’

  Monika shook her head. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Classy girl.’

  Monika glanced up and I could see that her eyes were like two pits of misery. I didn’t apologise, I just ploughed on. ‘So, have you seen Byron St James at all today?’

  She seemed surprised by the question. ‘No. Why?’

  Before I could answer, Cleary took over. ‘He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he, Ms Pendlas?’

  Monika frowned. ‘Err… yes. Though we’re not really close.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Really? You seemed friendly enough the other night. You even introduced him to me as a “c
lose friend”.’

  She sighed. ‘Welcome to my world, Mr Kyd. Look, Byron and I have worked together on a lot of projects. He’s a useful person to know as he has contacts … and a knack for putting deals together. I thought he might be able to help Jez.’

  I was like a dog with a bone. ‘But you say he’s not a close friend even though you’ve worked together on projects close to your heart?’

  She gave a half smile. ‘They call it show business, not show friendship, for a reason. Byron’s more interested in the bottom line than any artistic merits a play may have.’

  I frowned. ‘Yet your plays aren’t exactly money spinners, are they? So why has he stuck around?’

  Suddenly, Monika’s voice was flinty in the extreme. ‘Because there’s a certain cachet in what I do, that’s why. People like to be associated with my projects. OK, so they rarely give much of a bang for your buck, but Byron is good at finding investors who want the feel-good factor that comes with being a patron of the avant- garde. In fact, you’d be amazed at how many people who’ve made a fortune doing humdrum things want to get some glamour in their lives by taking a chance on what I do.’

  Cleary shifted his big backside on his seat like all this talk of the avant-garde was making him uneasy. He cut to the chase. ‘So you didn’t meet Byron St James in Brooklyn Bridge Park this morning?’

  Monika shook her head and looked baffled. ‘No. Why should I have done?’