by Roger Hurn
‘Because he told Ryan here that you did.’
Monika stared at me. ‘What?’ Then she frowned. ‘No, I think you’ve got this wrong. I called Byron this morning from Brooklyn Bridge Park. I didn’t meet him there. As you know, I’d had a bust up with Angel over Jez and I was too upset to go straight to the Warehouse … so I walked to the park to try and think things through. I called Byron while I was pacing around like a fucking low-rent Hamlet because I wanted to be sure he was going to be supportive of Jez - even though I was going to have to ask her to leave my apartment.’
The fact she was going to dump Jez was big news to me, but I kept my mouth shut and didn’t interrupt.
‘You see, Angel had given me an ultimatum which, of course, had made me as mad as hell when she did but, while I was walking, I realised that I wanted her more than I wanted to help Jez … or, at least I thought I did.’ She sighed deeply and then carried on with her monologue. ‘Anyway, Byron said he would do his best for Jez and I was to keep him in the loop. So I started to head back to the apartment to break the bad news to Jez. I tried to reach Angel to let her know what I was doing, but her phone was off … which was just as well because, by the time I’d nearly made it back home, I’d changed my mind again.’ She nodded to herself as she recalled the moment. ‘It suddenly hit me like a freight train that, even though Jez didn’t love me, she really needed me ... and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. So I figured that if I made it happen for her then maybe we’d have a future together.’ She trailed off and I recognised the wistful expression on her face. It was one I’d seen too many times in the mirror just lately. Like me, she was imagining a future that was never going to happen. Then she snapped back into the here and now. ‘Angel can turn her affections on and off like a faucet and I knew if I gave in to her she’d have me under her thumb for good.’ She smiled bleakly. ‘And, trust me, that would not be a good place to be for me emotionally, psychologically or creatively. Angel’s ultimatum was the wake up call I needed no matter if Jez and I got it together or not. Anyway, I’d just had my Damascene revelation when I saw a cab coming down the street like a sign from a higher power. I hailed it and Shamak drove me back to the warehouse - where I bumped into Ryan.’
I was gobsmacked.
‘Who’s Shamak?’ asked Cleary.
‘He’s a cab driver.’
Cleary scowled at me. ‘Yeah, I figured that. What I wanna know is how come Ms Pendlas is on first name terms with him?’
‘And so do I,’ I said. ‘Believe me, I really do.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Monika shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. Shamak is a sweet Asian guy. He’s like the people I told you about who do humdrum day jobs who Byron gets to invest in us … only Shamak hasn’t any money. He’s come to a few of the workshops that we run at St Ann’s for would-be actors and writers but, unfortunately, he’s one of those poor souls whose dreams and ambitions aren’t matched by any discernable talent. I’ve tried to let him down gently, but he won’t give up. And why should he? As the song says, ‘If you don’t have a dream …’ Her voice trailed off into silence. I guess she was thinking about her own dream that had gone sour.
‘Did Shamak know Byron?’
Monika pulled a face. ‘Maybe.’ Then a light went on in her eyes. ‘No, wait a second, he did. I remember him having a long talk with Byron at one of the workshops. I thought Byron would give him the bum’s rush but he didn’t … which I thought was kinda sweet of him.’
I decided it was time to trample on any remaining illusions Monika had about the sweetness of human nature. ‘Sorry to break it to you, Monika, but Shamak Chande works for a mobster called Sanjay Kapoor when he’s not trying to break into showbiz.’
Her mouth fell open and she stared at me like I’d just stamped on a kitten.
Cleary grunted and said dryly, ‘You need to be careful about who you bad-mouth, Kyd. Mr Kapoor is a prominent local businessman, not a mobster, and he’d be very upset to hear you saying otherwise.’
‘Yes, all right, Cleary, he’s a sensitive flower, but we both know the truth about him.’ Cleary didn’t waste breath denying it. ‘The fact is, Monika, that Byron asked me to meet him tonight in a Hotel off Times Square where he spun me a yarn about you being the murderer.’
She could not have been more shocked if I’d produced a wet fish from inside my coat and slapped her with it. I gave her the details of my conversation with St James and watched her mood turn from disbelief to outrage. ‘This is such bullshit.’
‘Maybe,’ said Cleary, ‘but Shamak is hardly gonna back up your version of the events is he … and neither will his pal, St James.’
‘They’ve stitched you up like a kipper,’ I said.
Monika’s eyes swivelled every which way as the enormity of what they had done began to sink in. ‘But I didn’t kill Jez, I swear it. Look, you’ve got to believe me. Shamak must have been on his way from the apartment when I flagged him down.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ I said. ‘But it’s your word against his and Byron’s.’
‘Did anyone see him drop you off at the theatre?’ asked Cleary.
‘I don’t think so, but then I wasn’t exactly taking in the scenery.’ Then she sat bolt upright and snapped her fingers. ‘But I can prove I called Byron when I said I did. You can check the phone records.’
Cleary sat back and chewed on his thumbnail. ‘All that’ll prove is you called him. He’ll say you did it to persuade him to meet you in the park … which he did. Naturally, he thought you’d flipped and did nothing until he heard Jezebel really had been murdered … and that’s when he spoke to Kyd.’ He eyed me truculently. ‘Of course, he shudda come straight to us with the info, but then he’s not exactly good people.’ He grinned unpleasantly. ‘Don’t mean he’s a murderer though.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ I said. ‘But there is one way we can find out the truth.’
He cocked an eyebrow while Monika stared intently at me. ‘Yeah, and what’s that?’
‘When I asked him if he had the MS he told me he didn’t … Monika had it. Well, if my take on what’s going down here is correct then Shamak is the man with his paws on the bloody thing.’
‘So, what are you saying, Kyd? That I get a warrant and go search his place?’
‘No, he may not have it there and he may already have handed it on to St James. But, if he hasn’t, then I suggest that gives us the chance to do a sting and catch them both red-handed.’
His eyes held an expression of ill-concealed dislike. ‘And if the sting goes to shit and they come up clean?’
‘Then I’m wrong, they’re in the clear and Monika here is as guilty as sin.’ I glanced over at her. ‘Sorry, Monika.’
She didn’t protest her innocence. Instead, a flame flickered at the back of her eyes, bright and intense. Her fists were balled in her lap and her thin-lipped mouth was set into a hard line. ‘You do what you need to do,’ she said. ‘But, whatever it is, and whatever you decide the truth is, it won’t bring Jez back.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I put in a call to St James’ phone and he picked up on the second ring. ‘OK, Kyd, what’ve you got for me?’
‘Mulwhinney’s gone for it, but he wants me to broker the deal … or there’s no deal.’
There was a silence while St James digested this. ‘And what did you say to that?’
‘I said if that’s what it took to get Jezebel’s killer behind bars then so be it.’
St James gave a nasty little chuckle. ‘Hey, you’re such a straight arrow, man. But that’s your problem. All I wanna know is, how are we gonna play this?’
I affected the tone of a guy who brooks no nonsense. ‘We are not going to play anything. Mulwhinney wants me to see the MS so I can assure him it’s genuine. If I’m convinced it is, I’ll photograph the opening couple of pages and send them over to him. Then, if he agrees it’s the MS he wrote, he’ll send over an agreement for you to sign. When you’ve done th
at you, me and Mulwhinney’s hotshot lawyer go to the cops with the MS, get Carmelita released, and set the wheels for Monika’s arrest in motion. Obviously, there’ll be no mention to the police of the arrangement between you and Mulwhinney.’
There was another silence. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ve just gotta go get the MS from Monika.’
‘Errr … won’t that cause difficulties? I mean won’t she want to hold on tight to it?’
He laughed. ‘No. I’ll tell her I’ve hooked a guy who’s a Shirley Bassey fan big time and is interested in backing it with serious money, but he wants to run his eye over it first.’ He laughed some more. ‘Though why Monika would think that anybody here in the States would give a rat’s ass about a play about some Brit singer who hasn’t done shit in the States since the 60s beats me. I guess that just shows you how dingbat crazy she is.’ He stopped chuckling and became deadly serious. ‘No, the only way this play is gonna clean up is if Jason Mulwhinney’s name is on the title coupled with all the tabloid sensation this case is gonna cause. It’s gonna be my ticket to the top so that’s why I’m gonna make sure he gets it back.’
‘And to make sure justice is done,’ I added.
‘Yeah, yeah, sure. Goes without saying that we all wanna see truth, justice and the American way triumph.’
‘All right then. Look, I know it’s late but Mulwhinney’s operating on London time and he wants this thing sewn up ASAP so can you go and get the MS from Monika now?’
‘Sure, why not? We’re talking big bucks here so Monika ain’t gonna complain about losing a little beauty sleep.’
‘Fair enough, so where will we meet up for me to verify the MS?’
‘I’ll call you when I’ve got it. Then we can meet up at The Milford on 8th Avenue. They got a 24 hour business center there. OK?’
I said that it was indeed OK and then cut the call. I was sitting in an unmarked car with Cleary and Monika across the street from St James’ apartment.
‘Do you think he’ll get Shamak to come over with the manuscript or will he arrange a meet up?’ I asked Cleary.
He shifted the wad of gum he was chomping around in his mouth and said, ‘Dunno. But either way we got it covered.’
There didn’t seem anything I could add to that so I didn’t. Cleary didn’t do small talk and Monika was as silent as the grave, so we sat there for ages saying nothing with only the sound of his jaws chomping for entertainment. It was driving me bananas so I tried reviewing the case in my mind in an effort to distract myself. I was annoyed that I’d not sussed Shamak from the get go. His out of character interest in Monika and her world should’ve tipped me the wink that there was way more to him than met the eye. But then I’m just a cynical ex-copper with no idea about what thwarted ambition can do to an artistic soul … even one as talentless as Shamak. Then a memory bubbled up to the surface of my brain. Jezebel was only wearing a T-shirt when she died. This made no sense because why would Jez have let Shamak into the apartment when she was dressed like that? All right, she may have been half asleep and jet lagged, but even if he’d fed her a story over the intercom about Monika sending a cab for her to go somewhere important, she would’ve got dressed before opening the door. Of course, Shamak could have broken in, but there was no sign of forced entry. I guessed he could have used a bump key, but even though he hung out with gangsters, he was a taxi driver by trade and I didn’t think he’d carry one around as a matter of course. I decided to share this puzzle with Cleary and Monika.
‘Hey, it’s not a big deal,’ growled Cleary. ‘The guy knew what was going down because you’d blabbed it all to him so he wudda come equipped.’ He half turned to Monika. ‘Or maybe your pal St James already had a key he cudda slipped him?’
‘No, Byron didn’t have a key. Or at least I never gave him one.’
Suddenly an idea hit me and I pulled out my mobile and called Shamak. He answered pretty much straight away and he sounded well pissed off.
‘Where the fuck are you, man? I’ve been waiting for you to call me. I got better things to do than stay out all night just so you can get a ride home.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Listen Shamak, just answer me this. Did you pick up Monika Pendlas in your cab and take her to St Ann’s this morning?’
He sighed irritably. ‘Yeah, I did, but what the fuck’s that gotta do with anything?’
I didn’t reply. I was too busy staring out the window at the person who’d just stepped out of a yellow cab and was heading up to Byron’s apartment.
Cleary and I flung ourselves out of the car and turned on the afterburners as we dashed across the street. ‘Howdy, neighbour,’ I said. ‘What this? An express delivery for Byron?’
In the reflected glow of the street lamps, her hazel eyes shone with anger. ‘Fuck off, Kyd. You’ve got no right …’
‘No, but I do,’ growled Cleary holding up his badge. ‘I’m Detective Cleary and I’d like to see what you’ve got in your bag.’
The woman I only knew as the nosy neighbour squared up to him. She had an icy dignity and total self-possession. It was a good trick. When you’re caught bang to rights, you don’t bluster, you bluff. Sometimes it even works.
‘I don’t imagine you’ve got an arrest warrant, Detective, and you’ve certainly got no probable cause to suspect me of anything. I’m just visiting my friend and so I don’t have to show you anything.’
‘No, but you’ll show me, you fucking bitch.’
Unnoticed by any of us, Monika had left the car and walked up behind us. Before either Cleary or I could react, she barged past us, grabbed the woman’s bag and wrenched it from her shoulder. Nosy neighbour flew at her and the two of them clawed and punched each other like furies. The bag fell to the ground and the contents spilled out all over the sidewalk and there, blowing every which way in the chill night wind, was the manuscript.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
While Cleary struggled to separate the fighting women and I scrambled around trying to collect the pages of the manuscript together, St James made a break for it. He burst out of his apartment and sprinted down the road. I stuffed the MS back inside the nosy neighbour’s bag and gave chase.
The sidewalk was as slippery as a butcher’s dick, my dodgy knee was giving me serious gyp and the gap between us was starting to grow. I had no idea how I was going to catch him when he made the mistake of glancing back over his shoulder to see if he’d lost me. A homeless guy came shuffling round the corner and St James collided with him. The guy went flying and St James came crashing down and sliding on his knees like some premiership footballer celebrating a goal. I could hear his scream of pain as the concrete ripped his flesh to shreds. Now I normally sympathise with guys who hurt their knees badly … but I made an exception in Byron St James’ case.
Anyway, he was in no condition to resist when I picked him up and dragged him back to where Cleary was waiting. He’d arrested both women and they stood sullenly with their hands cuffed behind their backs while he was waiting for back-up to arrive. He was still chewing his gum and looking as mean as ever. But he fixed me with a long stare then said,’ Hey, Kyd, maybe you do got Irish blood in you, after all.’
It was as close as I was ever going to come to getting a compliment from Cleary.
Epilogue
The aftermath of what the tabloids delighted in calling “The Case of the Murder Manuscript” dragged on for months but, in the end, the nosy neighbour and Byron St James, or Richard Grimes to give him his birth name, were sent down for life for voluntary manslaughter, conspiracy to commit a felony and a host of other stuff.
It turned out that the neighbour, Kathy McPhearson, and Byron St James were an item. They’d met a few weeks before when he’d come to see Monika, but she’d been out and, although I couldn’t see how a passably attractive girl like Kathy could fall for St James’ oily charms, he’d obviously worked his magic on her. It takes all sorts.
Anyway, St James had realised the night he met Jez that she was never going to do the
sensible thing with the manuscript and let him cut a deal with Mulwhinney, so he’d hatched a plan on the spot. He knew that Monika and Angel were going to a rehearsal early the next morning and that Jez was going to have a sleep–in. So, he’d spent the evening topping up Jez’s wine glass non-stop … not to be hospitable, but to ensure that if jet lag didn’t do its stuff and keep her safely in the land of Nod, then the booze certainly would.
He also knew that Kathy had a key to the apartment because she’d told him previously she came in and watered the plants when Monika and Angel were away. So, all she had to do was slip into the apartment when they left for St Ann’s and pinch the manuscript. It was just Jez’s bad luck that she’d woken up and caught Kathy trying to make off with her play. The two of them had tussled and Jez, in her befuddled state, had fallen and fatally cracked her head on the steel and glass coffee table.
Kathy had called St James and he’d told her to just go to work as normal while he figured out what to do next. She had, but as she left the building she realised she’d forgotten to close the door to Monika’s apartment and that’s why she wouldn’t let me in. She knew that if she did I’d have found Jez’s still warm body.
Of course, she told St James that she’d met me and that gave him the idea to use me in an attempt to frame Monika and extort money from Mulwhinney.
Still, it’s an ill wind as they say because the notoriety of the case gave Monika’s career the boost St James claimed she’d been looking for all her life. In fact, it blasted off into the stratosphere and she seemed happy enough to let Mulwhinney claim ownership of the manuscript that had set the whole train of events in motion. That got right up my nose, but it made good commercial sense for both of them because, in return, Monika directed the play on Broadway and Mulwhinney made a fortune out of it … and the spin off books and TV movie.
Carmelita didn’t exactly suffer either. She was a sensation in The Girl From Tiger Bay both on the London stage and on Broadway. Then she split from Mulwhinney and, the last I heard, she was all set to be the new Catherine Zeta Jones in Hollywood.
