by Polly Iyer
He punched the intercom when the phone buzzed. “What is it, Charles?”
“I think we have a problem, Mr. Cooper. Mr. Martell just left before his allotted time, and he acted very strange. His shirt was hanging out over his pants, and he didn’t say goodbye or even acknowledge me. Someone better check his room.”
Benny’s heart amped into double rhythm. He couldn’t afford another problem. “Is Colin still here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Patch me into his office. And Charles, don’t say a word about this.”
“About what, sir?”
Within a few seconds, Colin answered with his usual, “Harwood.”
“Open visual communications into room twenty.”
“I have it on tape, Ben―”
“Just do it,” Benny said. “Now.”
“Okay, okay.” The line went quiet for a minute. “You’d better get up there. I’m on my way.”
Benny slammed down the phone and dashed out of his apartment. He almost crashed into Colin as they both headed for the stairs, bypassing the slow elevator. Colin used the master key card, and they pushed the door open.
“Jesus,” Colin said.
Melody lay sprawled on the floor, a deep, bloody gash marking the side of her head. Bed linens half covered Cindi’s awkwardly twisted body. Benny yanked Colin inside. “Close the damn door and turn off the camera.”
Colin took the DVD control and punched the buttons he’d programmed to shut off the hidden camera, then went for the bed and Cindi. Benny hovered over Melody.
“I can’t find a pulse, Benny.” Colin examined Cindi. “Christ, looks like she’s seen the inside of a trash compactor. What did he do, sit on her?”
Benny’s stomach churned with acid as if he’d eaten his mother’s lethal matzoh balls. “Melody’s still breathing.” He rushed to Cindi and put his hand on her neck. Then he listened to her chest. “I can’t get a pulse.”
“Should I call an ambulance?” Colin asked.
Benny leapt to his feet. “Are you crazy? The cops will be all over this place.” His thoughts went to Serena Marshall, lying somewhere on a cold slab, and a wave of guilt streaked by like lightning. He and Colin had discussed the ex-employee when the news identified her as the woman in the harbor. “The cops can’t prove Serena was connected to us. If we call this in, they’ll know for sure. Then they’ll think we had something to do with her death. They’ll close us down in less than a heartbeat, put us all under the microscope. We’ll be ruined.”
“But we had nothing to do with Serena’s death,” Colin said defensively. “It had to be a john or a crazy.”
“Whatever happened, she’s dead, and she worked here. How long do you think it’d take for them to find one of the girls if they make the connection? I’ll tell you how long.” He snapped his fingers in Colin’s face. “That long.”
“What are you going to do about Cindi’s body? And about Melody?”
“I can’t have Melody turning up at the hospital.” He pulled out his cell. “Why me, God?” he mumbled. “What did I ever do except to make people rich and happy?”
“Who are you calling?” Colin asked.
“A friend. Call your boyfriend and tell him to get his ass over here.”
Colin’s lover, an over-developed ex-boxer by the name of Reggie Cart, held a variety of jobs, none of which required more than a minimal IQ or conscience. Whenever Benny thought of puny Colin and his muscle-bound partner going at it, he couldn’t help smirking. Not tonight. Tonight, they were the perfect couple, and he needed them both.
“Reggie’s not a bloody undertaker; he’s a thug. Besides, he’s driving a cab tonight.”
Benny ignored the undertaker description. “Perfect. He’ll need a car.”
“What if Cindi has family?”
“She’s from Kansas,” Benny said. “Those people hardly ever leave their farms. Besides, she hasn’t been here long enough for them to know what she was doing. She probably didn’t even have friends.”
“She’s friends with Melody.”
“Melody’s a different―Hello?” He raised a cautionary finger as he talked. “Max, Benny. I need your help.”
* * * * *
Colin ushered Max Kaufman into Benny’s apartment. Melody lay on the same bed where she’d serviced Benny that afternoon, only now she was out cold. First, Max examined the gash on her head, then checked her heart, pulse, and eyes. He opened his black bag and took out his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. While Max examined her, she regained consciousness but acted disoriented. Benny gave her a sip of brandy. He didn’t want to ask her any questions with his friend in the room, and thankfully she kept her mouth shut.
After Max finished checking Melody’s vitals, he cleaned and bandaged her head. He asked her a few questions, which she answered without slurring. She moaned Cindi’s name. “I think she’ll be all right,” Max said. “She might have a mild concussion. I can’t be sure without further tests.”
“I’ll take your first diagnosis,” Benny said. “She’ll be all right.”
“Wake her up a few times tonight to make sure she’s okay. I’m going to write down some of the symptoms you should watch for. If any last an extended period of time, get her to a hospital. And no aspirin. Acetaminophen is fine.” He took out a pad and wrote down a few things.
“Anything else I should know?” Max asked, pulling Benny aside. “You look like you’ve been to hell and back.”
“Better you shouldn’t know.”
Max’s dark, piercing eyes, enlarged by magnifying glasses, peered from under a border of bushy brows and settled on Benny. “That bad, huh?”
Benny nodded, debating whether he should tell Max what happened. Dr. Max Kaufman lost his medical license years before after being convicted of second-degree murder for the assisted suicide of a terminally ill patient. It wasn’t the first time he’d crossed a legal medical line, but it was the only instance the prosecution could prove. He’d shown no remorse, and after his sentence, stated unequivocally that he’d do it again. He served four years in federal prison before his lawyers got him off on appeal. During his time there, two inmates died of suspicious circumstances. Both were terminally ill, but again, no one could prove Max had anything to do with their deaths.
Benny made his acquaintance through the friend of a friend, and whenever there was a problem with one of his girls or a client, Max came to the rescue. Since he couldn’t practice legally, the money he made illegally kept him and his family clothed and fed. Benny was generous in exchange for Max’s services. Very generous.
“You know, Benny, I parked my ethics a long time ago. Your patron with the heart attack should have proved that.”
“Personally, my friend, I think you’re one of the few doctors I’ve known who has any ethics at all. I believe in ending the suffering of people who choose that road. It’s humane.” Benny poured Max a shot of Remy Martin and handed it to him. “I’ve got a dead girl in the other room.” He watched Max to see his reaction. There was none. “A four-hundred-fifty-pound client who’s a heart attack waiting to happen got a hair up his crack and went postal.”
“What did he do?”
“Crushed her, I think. I’ll have to wait for Melody to tell us what happened.” Benny didn’t want to tell Max he had a video of the murder. “Maybe he was high on drugs or something, I don’t know. He hot-footed it out of here before we knew anything was wrong.” Benny poured himself another scotch, clicked glasses with Max, and both downed their drinks in one swallow. Benny hated to guzzle good scotch, but he needed the jolt. “Nothing you can do at this point. She’s definitely dead.”
“Take me there. I’ll examine the body.”
Benny led Max up the stairs. The ex-doctor felt Cindi’s rib cage, then checked her over. “I’m guessing, but I’d say she suffocated. From the frayed costume and the bruising, I’d say she had a good spanking before he finished her off.”
“The guy never did anything like that befo
re. Never got rough. Just a big, fat pussycat who liked pussy.”
“Pussycat, my ass. More like a man-eating tiger,” Max said. “What are you going to do?”
Benny ran a hand through his thick hair. “What can I do? The girl they found in the harbor was one of mine. If they connect Cindi to me, they’ll think I had something to do with her murder.”
“Did you?”
“No,” Benny said. “I didn’t. But who’d believe me? Two girls?” He glanced at Cindi. “Colin’s friend will get rid of the body. Maybe the cops’ll think there’s a serial killer taking out prostitutes. It’s happened before. I can’t jeopardize everything I’ve worked for.”
“And Melody?” Max cocked his head, searching Benny’s face. “Maybe she won’t remember what happened. Concussions can do that.”
“I’m not that lucky. Lately the stars have been out of alignment for me. Shit happens, but this is a farcockteh downpour. Besides, she was friends with this girl. She’ll ask what happened to her. I’ll have to tell her the truth.”
“You’ll pay her off?”
Benny snorted. “Big time.”
“And the killer?”
“That’s the real problem,” Benny said. “He’s the accountant for the Russo Family.”
“Oy vey.”
“You got that right.”
* * * * *
Removing Cindi’s body would have to wait until later. Too many clients lingered in the building. Benny and Colin had a hard enough time moving Melody to Benny’s apartment without anyone seeing. The two men used the interim to watch the video of what happened in room twenty. Max had been right. Rick Martell viciously spanked his imaginary baby sister, then mounted her and bounced as if he were on a trampoline. He pushed Melody out of the way when she tried to stop him. She hit her head on the dresser and fell to the floor. From the film, Cindi looked dead long before he stopped. When he grasped what he’d done, he tried to revive her, but it was too late. Martell turned as white as the fine Italian linens on the bed. He got up, dressed haphazardly, and walked out the door as if he were in a daze.
Colin coughed. “Jesus, I’m no shrink, but it looked like the baby sister act triggered a repressed memory or something. He went ballistic.”
Benny nodded. “Freaked. I’m not sure how to handle it from this point.”
Colin swiveled his chair around. “Reggie will get rid of the body. No one but your doctor friend and the three of us will ever know she died here.”
Benny plunked down in a chair and dropped his head into his hands. “Why is this happening to me?” he whined. “I’m just a guy who loves sex, Colin. I know you don’t understand that, at least with women, but that’s what got me started in this business.” That and Eileen. “It wasn’t the money. I made enough money so I’d never have to work again. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but for me it’s always been about sex. Sex, and lots of it.”
Benny took a bottle of scotch out of the cabinet. He poured three fingers and guzzled it down. “I’m ruined.” He poured another shot, swallowed, and grimaced. “Remind me to keep a good bottle of scotch in here. The way things are going, I should carry a flask in my pocket.” He drank the inferior scotch anyway. “Why did this have to happen?” Colin didn’t answer. Benny wanted the night over with. Maybe he’d wake up tomorrow morning and realize this was a bad dream. He pinched himself. Fuck! Hurt like hell. This was no dream.
Reggie arrived shortly after midnight. Benny was always a little intimidated when he saw Colin’s significant other. No one on the planet would suspect Reggie was gay. The man stood six-five, weighed at least three-twenty, and had skin that defied detection on the darkest nights. His pecs bulged as if they were silicone; his head was shaved smooth as polished onyx. If Benny passed Reggie on a lonely street, he’d shake in his Ferragamos for fear Reggie was a gangbanger, ready to pounce like a panther on unsuspecting prey. He hated to think like that because he was profiling. Not something he liked to think he did. But that’s the way he felt and he couldn’t help it.
Reggie nodded to Benny and followed Colin upstairs to room twenty, carrying a large suitcase as if it were weightless. Benny assumed it would contain the beautiful Cindi when he left.
Benny didn’t ask Reggie what he was going to do or where he was going to do it. He didn’t want to know. He crept into his apartment, bone-dead tired. Melody was zonked out in the bedroom, and he nudged her awake, like Max said to do, in case she had a concussion. He’d wake her a few more times during the night and speak to her in the morning when they both felt more like talking. He thought about taking one of the pills himself, but opted instead for one last well-deserved drink before he turned in. He breathed in the heavy aroma, lost in his thoughts. Why had a plague of death crashed down on him like a giant meteor after years of peace and prosperity? First Serena, now Cindi, and poor Melody was out cold.
More importantly, how could Martell’s history have slipped under the radar? Colin had done a thorough background check on him, taken the necessary precautions. That was one of the things Benny required, along with paying his taxes on time and keeping his properties in tip-top condition so he wouldn’t have trouble with either the building inspectors or the fire marshals. He paid well, mistreated no one. But you couldn’t catch everything. You couldn’t catch a client who suddenly flipped his marbles and went off the deep end. Now an innocent young girl was dead.
Serena was another story. If the cops went full force, eventually someone would turn in Upper Eighties in a trade, if they hadn’t already. Benny wasn’t naïve enough to think that burying ownership of his buildings in a tangle of red tape would keep them off his back. Someone would talk. That was human nature. So why hadn’t the cops busted the place? What the hell were they waiting for?
Benny felt like he was sitting on a live grenade. Aside from one instance of rough sex getting out of hand and a client’s heart attack, tonight was the only time Benny experienced an occupational hazard. Cindi’s brutal murder swirled in his head. Then he pictured big Rick Martell. And Mario Russo. One of the fucking crime bosses of New York. Sweat poured off him. He didn’t think even Eileen could make the jitters disappear. He’d be awake all night thinking about what he was going to say to the accountant.
Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Martell. Your secret is safe with me. Oh, and yes, there are a few more people who know you squashed a sweet, innocent girl like a cockroach. And we have the film to prove it.
Chapter Seven
An Inkling of Disaster
Benny woke early. He’d slept fitfully on a chair in his apartment, visions of bodies in suitcases filling what little sleep he managed. Periodically, he dragged himself out of bed and woke Melody, per doctor’s instruction. Colin slept in one of the apartments, something he rarely did. Since Colin and Reggie were accessories in the murder cover-up, Benny knew they’d keep their mouths shut.
Charles was another story. He lived rent-free in an outside-accessed basement apartment and doubled his doorman duties with maintenance responsibilities. He’d never married, and as far as Benny could tell had no interest in women. Benny didn’t think he was gay, more likely asexual. He solved puzzles at his lobby desk, listened to new wave music, and performed his duties diligently. Charles knew what went on at Upper Eighties―how could he not?―and acted respectful and non-judgmental to the women. Had he put together what happened last night? If he had, Benny hoped and prayed he’d keep his silence.
Afraid to let Melody sleep too long, Benny woke her at eight. She wrapped herself in the terry cloth bathrobe he offered and disappeared into the bathroom.
“How do you feel, sweetheart?” Benny asked when she plopped down on the chair in the breakfast nook. Silly question, he thought to himself. She looked like shit. Eyes red and swollen, complexion albino pale.
“Like I wish I had amnesia.”
“Here. Have a cup of coffee. It’s Sumatran.” He poured the coffee and put it in front of her.
“Thanks for this. I really
need it.” She blew the steam off the surface and sipped cautiously. “How’s Cindi?”
Benny’s stomach hit the floor with a thud. He didn’t know what to say. Of course she didn’t know. She’d been knocked out cold. Benny had chewed the inside of his bottom lip raw during the night. He bit the soft, pulpy mass again and sucked in a pained breath. No point in beating around the bush. Out with it, front and center. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Martell crushed her. She was dead when we found her. There was nothing we could do.”
A mournful wail escaped from under her covered mouth. “Oh, no.” Then she burst into big, wet sobs.
Benny handed her a tissue, and she blew her nose. His heart wrenched at seeing sweet Melody’s reaction.
“She was a sweet kid, you know? In the game to write a silly book. Can you believe it?” She scrubbed the tissue over her tearing eyes, smearing the leftover makeup. After sipping the hot coffee as if it were the answer to her shakes, she leaned back in her chair. “Benny, my parents can’t find out what I’m doing. It’d kill them. Is there any way to keep my part in this quiet?”
After gazing to the heavens, Benny breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time in the last few weeks, the black cloud didn’t hover over his head. Thank you, God. He had planned to bribe Melody to keep quiet about last night, and here she was begging for him to cover it up.
“I’ll do the best I can, honey.”
“Thanks.” She sniffed and drank more coffee. “Martell went berserk. He got this weird glint in his eyes when he saw Cindi’s getup. At first, I didn’t pay any mind, but he strayed way out of character, and I went for the panic buzzer you placed in the rooms. I never got there. He backhanded me, and I smacked into the dresser like I’d been hit with a wrecking ball.”
Good description of Martell. “Did he say anything to indicate what set him off?” He knew the answer, but he didn’t want Melody to know the session had been taped.
