A Perfect Manhattan Murder

by Tracy Kiely

  “You think Dan had a story on her like he had on Brooke?” he asked.

  “I do,” I said. “I just need to figure out what it was.”

  From Nina’s, we headed over to Jeremy’s. Jeremy lived in a quaint brownstone on Central Park West. It was tucked away on a quiet, tree-lined street. Unlike our visit to Nina, this one was unannounced. Nigel and I suspected that we would have better luck if we caught Jeremy unprepared. We couldn’t have asked for better timing. When Jeremy finally answered the door, it was clear from his rumpled appearance that we’d woken him. It was also clear from his bloodshot eyes and the sour smell of alcohol emanating from him that he’d passed out drunk wearing his clothes from the night before. His navy sports coat was beyond wrinkled. His white dress shirt was missing a few buttons. His jeans were undone at the waist. His heavy-lidded eyes rose in surprise at the sight of us on his doorstep. Of course, that may have had more to do with Skippy than us. “Did I know you were coming?” Jeremy asked, his voice gravely.

  Before Nigel could answer honestly, I lied and said, “Yes. You don’t remember?”

  Jeremy blinked and scratched his head. I watched as he tried to summon a memory that wasn’t there. When it didn’t surface, Jeremy opted to pretend. “Um … no,” he said. “I mean yes. Sure. Sorry. I guess I overslept.”

  I flashed a smile that I hoped resembled sympathetic understanding. “Is now still a good time?” I asked.

  Jeremy scratched his stomach. A puzzled expression crossed his face and he looked down at his hand. He seemed surprised to find that he was still wearing his jacket. He looked back up at us. “Um … yeah,” he said. “Sure. Come on in.”

  Jeremy led us down a hallway that was covered in photos from his career. All together, they formed a visual timeline of his life on the stage. It was rather depressing, really. Jeremy had once been a good-looking man. But as the pictures testified to, his excessive drinking had steadily eroded those looks. As Jeremy waved at us to take a seat in his living room, I wondered why he was still numbing himself with alcohol. He’d openly stated that his abuse was due to the stress of having to lead a closeted life. Yet he’d recently come out to almost universal support. Why was he still hitting the bottle?

  Jeremy sank into a leather club chair while Nigel and I took a seat on the couch. Skippy sat in front of Jeremy and laid his enormous head in his lap. Jeremy stared down at it with a puzzled expression.

  “I think he likes you,” Nigel said.

  “So he’s real then?” Jeremy asked as he tentatively reached out and gently patted Skippy’s head. Skippy’s tail gave a happy thump.

  Nigel laughed. “Yes, he’s real.”

  Jeremy nodded. “Thank God. For a minute I really thought I was losing it.”

  “Well, Skippy has that effect on people sometimes,” I said. Granted, it was usually with people whose blood alcohol content was in the double digits, but I thought it might be best if I kept that to myself.

  Jeremy nodded again, his attention still on Skippy’s head. After a moment, he looked up at us. For a brief second, it looked as if he was surprised to find us sitting in his living room. He gave a slow blink and let out a breath. “So how can I help you?” he asked.

  “I wanted to ask you a few questions about Dan,” I said.

  Jeremy sat back in his seat. Forgetting that Skippy’s head still lay in his lap, he attempted to cross his legs. After a moment, he gave up. “I wasn’t close with the guy so I’m not sure how helpful I can be. What did you want to know?”

  “I wanted to ask again if you ever heard any rumors about Dan and other women?” I asked.

  Jeremy’s eyebrows rose up in surprise. “No, I can’t say that I did,” he said.

  “Really?” I said. “Not one little suggestion that Dan was using his apartment for more than extra work space?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “No. Nothing. Dan had a reputation as being an egotistical jackass, but I never heard anything about him cheating.”

  I nodded. “I see. What about your relationship with him?”

  Jeremy’s brows came together in a practiced expression of confusion. “My relationship?” he said slowly. “I’m not sure I understand. We had no relationship.” He paused and added, “And in any case, he wasn’t my type, if you know what I mean.” He tried and failed for a cocky smile.

  “I meant, why did you visit his work apartment two days before he died?” I asked.

  Jeremy’s hand froze mid-stroke over Skippy’s head. “I … oh that?” he said, attempting a shrug. “Dan wanted to know if I’d be interested in taking the lead in a play he was producing.”

  I frowned. “Really? From the security video it looks as if you were arguing.”

  “You saw the security video?” Jeremy asked, his face going pale.

  “Yes,” I lied.

  Jeremey let out a groan as another voice rang out. “You stupid son-of-a-bitch!” it shouted. “I told you not to go there! Jesus, do you never listen?”

  All three of us turned to the source of the voice. It was Jeremy’s agent Julie. She was standing on the staircase landing, glaring at Jeremy. She was also dripping wet and wearing only a towel.

  Jeremy let out a grown. “Babe,” he croaked. “I didn’t know you were up.”

  “Oh, do you want to play the Let’s Trade Obvious Statements Game?” Julie sneered, “Fine. You’re a complete idiot. Your turn.”

  Jeremy winced. “Julie, please. It’s not what you think.”

  Julie crossed her arms over her chest. Her gaze slid to mine. “Nic, did I just hear you tell Jeremy that he was captured on the security video at Dan’s apartment?”

  I nodded. “You did.”

  Nigel gave a polite wave. “Hi, Julie,” he said affably, as if we weren’t eavesdropping on a fight between two people, one of whom was wearing only a towel. Later Nigel would claim that his nonchalant reaction was the result of good breeding. I said that it was more likely the result of too many youthful escapades. I would be right.

  Julie’s gaze shifted back to Jeremy. “Why did you go there, Jeremy? Why? After I specifically told you not to!”

  Jeremy swallowed and looked to me as if I had the answer. I didn’t. His head swung back to Julie, his eyes panicked. “I … I don’t know. I don’t remember going there,” he said. “ But … I guess … I guess I did,” Jeremy said, his expression becoming even more morose.

  Julie’s faced burned red. “You guess you did?” she yelled. “What in the actual hell, Jeremy?”

  Jeremy lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jules. I really am. I … don’t remember it, I swear.”

  Julie exhaled loudly. “Perfect. Just perfect,” she sneered. “I’m good, Jeremy, but not that good. If you killed that son-of-a-bitch, then you’re on your own. Even I can’t help you out of this one.”

  “Julie, come on,” he pleaded. “You’ll figure something out. You always do. ”

  Julie let out a strangled cry. “That’s it!” she yelled. “I’m done! Do you hear me? Done! Figure your shit out on your own. I’m out!” She turned and ran back up the stairs. Seconds later I heard a door slam.

  forty

  “Shit,” Jeremy muttered as he leapt awkwardly off the couch and ran after her. He missed one of the stairs and for a brief moment I thought he was going to end up flat on his face. However, his balance kicked in and he stayed upright. With determination, if not grace, he launched himself up the remaining stairs. Seconds later we heard pounding on a door. “Julie!” Jeremy’s panicked voice bellowed. “Julie, honey, please open the door.” More pounding ensued. “Dammit, Julie, baby. I’m sorry, okay?” he said, his voice desperate. “I’m really sorry. Please don’t leave me, Julie. I love you! I need you. I screwed up. I get that. Please. I’ll do anything! Just open the damn door!”

  Nigel and I looked at each other at the same time. “Baby?” I said.
/>   “I love you?” Nigel said.

  My eyes flickered to the stairs where the pounding had stopped. I glanced back at Nigel. “We were just repeating what Jeremy said, right?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

  “What?” Nigel said, affecting confusion. “No. I just thought now seemed the perfect time to express my feelings.”

  I laughed. “Okay, baby.”

  There was a sudden commotion as Julie reappeared. Her hair was still wet, but at least she was wearing clothes. She stomped down the stairs with Jeremy in close pursuit. “Julie, please,” he whined. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m out, Jeremy,” she said. “Out. I’ve had it with your drinking. I’ve done everything I could to save your sorry ass, but you just don’t get it. Figure it out yourself.”

  Without a backwards glance, she pushed past him and stormed out into the foyer. Seconds later the front door opened and then slammed shut with a reverberating thud. Jeremy’s shoulders sagged at the sound.

  forty-one

  Jeremy turned and shuffled into the living room. He flopped down into a chair and hung his head in his hands. “I need a drink,” he muttered.

  “If you mean coffee, then I agree,” said Nigel. “If you mean anything stronger, then I’m going to have to tell you that you’re delusional.”

  Jeremy muttered something incoherent and dropped his head even lower. “Coffee, it is,” Nigel said cheerfully. Rising from the couch he snapped his fingers. “Come on, Skippy,” he said as he headed toward the kitchen, “it’s time you learned how to make a decent cup of coffee. You tend to make it too watery.” Skippy raised his large head and regarded Nigel for a moment before rising up and trailing after him.

  Jeremy’s head popped up. He watched Skippy’s retreating form and looked over at me. “Your dog makes coffee?” he asked me.

  “Not very well, apparently,” I answered as I settled back into the couch. “Why don’t you tell me about Dan. Why did you go to see him?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “But that’s just it,” he said. “I don’t know! I don’t remember going there.”

  “That’s not what you told the police.”

  Jeremy stared at me, his eyes panicked. “I know. I didn’t know what to do. I was as surprised as anyone to find out that I’d gone there. I figured that if I told the police that I was blacked out, it would look bad. So I lied.”

  “But you must have some idea why you went there,” I said. “Obviously you had discussed it with Julie.”

  Jeremy’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I suppose I could think of a reason,” he said, his voice low. “But I don’t know …” He looked back up at me. His eyes were red and desperate. “Do you think Julie is going to come back?” he asked me. “I feel like I should talk to her first.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Jeremy gave a small shrug. “Because she’s my wife,” he said, looking down at his hands.

  “Your wife?” I repeated. “Oh, I see.”

  Jeremy blinked back up at me. “You do?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

  “No, not really,” I admitted.

  “Oh,” Jeremy said, looking back to his hands. “She’s … she’s been so supportive of me over these last couple of months. I mean, with my announcement and everything. Not a lot of women would stay.”

  “Well, to be fair, announcing you’re gay is kind of a deal breaker for a marriage,” I said.

  Jeremy let out a sigh. “But that’s just the thing,” he said. “I’m not gay.”

  forty-two

  “Pardon?” I said.

  Jeremy nodded. “You heard me. I’m not gay.”

  I frowned. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “because—all God’s children and all that—but why in the hell would you announce to the world that you’re gay when you’re not?”

  Jeremy closed his eyes and sank back into the chair. “Because I was about to be fired from a play I was in. The director said my drinking was becoming a problem. It would have derailed my career. I would be reduced to working in soap operas. I thought if I could come up with a sympathetic excuse for my behavior, then maybe I could salvage everything. The gay community is always so supportive when someone comes out.”

  It was several seconds before I could find my voice. I stared at Jeremy with horrified disgust. “I’m sorry,” I said after a long minute. “Are you saying that you actually faked being gay so you could excuse your drinking and save your career? Are you serious?”

  Nigel walked in with a tray of coffee just in time to hear this. His eyes widened. “Please tell me that I misheard what I heard,” he said.

  “If you heard that Jeremy here faked being gay so he could abuse the goodwill and support of the gay community,” I said, “then unfortunately, you heard correctly.”

  Nigel turned around with the tray and went back into the kitchen. “Then like hell am I serving you coffee,” he muttered.

  Jeremy shook his head. “I know. It was a horrible thing to do. Julie was furious with me. But I just didn’t know what else to do. I was going to lose everything. I was desperate.”

  “Did someone change the definition of desperate to ‘narcissistic asshole’?” I asked. “Because unless they did, I think you have the wrong word.”

  Nigel came back into the room, sans coffee, and sat down on the couch next to me. He stared at Jeremy as if he were a cockroach crawling across his food. “So did Dan find out about your deplorable little scheme? Is that why you paid him a visit?” Nigel asked.

  Jeremy dug his palms into his eyes. “He found out about it, yes,” he said after a minute. “I don’t know how, but he did. He told me that unless I invested in his play, he’d out me.”

  “Yeah, you don’t get to use that term anymore,” Nigel said.

  “Dan basically tried to blackmail you into financing his play,” I said. “Did you agree?”

  Jeremy didn’t answer right away. “I said I’d pay him,” he said. “I even wrote out a check. But I found the check in my wallet the day after he was killed. I guess I never gave it to him.”

  I leaned forward in my seat. “Jeremy, I can’t begin to tell you how important this is. You need to remember your visit to Dan. What happened?”

  Jeremy jerked his head back, his eyes were wild. “Don’t you think I’ve been trying to do just that? Jesus! I’ve been racking my brain trying to remember something, but it’s no good. It’s all a dark fog. I remember banging on his door. I remember being angry. After that I remember throwing up. Here. By myself.”

  “Julie wasn’t here?” I asked.

  Jeremy blinked. “Julie?” he repeated.

  “Aka, your wife?” I said.

  Jeremy went still as he realized the implication. “No. She was here. I misspoke.”

  I cocked my head and smiled at him. “You said you were here by yourself. Alone. I don’t think you can qualify that as misspeaking.”

  Jeremy’s mouth went tight. “Call it what you want. She was here. With me. All night.”

  “Really?” I asked. “She was here when you were at Dan’s? How can you be sure?”

  Jeremy glared at me “I’m just sure. That’s all.”

  That made one of us, anyway.

  forty-three

  After leaving Jeremy’s, Nigel turned to me. “Are you sure you still want to visit Frank and Danny?” he asked.

  “I don’t see how this day can get any weirder,” I said. “Might as well go for broke.”

  Nigel nodded. “You have a point. Okay. To Little’s Vittles it is. Wow. I really thought I would never say that again.”

  “Well, you know what they say, Mr. Martini: ‘never say never.’”

  Nigel cocked his head. “I thought it was ‘never smoke in bed,’” he said.

  “That’s a good one, too,” I admitted. “Right up there with ‘don’t bet on horses
.’”

  Nigel stopped and stared at me. “Now that’s just crazy talk,” he said.

  Frank Little was a small-time loan shark who, until a few years ago, worked solely for his older brother, Danny. The two also owned Little’s Vittles, a restaurant of doubtful sanitation that served mainly as a means to launder money. After a “business disagreement with a client” that involved a baseball bat and a lengthy hospital stay for said client landed Danny in prison, Frank went into business with a gentlemen by the name of Fat Saul. Like Danny, Fat Saul was also a loan shark, but on a bigger and more sadistic scale. Around the time Danny was paroled, Fat Saul turned up dead, and Frank took over the business. For his part, Danny took over the management of Little’s Vittles, claiming that he was now a legit businessman and provider of quality food. Neither, of course, was true.

  Little’s Vittles was located on a shabby side street on the Lower East Side. From the outside, it looked like your average hole-in-the-wall restaurant. It was only once you stepped inside that Frank and Danny’s unique style and vision became apparent.

  To say that the décor was garish would be an understatement. The seating was a mix of red velvet and black pleather. The walls were covered in large, colorful murals, the inspiration for which appeared to be a combination of Michelangelo’s panels on the Sistine Chapel ceiling and a healthy dose of acid. Danny was depicted as God, but rather than reaching out to give Adam life, he offered a patron a plate of antipasto. The five Sibyls were now depicted as busty waitresses with extremely tight shorts. God’s Creation of the Sun, Moon, and Vegetation now featured Danny directing patrons to their tables.

  Nigel took a moment to gaze at all the artwork before blessing himself. “It never gets old, does it?” he said to me with a wistful smile.

  A blonde in a tight orange dress and matching lipstick sat at the bar filing her nails. Next to her was a chalkboard on which the daily special was noted as The Italian Scallion Sub. Without looking up, she said, “We don’t open for lunch for another hour.”