Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 02 - Death in the Dark (10 page)

“Jacquelyn Saperstein is suffering under a false impression of who I was. All the people on that site are deluded. I’m not a god damn hero.”

“Come work for me.”

“No.”

“What if I could pardon you?”

I realized I should hang up the phone. This guy was so deep under my skin I practically felt like a puppet. “Ha,” I said, “you’re going to pardon me for something you did?”

“I could make the charges go away. You could be Joy Humbolt again.”

I hung up the phone. Turned it off. Sat back down on my blanket, refilled my wine glass and spent the rest of the afternoon watching Carlos play a hot game of soccer while Blue napped peacefully by my side.

Carlos was surprised when I said I wanted to spend the night at his place. He didn’t say anything but I saw the jump of his eyebrows and a sweet smile cross his lips. I felt a stab of guilt. He thought I wanted to get closer but I was just using him to avoid my place.

I woke up around 3 a.m. in Carlos’s darkened bedroom. I lay there and watched shadows cast by the curtains move across the ceiling as car’s headlights passed by. The shadows looked like opaque, transforming African masks.

When I stood, Blue raised his head and then followed me out into the living room. Wrapping myself in a blanket I found on the couch, I wandered into the kitchen. The fridge was full but I didn’t want anything.

My phone was in my bag, still turned off. A deep, sharp pain in my chest stopped me from calling Mulberry. If it was true that he had conspired with Bobby Maxim, I didn’t know what to say. And I didn’t want to lose him.

Mulberry helped me when no one else would. I never could have made it out of New York alive, let alone a millionaire, without him. If he hadn’t come to Mexico and pulled me out of my self-pitying spiral of alcoholism, I’d probably still be there. He gave me the name Sydney Rye. More than a name, he gave me a purpose. I’d always thought his help came from friendship. But now it all had a shadow over it. What did Mulberry really want from me?

Blue hopped up on the couch and rested his massive head between his paws. He watched me pace around the living room, eventually closing his eyes and snoring softly. Over the last three years, Blue had changed as much as me. When I first adopted Blue he was underweight, a chronic chewer with separation anxiety, and a penchant for trying to attack strangers on the street.

Now he was thick and strong; besides the slight limp where Kurt Jessup’s bullet ripped through him, Blue was the picture of canine health. His coat would have looked at home on a wolf; it was glossy and shone in the gentle light from the street lamps that filtered through the living room windows. Blue was gigantic, the height of a Great Dane, the long snout of a Collie, and he took up most of the couch.

The bullet that shattered Blue’s shoulder blade left a scar, thick and pink, hidden under his fur. My scars from that fight included a streak of ruined skin under my left eye that tingles with damaged nerves. Above that same eye the ghost of another wound lingers. Not as deep, it is a gentle reminder that runs above my eyebrow fading into my hairline, of what madmen will do if you don’t stop them.

I grew bangs to cover the damage I could and cut the rest of my long blonde hair into a neat bob, the ends just grazing my shoulders. Being a fugitive you’d think I would need more of a disguise but there are no pictures of me with the scars and besides, I know how to disappear. Most people don’t want to see a killer so they don’t see me.

Carlos’s computer sat in the corner of the living room on a white desk whispering to me. I pulled up the chair and woke it up.

I stared at the blank Google page for a moment and then typed in “Joy Humbolt.” Jackie’s site was the first to pop up. Amazing to think that my history was being told by a woman I barely knew. True, I’d proven her innocence and chased away the specter of incarceration. She said I’d saved her life. What had she done for me? Turned me into a goddamn folk hero.

I clicked on the link and held my breath while the page loaded. I didn’t know what to expect but I was shocked to see a scanned copy of the letter I wrote Jackie three years ago on the landing page. It was written on hotel stationery from the Excelsior where I’d exiled myself. It was written in Joy’s neat, angry, black letters. I remembered writing that letter in sudden vivid detail. I thought I knew everything that had happened and everything that would happen. I had a plan; God must have been laughing his ass off.

In the letter I explained that Jackie’s husband, Joseph Saperstein, was murdered by Kurt Jessup. I explained the reason Kurt killed Joseph was that Joseph planned on stealing a lot of money from Kurt and running off with his mistress. I didn’t mention that I was going to steal that money. The letter was full of bold sentences full of fact: “Mayor Kurt Jessup shot your husband in the face without remorse. He thought setting you up for it was appropriate because you should have kept your husband at home.”

I wondered at Jackie’s reaction to this letter. To make it public, what was she thinking?

The letter went on to describe how Kurt killed my brother, James Humbolt. I paused at the sentence that read “I clearly misunderstood my place in this game and Kurt Jessup took advantage of my ignorance. But don’t worry, Mrs. Saperstein, I’m going to kill him.”

When I wrote that letter it was like a promise to myself that I would do something right in all the wrong. I knew I couldn’t bring my brother back, but I thought I could do something meaningful. I was not afraid to run from my life and leave everything behind. However, you cannot, as most of us know, leave everything behind.

But none of that mattered. Kurt Jessup was dead when I found him. And Joy Humbolt was guilty of a crime she didn’t commit. But I was the only who knew that. Well, me and Bobby Maxim.

I pounded on the desk next to the keyboard in frustration. Blue raised his head and looked over at me, his ears alert. I shook my head at him but he slipped off the couch and came to my side just the same. I rested a hand on his head and tried to calm down.

It felt like a lifetime ago that I’d worked as a dog walker on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. It was Bobby’s dog, Tobby, an out of control, spoiled Golden Retriever who ran down the alley where I found Joseph Saperstein’s body. That discovery changed my life, embroiling me in the complicated and unsavory world of Manhattan’s elite.

It was at a private club with low lighting and lush furnishings that I first met Bobby Maxim. I was on the arm of his friend but that didn’t stop Mr. Maxim from hitting on me. He wanted to do some very nasty things to me. Judging from our conversation, he still did. But I bet there wasn’t a blonde on the planet Bobby didn’t want to spank or be spanked by. His sexual proclivities aside, the fact remained that he was not to be trifled with.

Even if Maxim didn’t know Kurt Jessup was a killer he must have suspected; how could you be the head of one of the biggest P.I. agencies in the world and lack the ability to sniff out a murderer? But he still made him Mayor of New York. Nobody becomes the king puppet of that city without Bobby’s say so.

As I looked at the letter, I marveled at what a fool I’d been and how clear that was to me now, only three years later. The question was how would I look back on this moment, was I sabotaging my life again? Should I accept the pardon? End this game?

With a sigh, I read the last paragraph of Joy’s letter. “I know that Joseph and you were not at your best but at one time you did love one another. Even in the face of betrayal and loss of identity we cannot give up. Don’t let this stop you. Don’t let anything stop you. There can never be enough.”

The last paragraph’s script deteriorated until the last sentence was barely legible. It looked like the letter of an insane person. I laughed out loud. It looked like a split personality.

I scrolled past the letter to people’s comments.

Where ever you are Joy, I’m thinking of you and I hope you have found peace.

I can’t believe you are all praising this woman for murdering someone! Does no one care about the rule of law!

Joy Humbolt suffered a severe trauma and clearly needs to be treated in a secure psychiatric facilit
y
.

And then half of them were pleas for help.

I don’t know what to do. I wish I had Joy’s strength. If you’re out there please help me.

My daughter has been missing for two years. Please help me find he
r
.

The comments went on and on. I hovered over the tab for the forum but turned away, sickened by all of their opinions and needs. Who were they to judge me? Ask me for help? Why had Jackie exposed me in this way? And then it occurred to me that they were talking about Joy Humbolt, who really didn’t exist at all anymore. I was Sydney Rye, my new identity suited me just fine. I worked for a small detective agency and lived in Central London. Joy Humbolt was gone.

But all these people didn’t know that. They thought Joy was still out there just waiting for the right invitation to come back. I didn’t want to pardon Joy Humbolt, I realized. I wanted to kill her. That would end the manhunt, end the website, and free me once and for all.

I turned my phone back on and waited for it to come back to life. Mulberry was at the top of my list of favorites and I touched his name. The phone began to ring.

“Sydney? Is something wrong?” A beat of silence passed while I wondered what to say
.
You bastard, you sold me out to Bobby Maxim. I thought you were my friend. You’re the only one I have left, how could you do thi
s
? “Syd?”

“I got a phone call from Bobby Maxim this afternoon.”

Mulberry sighed. “I know.”

“You know?” Of course he knew, I realized. They were in this together from the beginning right up until this moment. “I don’t even have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice, Sydney.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I heard Carlos move in the bedroom and retreated toward the kitchen lowering my voice. “I trusted you.”

“I know, look, I thought I was doing what was best at the time. There was no other way.”

“No other way? How about just let it happen the way I wanted.”

“You did get what you wanted. He’s dead. You killed him. Without Bobby I never could have gotten you where you are now.”

“What?”

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

Mulberry didn’t know that Jessup was dead when I got there which meant that… “Do you work for Bobby Maxim? Is our agency affiliated with Fortress Global Investigations?”

“He didn’t tell you.”

“I guess he figured that was your job.”

“Sydney, I’m sorry. I wish there was some way to say I was sorry enough for you to understand.” I didn’t answer him. There was no point. “I love you, Sydney, you’re my best friend.”

“Friends don’t do this Mulberry.” I felt tears burning in my eyes. “Friends do not-” I cut myself off knowing I couldn’t make it through without crying. Deep breath in and then out.

“Sydney-”

I hung up. Holding the phone in my hand I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on what I needed to do. There was a text from Bobby Maxim with a phone number telling me to call when I was ready. I touched the number.

“Took longer than I thought,” Bobby said.

“I don’t want a pardon,” I told him. “I want Joy dead.”

“Dead?” I could hear a smile on his lips. “But why?”

“You don’t need to know anything more than what I want. If I get this girl back for you, I want Joy’s body to end up somewhere. I want the manhunt to end and I want those idiots on that site to know that she’s not coming. Joy Humbolt is dead.”

“Long live Sydney Rye.”

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About the Author:

Emily Kimelman lives on a boat in the Hudson Valley with her husband, Sean and their dog Kinsey (named after Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone). Kimelman has a passion for traveling and spends as much time as possible in the pursuit of adventure.

Her “Sydney Rye Series” are dark murder mysterys, but no animals die horrible deaths and the bad guy always gets his due. The first book,
UNLEASHED
, was released in October, 2011. DEATH IN THE DARK, a novella length Sydney Rye mystery came out in December 2012. The third installment in the series
INSATIABLE
, was released January, 2013

If you’ve read Emily’s work and want to get in contact with her she can be reached via email
[email protected]
, on Twitter
@ejkimelman
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, and at her website
www.emilykimelman.com
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A Note from the Author:

Thank you for reading my novella, DEATH IN THE DARK. I’m excited you made it through my bio right here to my “note”. I’m hoping that means that you enjoyed my story. If so, would you please write a review for DEATH IN THE DARK? You have no idea how much it warms my heart to get a new review. And this isn’t just for me, mind you. Think of all the people out there who need reviews to make decisions. The children who need to be told this book is not for them. And the people about to go away on vacation who could have so much fun reading this on the plane. Consider it an act of kindness to me, to the children, to humanity.