IF SOMEONE KILLS ME

IF SOMEONE KILLS ME

 Joan Ramirez

“Over here, officers,” Lexa called out to two officers.

While the CSI team bagged Maxie Sherman’s remains, the officers questioned Lexa.

“Have you ever seen this man?”

“Yes, he’s the former owner of The Daily Mill.”

“Ms. Thomas, why are you here this time of night?”

“To help clear the name of my colleague, Russ Tabin. He’s been wrongly accused of murdering this man. Russ had nothing to do with it. If anyone should be questioned, it’s my boss, Joe Manna. I can’t say anymore without counsel.”

The officer led Lexa back to the squad car.  “We’ll need you to fill out papers at the precinct.”

Her head pounded from working twenty four seven the last two months on the Russian tax fraud scheme Manna gave to her once Russ was arrested. She probably should’ve gone to the dump right after Russ told her he’d been arrested, but good judgment told her that daylight would offer more light to search for Maxie’s remains.

The officer parked the squad car in front of the precinct and waited while Lexa did her business. She handed them her business card. “If you need me for anything else, please call that number.”

The officer and his partner tipped their hats. “Will do.”

Lexa returned to her Riverdale apartment. She slipped into the velour bathrobe he’d left on the back of the bathroom door. She could still smell his cologne on the collar.

           She cried herself to sleep.

           The next morning, Lexa called in a sick day to collect herself and think of more ways to clear Russ’s name. A few minutes into her contemplations, the intercom buzzed her.

           “Ms. Thomas, there’s a letter down here for you,” her Concierge said.

           Lexa was in no mood for bad news. “I’ll get it later, Gustavo.”

           Her intercom buzzed once more.

           “Ms. Thomas, the messenger said the letter is from a Mr. Sherman.”

           She could hear him whisper. “Isn’t that the man whose body parts they found in the dump?”

           Lexa pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. “I’ll be right down.”       

     ***

           Lexa shoved the letter into her pocket and hopped into an elevator.

           Inside of her apartment, she slit open the envelope. A small key fell out. She read.

           Dear Lexa:

           You’ve been like a daughter to me. From the first day that I walked into the newsroom as the new owner, you were professional and cordial. Since I didn’t know much about newspaper publishing in this country, you were an encyclopedia of information. I’ve come to learn more about you as a person as well. You never judged me as I got up to speed on the newspaper business. In the unlikely event someone kills me (I have made many enemies through the years), I want you to have the money I left in my safe deposit box. Look after yourself and stick with Russ. He’s a good man and a dam good reporter, like you.

Fondly,

Maxie Sherman

P.S. One more thing. Please call Shomrim Funeral Home in Riverdale. I don’t trust my ditz of a wife to get things done the right way.

Lexa cried bittersweet tears and did as Maxie asked.

The next day with the widow, Joe Manna, the editor-in-chief, and a few close friends in attendance, Lexa sat next to her boss while a rabbi conducted a brief service.

She chafed at Sheila’s phony display of grief. If she didn’t know better, Lexa could’ve sworn the woman had an onion in her hanky.

When the mourners gathered by the graveside at the cemetery, Sheila barred Lexa’s entrance.

Manna pushed the widow aside. “Listen here, you foolish woman. Lexa has been more of a daughter to poor Maxie than you’ve been a wife. Step aside before I knock you down.”

Joe handed her a shovel to join the group of mourners in placing soil on the deceased’s grave.

Lexa withdrew into the past. When she’d taken Maxie to the airport a few days ago, she never thought she’d be attending his funeral. Life was so fleeting.

Lexa stared at Maxie’s grave. People’s happiness had brought her joy. Now, she was shrouded in sorrow.

She felt a firm hand grip her shoulder.

“The police told me what happened,” Joe Manna said. “I know how much you cared about Maxie. I’m here for you, sweetheart.”

Joe, Russ, and Lexa had known each other a long time. Joe and Russ were sweet on her. When a torn ligament in his right leg ended Russ’s football career, he became a reporter.  Russ was a giving guy. An orphan and Afghanistan veteran, he performed random acts of kindness. Manna was for me, myself, and I. After college graduation Lexa dated Russ. Things were great in the beginning. Then late night meetings at work took him away from her.

Joe reached for her hand. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this. Russ was my friend too. Bad break that he was arrested.”

Tears rolled down Lexa’s cheek. “My life has turned into a nightmare.”

A few hours later, the mourners gathered to pay a condolence call to his widow.

As dusk descended, the mourners started to leave. Lexa was drained. She leaned on Joe’s arm for support.

“I’ll drive. You can come back for your car tomorrow.”

“Thank you for your help.”

***

 A few months later, Joe Manna stopped by the house that Sheila was now forced to sell.  The widow gathered her belongings and left town.

Joe came through the door with a bouquet of daffodils. He always was a cheapskate.

“Bad luck, poor girl.”

Lexa cringed when Joe rubbed up against her on a wicker chair.

 He grasped her shoulders. “I’ve always admired the way you pitched in when there was a deadline at the paper.”

She hopped off the seat. “I help everyone.”

He persisted, grabbing hold of her waist and whispering in her ear. “I know what it means to be in need. All of those healthy hormones going unsatisfied. Let me be here for you.”

Lexa froze. She couldn’t look at him. At forty five, he had too much fat around the middle, only a fringe of hair around his head, and showed the vestiges of acne but a bank account to stuff a bear’s belly.

She thought of all the times Russ had come home disgusted at Manna’s behavior with female colleagues but pinning sexual harassment on Mana was like nailing Jell-O to the wall. It was time this sexual predator was locked up.

Russ had told her of Manna’s predilection for preying on young girls.

Lexa hurried into the house, locked the screen door, and called out. “Thanks for the visit, but I have tons to pack up before the new owners move in. “

“You’ll change your mind. They all do.”

“When hell freezes over,” Lexa shot back.

She texted Alberta Channing, the former staff investigator for the paper.

 Alberta answered immediately. “Meet me tomorrow at six thirty at Jen’s Diner. We’ll talk.”

                                              ***

Lexa arrived first and took a seat in the back of the neighborhood eatery.

 A few minutes later, Alberta arrived. “I’m glad you called. I miss Russ and Maxie.”

The waitress came over to take their orders.

Lexa gave Alberta a blank stare. “I have a stack of folders filled with work. I can’t seem to concentrate.”

Alberta grasped her fingertips. “Don’t give up on clearing Russ’s name.”

Twenty minutes later, the waitress returned with their food.

Lexa took a sip of soda. “I feel nauseous.”

“It’s nerves. You have to stay calm and focus on your future with Russ.”

Lexa leaned into Alberta. “I think Manna is involved in Maxie’s murder. If there’s a cover up going on, you’re the best person to get to the bottom of it.”

Lexa showed her Maxie’s letter.

“Have you been to the bank yet?”

“I was planning to go tomorrow. Alberta, you’re the only one I can trust. Please don’t repeat a word of this conversation.”

 “Relax. Your secret is safe with me. I’m here to help. You better hurry to the bank tomorrow morning. Sheila is a vulture. She’ll be back with a team of lawyers to claim Maxie’s fortune.  He was a good boss, but the guy was involved in more schemes than anyone else I’ve investigated in my years on the paper.”

***

Alberta Channing slid a metal detector over a pile of rubbish. About to call it a night at an abandoned railroad right of way in the Bronx, her magnet zoomed in on something shiny.

One more assignment and she could afford to finish her thesis for her Master’s degree in Criminology from John Jay College. Then, she could apply for a real job instead of having to ambulance chase as a freelance investigator.

The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour. As she struck a match and moved closer to the sparkling object, a muscle popped in the small of her back. She lost her balance and landed on top of a pile of soiled newspapers. 

Wiping a mix of sour orange juice and moldy applesauce drippings off her clothes f, she reached for the object she’d seen a few minutes earlier. Repulsed at the sight of a human hand with lacquered fingernails, the stench of rotting flesh overwhelmed her. She reached for an emergency flashlight in her jacket.

The sight of the victim’s other severed arm turned her stomach.  She emptied the contents of her stomach on what was left of the torso.

 Alberta aimed the flashlight on the victim’s face. It was Sheila Sherman. She noticed a bloody cavity in the victim’s chest. Her bravado turned to fright. Alberta stumbled over punctured beer cans and decayed food to find her way out of the waste.

The sun was coming up as Alberta arrived at the bottom of a hill. After navigating around gunk, she sighted a Manhattan Express bus stop. Clouds hovered overhead as she waited on line with day laborers for the trip back to Manhattan. Concealing her cell phone with her tote bag, she called 911 and reported the dead body.

When the bus arrived a half hour later, Alberta slumped onto a seat. She tired of dragging herself to garbage heaps when darkness descended. With only a few paying clients, the Master’s degree was her only hope of getting a better job.

 Embarrassed by the disgusting state of her appearance, Alberta placed her jacket in her lap to cover the bloodstains on her jeans and took a train to lower Manhattan.

She felt a tap on her shoulder. “Miss, you’re stinking up the bus,” a man whispered in her ear. “Be a good gal and take a seat in the back.”

A fine mist dampened the top of Alberta’s head as she walked from the subway stop to her apartment on the Lower East Side on the border of Chinatown.

                                               ***

When Alberta’s clock radio went off at nine the next morning, she felt a spasm in the small of her back.  As forty neared, things weren’t going according to plans she’d made at the age of twenty. Despite her mother’s pleas to the landlord for more heat, the apartment was cold as the relic of a refrigerator in their cramped kitchen.

 “Alberta, are you coming in to eat?” Gladys called from the kitchen. On her way back to the smaller of two bedrooms, the foyer ceiling light blew. In the kitchen, Gladys assumed her usual seat near a plant-lined window. “It took all the strength I have to cook that oatmeal. Growing girls need their protein.”

Alberta stared at the feisty woman on the opposite side of the breakfast table. “I’m up for a promotion, and you know how I get when I eat hot foods in the morning.”

Gladys buttered a piece of whole-wheat toast. “I don’t see why you can’t get a husband. May he rest in peace, your brother Eddie wouldn’t settle for ambulance chasing to get clients.”

Alberta headed toward the front door. “Don’t wait up for me. Tonight’s my late night.”

Gladys followed her out of the kitchen and shook a head of white curls. “You have so many secrets.”

Alberta locked the door and pressed the elevator button in the building where she’d lived all her life.

“Good morning, Alberta. How’s your mother today?” Mrs. Samuels, a neighbor, asked.

 Alberta winked at the spry eighty-five-year-old. “Surviving like the rest of us. Have a good day.”

She hurried to catch a bus to a rented office a few blocks away and wondered whether she’d done the right thing in alerting the police about the body parts. Then, again, there weren’t many things outside of work that Alberta did do. She was always alone. She’d tried to meet someone, but with a plain face and pudgy body, male callers were nonexistent. Her jaw line jutted out in all directions. Luscious lashes topped off Eddie’s luminous blue orbs. Alberta’s were muddy green.

She stopped into a deli for breakfast.

 “Hey, hey, hey, Alberta,” Chico said. “I caught you checking out the guys at the Copa. You naughty girl.”

Alberta ignored the joke because the kid came in handy when she needed something late at night. Frustration built up. She’d contact the Medical Examiner’s office. “Crespi here.”    

It was now or never. “I did an internship with you years ago.  I saw your ad on my school’s career center bulletin board. Is the assistant job still available?”

Crespi was the most exclusive plastic surgeon in town. How he’d come to work as a medical examiner was unimportant. Alberta wasn’t keen on the South Bronx, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

 “It’s still open. Send a resume to my secretary. I’ll review it and call you in a few days.”

 “Will do, sir.”

With the money she’d managed to sock away, Alberta could coast for a few more months.  She turned on a black and white television. A reporter stood near the spot Alberta investigated the previous evening. “This is Anna Rosa reporting from the Bronx. Police are gathering pieces of the dismembered body of Sheila Sherman, widow of the former owner of The Daily Mill.”  

She’s got style and guts. She’d seen something gruesome, but she didn’t puke on anything like Alberta had. 

The reporter returned. “Pending an investigation, no further information is available. This is Anna Rosa, live from the Bronx.”

For the rest of the day and into the next morning, Alberta racked her brain thinking of who’d want to kill Maxie. The man had enemies, but he never talked of death threats. Manna had been pushing Russ too hard for exposes. During their last conversation, Russ said something about needing to tie up loose ends on a case that could implicate Manna. Her one regret was not working as a full-time investigator with Russ. He was the best.

At midnight, she snuck into The Daily Mill. She’d memorized the code for the front door. She took out her camera and pried open Manna’s private files. The rumors about his late night jaunts photographing naked women in open window apartments were true. Disgusting. She made copies and hurried home.

                                               ***

Her cell phone went off. It was Lexa.

“I hate to talk on the phone, but I went to where I said this morning. It’s a sizeable sum. I’m contacting my lawyer to ensure everything is legit.”

“You go, girl. Meet me at the usual place tomorrow morning for an update.”

Lexa yawned. “Will do.”                                          

***

Alberta showed Lexa the photos from Manna’s perverted hobby.

Lexa shook her head. “The District Attorney isn’t going to convict without something in writing or on tape.”

Alberta showed her a copy of Manna’s agenda and pointed to Friday night. “Look at the scumbag’s schedule. He’s lined up female targets for the next six months.”

“Christ, we have to lock him up.”

Alberta’s hands trembled. “Agreed.”

“Let’s do this, then.”

Alberta spent the next forty eight hours gathering more evidence. She headed for the sleazy hotel in lower Manhattan where Manna took some of his girls. While he made his moves, Alberta opened a window and positioned a tape recorder.

When the forced tryst was over, Alberta reached in for the tape and stepped down from a crate.

Tired, in the darkened space, she tripped over something sharp. Righting herself, she hurried to the parking lot.

She called the police and started her car.

“Not so fast, “Manna said from the back seat.

He pressed a gun against her neck.

“It’s time for you to go.”

Albert froze.

What now?

The tape. She’d turn it on and get Manna’s confession.

“Why did you kill those young girls and, I’m assuming, the two reporters who worked for you?”

 “I had to kill those broads to protect my reputation. They’d caught on to me. I had to eliminate Maxie and Sheila for the same reason.  I would’ve gotten around to Russ. He was suspicious of my boxing pieces. So what if I fixed a few fights? Those guys all go soft in the head in the end. They’d never know the difference when their brains turned to mulch.”

“You bastard pervert.”

Manna reached his hand out to hit Alberta. “Now you die.”

 She conked him on the head with her recorder and started the car.

Manna came to.

Alberta delivered the punch she’d learned in her self-defense class.

Sirens wailed.

A few minutes later, the police cuffed Manna. Alberta gave them her statement.

***

 At Manna’s trial, Lexa testified against him.  Russ was released from jail and made Editor-in-Chief of The Daily Mill.

His first front-page headline was an expose on Manna’s involvement in tax fraud schemes.  Alberta’s byline was underneath. She’d been hired as a full-time investigator. A year later, Alberta beamed as Lexa and Russ took their vows. Lexa used half of the money Maxie had left her to establish a fund for homeless children.

THE END