Begging for Trouble (37 page)

“Hell. He could be home right now, getting rid of evidence.” Vince stood and headed for the door. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll get the officers and forensics on board, and rattle the DA’s cage.” He pointed a finger at Sam. “You sit there and chill. Get the search straight in your head.”

Sam didn’t know what they’d turn up, but time was running out. He’d jumped the gun grilling Lowenstein on Saturday night, but he’d been following protocol. Now that he had the court records and the bank info, it all fit like a custom-made glove. Lowenstein had presided over Carmella’s last trial for prostitution, a trial the DA was positive would send the cross-dresser to jail. Instead, the guy had walked.

Three months later, the judge made his first withdrawal, and after that, like clockwork, he’d withdrawn five big ones from two different banks every month. The next day the same amount, give or take, had been added to Art Pearson’s account.

The Pearson/Sunday stabbing had been a crime of passion, not premeditation—of that he was certain. If Chesney, a cast member, or one of the workers inside the club hadn’t done the deed, the killer had to have come from outside. Since it was the freakin’ middle of February, the perp was probably wearing a coat, maybe gloves. With all the blood at the scene, something he wore had to have a trace of the spatter.

So that was where he would start the search: closets first, in every room, including the bath. They’d collect all the judge’s shoes, coats, scarves, anything that might have a trace of bodily fluid.

Sam drummed his fingers on the desk. He had thought the apartment would be empty, but that was a pipe dream. Since the judge wasn’t in chambers, he could be home, so they’d concentrate on the apartment. If Lowenstein was there, they’d bring him in.

Vince stuck his head in the doorway. “Okay, pal, rise and shine.” He waved a few sheets of paper in his hand. “We’ve got what we need.”

 

Ellie, Rudy, and Bitsy arrived at the Cranston and walked across the polished black marble floor. The interior, with freshly hung burgundy wallpaper, appeared more spacious than she remembered, probably because the walls were devoid of artwork while the remodeling was going on. She imagined that once the decorating was finished, this building would look as upscale as the other complexes on the Upper East Side.

When they stood at the desk, the new doorman, an older fellow with a shock of white hair that resembled a cotton swab, looked up from the papers he’d been sorting and stared through shifty gray eyes. “Name?” he asked, tapping a pen on his clipboard.

“Ellie Engleman,” she said, smiling. She held out her hand, hoping to get off on the right foot with—she read the name on his badge—Sherman Farkas. “I’m one of the building’s dog walkers. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Farkas.”

Ignoring the gesture, Sherman shot her a look of impatience. “You’re down for Three-C, Keene; Four-A, Fielding; Nine-C, Dorfman; Ten-B, Heinz; and Eighteen-C, Gordon. I’ve been told by the Lowensteins in Twelve-G that your services are no longer needed. Please turn in your key.”

“Say what?”
yipped Rudy.

Dropping her hand, Ellie stood there in shock. “I’m sorry. There must be some mistake. Neither of the Lowensteins called me to say I was off the job.”

“Yeah, well, them’s the breaks. Oh, and they asked me to give you this.” He passed her a business-sized white envelope. “Key, please.”

She fished the ring from her tote, found the correct key, and unclipped it. “Are you certain about this?” she asked him, still clutching the metal.

“Just doing my job, lady.” He tapped his pencil on the desk and held out his other hand. “Key, please.”

Well, crap. There was no use making a scene. The guy was following orders, though he didn’t have to look so happy while he did it. “Okay, here you are.” She dropped the key in his open palm. “This is a surprise, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to see what’s in this envelope before I go up.”

“Whatever.” Farkas returned to the clipboard.

“Read it out loud,”
Rudy demanded.
“I got a right to know why we’re bein’ let go, too.”

Ellie dropped to one knee and slit open the envelope. “Okay, here goes,” she whispered. ‛Ms. Engleman. In regard to Sampson, please accept this check for one month’s service as termination of our verbal dog-walking agreement. No further contact is necessary. Judge and Mrs. Norman Lowenstein.’”

“Sort of odd, don’t you think? Especially since Mariette and I had a nice conversation about Sampson at the party. Do you think the judge’s discussion with Sam had something to do with this?”

“I’m sorry, Ellie,”
Bitsy added.
“Rob and I would never do that to you.”

Standing, she led them to the elevator, pushed the call button, and stepped inside before she spoke. “Okay, let’s think about this.” She leaned against the wall. “Something is definitely up with the judge and Mariette. The other night she acted ecstatic when she saw me, and today we’re through.”

“Who do they think we are? Chopped liver? It’s like sayin’ so long, and don’t let the door hit you in the butt on the way out.
”

“I can’t believe it’s Mariette’s doing.”

“Maybe so, but I’m still going to try to say good-bye to Sampson properly. That’s the least they should let us do.” She missed the chubby Pug already. “If we’re lucky, the judge is gone and Mariette’s at the gym.”

“Don’t be silly. I have a ring with extra keys, remember? And I’m fairly certain it’s not legal for me to use them once I’ve been dismissed.”

They gathered the pack and Ellie explained that they might have lost Sampson, which brought out a round of boo-hoos and snarky comments. She let the group complain while they walked, and she went over things in her mind.

Bitsy was here, and she’d brought the little dog quite a distance for this experiment. If she knocked on Twelve-G and no one answered, she could open the door, give Sampson a good-bye hug and be done with it. Then she’d have to think of another way to let Bitsy hear Mariette’s and the judge’s voices.

When they arrived back in the Cranston lobby, the charming Mr. Farkas was nowhere to be seen. She breathed a sigh of relief and aimed for the elevator, telling herself this was something she had to do. After dropping off the last dog, she pushed the button for the twelfth floor.

Hands on her hips, she gave Rudy an eye roll.

The elevator stopped and the door opened. “You two ready?” Neither dog answered, so she took off down the hall. Lucky for her, the apartment was at the far end, away from the others. If there was a scene, it might go unnoticed.

But when she reached the door, she heard a rumbling of voices. Either the television was on at full blast, or Norm and Mariette were having one doozy of an argument. Rudy stuck his nose on the doorjamb and began snurffling. Raising her hand, she knocked and waited.

No answer.

“Are you getting anything?” she whispered, not sure what to do. When she knocked again, there was a scratching from the other side of the door.

Ellie cringed. Poor Sampson. When moms and dads argued, some dogs hid under the bed or cowered in a corner. A family altercation was as traumatic for a canine as it was for the humans doing the fighting.

A loud whimper sounded from behind the door, and she made up her mind. Using her spare key, she opened the door, and dropped to her knees to face a quivering Sampson.

“Oh, you poor baby.” She ran a hand over his head. Angry voices carried from the rear of the apartment. “What can I do for you?”

Standing, Ellie realized she’d gotten in trouble the second she unlocked the door. Could one more tiny transgression make it any worse? “Why don’t you find your leash? We can take you for a walk. Maybe by the time we get back they’ll be finished.”

It was then she spotted Bitsy, quaking in the doorway. This was ridiculous. She had three upset animals on her hands. She had to do something, even if it was something beyond the boundaries of the law.

Raising a finger to her lips, she signaled for silence, then tiptoed down the hall and made a left into the kitchen. Relief washed through her when she spotted the leash coiled on the table. Picking it up, she turned.

“What are you doing here?” Norm Lowenstein demanded, his angry brown eyes staring her down.

“Uh, Judge, sorry. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“And why would you knock, Ms. Engleman? Didn’t the doorman tell you your services were no longer needed?”

Ellie straightened her shoulders so she was eye to eye with the judge. “He did, but I wanted to say good-bye to Sampson.”

“Say good-bye? To a dog?” He sneered. “I’d heard rumors about your animal antics, but didn’t believe them, even after you and your hound caused that commotion at the party. You’re probably the one who put your boyfriend up to sticking his nose into my business, too. Talk about having a couple of screws loose.”

Mariette hobbled into the doorway. “Who are you talking—” She blinked, openmouthed. “Ellie. What are you doing here?”

“It doesn’t matter, Mariette. I’m escorting her out.” Norm took a step toward Ellie, and the three dogs scattered like leaves in the wind.

Mariette shrieked as they flew past her and up the hall.

“Get those mutts,” the judge shouted, following his wife and the canine trio.

Ellie tried not to laugh, but good Lord, the situation was like something out of an old Keystone Kops movie. She took off after the humans, who were after the dogs, and they were heading who knew where. Sampson had led the charge, then Rudy, with Bitsy scampering behind. She could only imagine the two adults trying to corner three rambunctious canines.

She stopped just short of the room at the end of the hall. Judge Lowenstein was shouting, the dogs were yapping and snarling, and Mariette was dithering as she tried to sort out the mess. The situation quickly turned into a brawl. The pooches snapped and tugged at a black trash bag, while Mariette and her husband tried to wrestle it away.

Ellie figured she had two choices. She could wait until the dogs and the Lowensteins tired each other out, or she could walk inside and take control. Sampson and Rudy ripped the bag open and she decided to do her thing.

“Everybody! Step back and let me get the leashes!”

Ignoring her, the judge stood, swung a leg back, and kicked Sampson into a corner of the room. Mariette screamed and ran to her Pug. Bitsy whimpered and backed up.

And her boy, her hero, latched on to Norm’s leg, snapped his muzzle over the calf, and hung on for dear life.

Norm started hopping on one foot, trying to shake Rudy off, but her little guy wasn’t about to let go.

Steeling her spine, Ellie let out a “Hey! Leave my dog alone!” and pulled at the judge’s arm.

The judge twirled in place and slapped Ellie hard across the face with an open hand. Dizzy, she staggered back and tried to regain her balance.

Norm grabbed a lamp off a table and raised it high, as if to smash it over Rudy’s head.

She gasped and lunged, clutching his arm. The judge swung around, trying to shake Rudy off while attempting to whack her with the lamp.

Ellie grunted as she ducked. Staggering to her feet, she again lunged for the judge.

She heard some kind of noise behind her, but didn’t care what it was. Rudy needed her.

“Police! Everybody freeze!” Sam shouted a second later.

 

Ellie wasn’t sure how much time had passed. She’d positioned herself in a corner of the room so she could watch the proceedings and still stay out of the way. And while she cuddled Bitsy in her arms, Sampson and Rudy sat so close that their bottoms rested on her feet. Things had sorted out quickly, but she was still trying to get a handle on the story.

The Lowensteins were handcuffed and led away before Sam turned to her. “You okay?”

“Yes, but—”

“You mean you don’t get it?”

“Ah, no. I mean yes.” She heaved a sigh. “No, not really.”

Sam grinned, obviously happy he was the one who could fill her in. “Mariette was the killer, not the judge.”

Ellie blinked. “So that’s what their argument was about. They kept screaming and accusing, but none of it made sense. He insisted she was stupid, and she insisted he’d ruined their lives. He meant the stabbing while she meant the affair, right?”

“Probably. She was sick and tired of the blackmail, especially after Pearson tripled the rate when he heard the judge was up for promotion. She could live with a bisexual husband, but she refused to be publically humiliated if news got out about her husband’s affair.”

“And the judge kept paying because he’d be disbarred if the truth was known.”

“Seeing as his and Pearson’s relationship started while he was hearing the case against Carmella, that’s the way I see it. He and the wife were going to take the clothes and the pair of
his
shoes she’d worn to commit the crime to a trash dump somewhere in Jersey today. It sounds as if the dogs smelled the blood and decided to take a look for themselves.”