The Mystery of the Moving Image Page 7

  I panicked, grabbed to steady myself, touched something wet and slick, screamed, and fell off the side of the dumpster. “Ouch… fuck….” I slowly sat up as pain shot from my tailbone all the way up my spine.

  “Seb?” Neil called from behind me. I could hear the pounding of his steps on the cement as he ran to join me.

  I looked up. “This is blood, isn’t it?” I asked, raising my hands for Neil to see.

  I’m pretty sure it was cop instinct that made Neil immediately turn to the dumpster. He stepped toward it, taking a moment to study the ground. There must have been blood I hadn’t seen and walked right through. Neil held his pistol at low ready as he leaned close enough to peer over the top of the dumpster.

  He looked at me again.

  “I was just trying to close the lid so the alley didn’t smell like leftover spicy tuna rolls,” I protested.

  Neil turned toward the alley entrance when a patrol car pulled up to the curb, lights flashing but no siren running. He immediately holstered his weapon and pulled out his badge. “Detective Neil Millett, CSU,” he said as two uniformed officers entered.

  “We got a report of a 10-11—alarm in a commercial building,” one of the officers replied.

  Neil pocketed his ID. “I’ve done a walk-through of the location and have found no individuals on the property. The lock on the alley door appears to have been cut, and the back door was already open when I arrived.” He took a step toward the dumpster. “We do, however, have a DOA.”

  The first officer joined Neil and peered over the edge. “Christ….” He turned to his partner and instructed her to do another check of the Emporium, then got on his radio to call in Mr. Dumpster Diver.

  I started to get up from the ground.

  “Don’t move, Seb,” Neil instructed.

  “What? Why?” I froze in place.

  He looked over his shoulder at me. “You’re evidence.”

  THE ALLEY was now a crime scene.

  An additional CSU detective had arrived and was inspecting the busted back door while Neil was crouched in front of me on the cement, taking photographs of my hands.

  “I didn’t kill the guy.”

  “I know that,” he murmured before snapping another photo.

  “Then why have you pulled out your arsenal?” I nodded to the crime scene kit at Neil’s side.

  He set his camera down and removed a small paper envelope from the box, as well as a pick. He gently scraped around my nails. “So the evidence backs up that you’ve just got extraordinary shitty luck.”

  I looked toward the alley doors before letting out a small sigh. “I don’t think you’ll need nail scrapings to convince the homicide department of that.”

  “What do you mean?” Neil asked as he folded the envelope closed.

  I hadn’t looked away from the doors. “Hi, honey.”

  Calvin was still dressed for his day off, his hands on his hips and a distinct frown on his face. His partner, Quinn Lancaster, stood at his side, shaking her head.

  “I was on my way home,” I insisted as they approached. “Cross my heart.”

  Neil stood. “Detective Winter,” he said briskly.

  “Detective Millett,” Calvin answered.

  “So, Sebastian isn’t the dead, unidentified male?” Quinn asked, and I couldn’t quite tell if she was kidding or not.

  “He’s in there,” I answered, pointing at the dumpster. “Can I tell you what happened?”

  “Please,” Calvin answered. He didn’t sound angry, per se—more like tired and relieved.

  Also maybe a little angry.

  “I left work,” I said. “Doors locked, gate down, the whole shebang. I bumped into Neil outside of the bank. We talked for a minute, and then the security company called to report an unauthorized entrance. Neil drove us here.”

  Calvin crossed his arms, muscles bulging within the sleeves of his T-shirt. “Did the security company not notify the police?”

  “They hadn’t arrived yet,” Neil replied. “We noticed the lock on the alley doors had been cut, so I went in through the back to check for an intruder. It was all clear.”

  “Then would someone please tell me why Sebastian is sitting on the ground, covered in someone else’s blood?” Calvin asked.

  “I was waiting in the alley,” I said, staring up at the three. “I saw the dumpster had been left open. I went to close it—boom, dead guy. There’s blood on the side. I touched it by accident.”

  “And stepped in it,” Neil concluded.

  I frowned and checked the sole of my shoe. It was dark and tacky-looking.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Never a dull moment with you around, Sebastian,” Quinn remarked.

  “Thanks, I try,” I answered dryly.

  Calvin looked down at me. “Was anything inside your store missing?”

  “I haven’t gotten the chance to look. But I’ll give you two guesses as to what they came for.”

  “I’ll only need one,” Calvin murmured. He turned to Neil next. “Finish with him so Sebastian can take a walk through the Emporium.”

  Neil surprised the shit out of me when he only nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”

  Calvin took a step closer and squatted down in front of me. “You’re okay?” he asked gently.

  “Peachy keen.”

  He kept staring.

  “Dead Guy startled me,” I admitted. “But other than the bruised ass and ego, I’m fine.”

  “I wish you had just come home,” he murmured.

  “Yeah, me too. But I guess we’d have ended up here regardless.”

  “I suppose,” Calvin answered. “But at least you wouldn’t have had to wear booties.”

  “Huh?”

  “I need your shoes, Seb,” Neil interrupted.

  Calvin gave me an apologetic look, as if he knew all along Neil was going to say that.

  “They’re new, so it figures,” I answered.

  Calvin stood and went to the dumpster with Quinn. He peered inside with ease, while his partner had to stand on her toes to get a look. Both of them were joined by the city medical examiner while Neil was tugging my shoes off.

  “Nice socks,” he stated.

  “I’d give that a two out of five.”

  Neil dropped my shoes into a bag, then glanced at me briefly before filling out the form on the front of it. “What?”

  “I don’t recommend using that pickup line when you start dating again,” I continued.

  His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but it was something for a guy like Neil. “You used to always wear black socks.”

  “Oh yeah. I’m turning over a new leaf. What color are they?”

  Neil raised an eyebrow but kept writing.

  “Apparently I already look like a mess, so hit me,” I insisted.

  “Red.” Neil set the bag aside and held up a pair of crime scene booties.

  “Wait. Aren’t green and red Christmas colors?”

  Neil nodded and put the booties on my feet.

  “Great. I dressed myself like a fucking elf and no one said anything.”

  Neil chuckled. “It’s subtle. Don’t worry.”

  I was able to get up after that. Neil instructed me to follow him through the alley. He brought me out to the sidewalk, where a plethora of official vehicles were now parked, and helped get my hands washed and cleaned of the now-dried blood.

  “Snow!”

  I turned around to see Quinn standing outside the alley. “Yeah?”

  “Let’s go take a gander inside.”

  “Thanks, Neil,” I said, holding my hands up and wiggling my clean fingers.

  “Sure.”

  I walked to Quinn. “I can open the front door if that’s easier.”

  “No, no. We don’t want to contaminate the scene any more than necessary.” She nodded for me to follow behind, and we went back through the alley.

  The medical examiner was standing inside the dumpster, talking to Calvin as we passed. I overhear
d her pronouncing the man to be “very dead,” and that it appeared to be “blood loss” from a wound to his neck. I slowed down as Calvin murmured a question about the instrument used in the homicide, but Quinn grabbed my arm and hauled me away before I could pick up any more of the conversation.

  “So,” Quinn began as we approached the open door. “Can anyone confirm seeing you leave for the night?”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “You know the routine by now.”

  “My security cameras would show me leaving.”

  “Do you have any cameras in the alley?” Quinn asked.

  “No.” I paused just outside of the doorway. “Can we make the logical assumption that the break-in and homicide are related?”

  “We can’t assume anything.”

  “He sure as hell wasn’t in the dumpster when I closed up,” I stated. “My assistant takes out the trash—he’d have said something. Screamed is more likely—maybe even burned the building down.”

  Quinn looked expectant.

  “The alley was locked when I left. I got to the bank by 6:10 and made a deposit at the ATM, then bumped into Neil outside. We got back here around 6:20—maybe 6:25. You have to take into account that Mr. Dumpster looks to have had his throat cut. Do you know how much of a mess that makes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Er—okay, Quinn, it was a rhetorical question. The point is, I’d be covered in arterial spray. To top it off, I’m not strong enough to toss a full-grown man into a garbage bin that big. I eat too much candy and don’t lift nearly enough dumbbells.”

  “Calvin really isn’t kidding when he calls you his Sherlock.”

  I felt my face get a bit warm.

  “You’re not a suspect,” she concluded. “Not even a rookie detective would think so.” She walked into the Emporium. “But,” Quinn called over her shoulder, “we need to figure out if your dumpster buddy was in here, looking to make a quick buck. And I sure as hell hope you can tell if something is actually missing, because this place is chaos.”

  “It’s organized chaos,” I corrected. I examined everything as I moved through the store, in the one-in-a-million chance this was totally unrelated to the Kinetoscope. “It had to be more than one guy. He wouldn’t have cut his own throat.” I crouched to examine a few glass displays, but the contents were undisturbed.

  “No honor among thieves,” Quinn murmured, moving toward the register. “What in the world is this?”

  I stood and looked around my Victrola to see Quinn standing at the steps, pointing to the Kinetoscope that Max and I had moved that afternoon. “It’s an Edison Kinetoscope.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Old movie viewer, before they perfected projectors.” I stepped around a few tables and hiked up the steps. I moved to open the cabinet door in order to show her the guts of the machine, but it was wide-open. “Oh boy….”

  “What’s wrong?”

  I glanced at her. “Well, uh—it came with a movie. Someone tried to steal it this morning, actually.”

  “What?”

  I nodded and pointed to my office door. “But I locked—fuck.”

  Quinn narrowed her eyes and glanced toward her left.

  The office door was ajar.

  I stepped close and pushed it open with my knuckles. The entire room was torn apart.

  THREE WISE Monkeys.

  That’s what we looked like, standing around the office doorway. Quinn was pinching the bridge of her nose, gaze cast to the floor. Calvin had his fist resting against his mouth. One arm was crossed over my front and the other rested against the side of my face.

  “So you had a movie made by Thomas Edison?” Quinn asked.

  “W. K. L. Dickson, actually. But he worked for Edison,” I replied.

  “And at the end of the film was a murder?”

  “That’s right.”

  Quinn raised her head and looked across Calvin to me. “And it wasn’t a movie murder?”

  I jutted a thumb at Calvin. “He saw it.”

  She turned her gaze to him. “You did?”

  Calvin nodded. “Yesterday. Seb called me to come look at it.” He crossed his arms, still staring at the mess in my office. “It was authentic, but what can we do about a death that happened over a century ago? It’s tragic, but we have dangerous criminals roaming New York in the now. I told Seb there was nothing to be done.”

  “Perhaps it implicates someone,” I said, mostly to myself. I glanced to my left when I felt eyes on me—Calvin and Quinn both staring. “What?”

  “You think there’s a supercentenarian running around this city, trying to cover up a murder they were guilty of in the nineteenth century?” Quinn remarked.

  “Of course not,” I replied. “The film itself is just over 120 years old, and I’d give the killer’s age at least an additional twenty. The verified oldest human only reached 122 years.”

  An awkward silence settled around us.

  Calvin finally asked, “And who was that, baby?”

  “Jeanne Calment,” I quickly answered, letting out a held breath. “Thank you for asking.”

  Calvin nodded.

  “What I meant was… maybe someone alive today wants to protect the killer’s identity,” I suggested. “For some reason.”

  Quinn didn’t look impressed. “Or maybe it’s just worth money. How much, do you think?”

  “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t know everything,” I told her. “Personally, I think the historical value outweighs the monetary, but I’d have to do a bit more research.”

  “I can honestly say I’m disappointed,” Quinn answered.

  “Sorry.”

  Quinn turned her attention to the back door as voices drifted into the shop from the alley. She walked down the steps and made her way through the aisles.

  Calvin put a hand on my shoulder. “Where did you put the remaining footage?”

  I leaned into the office and turned the low-intensity lamp on. The computer was still there and assembled, although the monitor had been knocked over. Junk from the desk drawers was strewn all over the place, and the fridge door was open—like, yeah, I totally hid the film behind a few cans of ginger ale and Max’s tuna sandwich from the other day. I looked up at the overhead shelves—also a mess—and reached forward.

  Calvin stopped me from touching anything. He took a latex glove from his back pocket and held it out. “Put this on.”

  “Please tell me you aren’t always carrying these around in your jeans.”

  “Funny.”

  I tried to smile, but I just wasn’t feeling it. I snapped the glove on and moved a few books from the shelf. I knocked a jar with the spine of one, which in turn rained down a collection of pens and markers on my head. I sighed, ignored the new mess, and stood on my toes to reach for the very back.

  The canister was still there.

  I held it up and turned to Calvin. “A small miracle.”

  “They must have hoped it was still in the Kinetoscope,” Calvin said.

  “Ran out of time searching for it?”

  He nodded. “It’s a well-thought-out entrance turned messy. I would go so far as to say whoever was in here hadn’t considered the possibility that the film could be elsewhere. They didn’t know where to look, and the clock was ticking once the alarm went off.”

  I peeled the glove free and stuffed it into a pocket. “Quinn says I’m not a suspect for the murder.”

  “Of course you’re not.”

  “Since I’m on camera leaving here, and at the bank.”

  “And you’ve got an officer vouching for you,” Calvin concluded.

  “Who we may or may not have suspected of being a killer in the recent past,” I added.

  Calvin’s posture changed a bit. Self-conscious. “Millett is a good detective. That’s the truth.”

  “You’re not mad, are you?”

  “To find you at another crime scene?”

  “No—well, yes, but—talking to Neil.”
>
  Calvin leaned back briefly, checking to confirm the shop was empty, then reached out to cup my jaw in one large hand. “No. He nearly took a bullet for you.” He stroked my face for a moment before lowering his hand. “Millett and I have reached an understanding. And I don’t want to be the sort of man who’s insecure over you having a conversation with an ex.”

  “Okay.”

  “All that concerns me is that he shows you respect. If not, then he and I will have an issue—not you.”

  “He was polite,” I confirmed.

  “Good.”

  Quinn returned inside just then, with Neil in tow. They were making their way toward us.

  “I didn’t think my shop was going to be the scene of a murder,” I said, changing the subject. “And I even stayed in the alley, which was the safe place at the time.”

  “You’re really riding those technicalities, aren’t you?” Calvin murmured. “Were you able to find the Kinetoscope owner today?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t try again. It slipped my mind.” I leaned close and whispered, “Do you think these are the same people from this morning?”

  He nodded. “I don’t like coincidences.”

  “I think… maybe I’m being set up to be robbed, so the owner can try to hold me financially accountable.”

  “It seems very likely.”

  Of course that didn’t explain the bloody body in the dumpster.

  “Nothing else in the store is missing, right?” Calvin continued.

  “Not that I can tell,” I answered.

  “Do I have your permission to access the security footage for the shop?”

  “Sure. To confirm the break-in and murder are the same event?”

  “Yes. And perhaps to catch the partner who got away.”

  “Exactly,” I said quickly. “Because that guy wouldn’t have cut his own throat.” I motioned excitedly at the back door. “And the new lock you installed could probably be broken by two people. The second individual is likely to be a man as well. They’d have to possess the physical strength necessary to lift the weight of a dead body over their head and toss it into a dumpster.”

  Calvin listened patiently with a funny little expression on his face. “I agree with you. Did you recognize the victim?”