They climbed into their NYPD plainclothes car, a four year old Chevrolet Malibu, and twenty minutes later pulled to the curb in front of Abe’s office building. Chuck flipped an NYPD official business placard up onto the dash so they wouldn’t get ticketed — the only open spot being a stained, crimson curb; the red zone reserved for emergency vehicles.
Ken had filled Chuck in on the high points of the case on their way downtown — he hadn’t accompanied Ken to Abe’s flat because he was working another case, and a simple stop-in while CSI was doing their thing didn’t justify an extra detective’s involvement. There wasn’t anything other than the preliminary findings on the blow to the kidneys to go on. Ken wasn’t enthusiastic about their prospects.
The pair rode up in the creaky elevator to Abe’s seventh floor offices. They opened the door and were relieved to see there were only four desks and a reception area. A twenty-something man with a pallor that spoke of years without sun looked up from the nearest computer at the two men standing in the foyer.
“May I help you?” he asked in a rattled kind of tone.
Ken flipped out his badge. “NYPD. I’m Detective Ken Romer and this is Detective Charles Barron. We’re here to speak with everyone about Abe Sarkins. And you are…?”
“Doug Pelzer. I’m an associate with the firm,” he said. His words had a different rattle now. He motioned at two women in their early thirties sitting at two of the other desks. “And this is Dinah Stark and Ellen Bowers, also associates.”
The two women smiled hesitantly at the detectives and then resumed whatever they were doing, which appeared to be editing documents on their computers.
Doug affected a grim smile before saying, “But you guys should know all this. We already told you everything we know, which is basically nothing.”
Ken glanced at Chuck, his face impassive. Chuck looked like he was about to fall asleep on his feet.
“Yeah, well,” Ken said, “we’re here to take it from the top. Is there someplace we can sit and speak privately?”
“Sure. We can use the meeting room.” Doug waved his palm in the direction of a small area toward the back of the workspace next to what he presumed was Abe’s office, given that it was the only other door.
“Thanks. That would be great,” Ken replied, and then followed the young man to the small room. Chuck hadn’t spoken since they’d gotten out of the elevator. He didn’t look like he planned on starting any time soon.
The room was just large enough to fit a small conference table and six chairs. They took seats, and Ken launched into some routine questions. How long had Doug been working there, how old was he, what was his address.
“Did Abe have any enemies or anyone he was in a disagreement with?” Ken asked.
“No, he got along well with everyone,” Doug said with conviction. “Even his difficult clients liked him, and he was universally respected in the business.”
“Did he seem afraid of anything in the last few weeks? Preoccupied over something? Was he involved in any altercations, anything adversarial?” Ken continued.
“No, he was the same as ever. I mean, look, it wasn’t like we were best friends, so I can’t say for sure, but the entire time I’ve worked here he was always the same.”
“I see. Okay.” Ken tried again. “So, is there anything you can think of that might have put Abe in jeopardy, or did he ever mention that he was in danger?”
“Nope. And like I told the other guys, I don’t know anything about any manuscript, either. So I’m afraid I can’t really help you much. Sorry,” Doug finished, placing both hands face down on the table, preparing to rise.
Ken and Chuck exchanged glances again. This time Doug sensed something amiss.
“Why are you so interested in some manuscript, anyway?” Doug demanded. “I never got a straight answer on that. What does a manuscript have to do with Abe having a heart attack, anyway?”
Chuck perked up at this and said, “Well, now that you brought it up, what can you tell us about this manuscript? We’re with a different division than the last group you spoke with. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to remember the names of the officers you talked to, would you?” he added nonchalantly.
“I remember one was named Smith and the other Reynolds. I’m good with names. You have to be to do reasonable editing work,” Doug replied.
“Did they show you their badges like I did?” Ken inquired, equally easily.
“Sure. At least, I think so. I’m…I’m sure they must have,” Doug assured them, and also himself to some degree.
Ken swiveled to face Chuck. “Officer Barron, would you follow up with officers Smith and Reynolds so we can compare notes with them?” Ken then returned his gaze to Doug. “Did they mention their first names? There are a lot of cops in the NYPD.”
“Yeah, I think it was Alan Smith and Richard Reynolds. The Alan and Dick show,” Doug said, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he recollected.
Chuck spoke again. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I mean, it was only this morning.” Doug returned to his original question. “So what’s the big deal with this manuscript, and why is everyone so interested in where it is? Today was the first I’ve heard of it.”
“We don’t get told everything. Sometimes one group will be working on one angle of a case, and we’ll be working another. But just so we’re on the same page, what were they asking? Maybe that will ring a bell. We handle so many of these cases, it’s hard to keep them all straight,” Chuck explained reasonably.
“You know, that was the weird thing. They seemed to know a lot more about it than anyone here did. He got tons of submissions and queries every week, so how could any of us keep up with everything he was doing?” Doug complained.
“Yeah. I’d guess it would be impossible for anyone to know everything that was being read at any given time. And Abe never mentioned it?” Ken tried.
“No, for the twentieth time, I don’t know anything about any manuscript. And I still don’t see what it has to do with Abe’s heart attack.”
“This is all routine,” Ken said. “When it’s slow, NYPD takes more time with simple cases than if it’s a busy week. It’s just really quiet right now, thank God, so we’re trying to be especially thorough. I’m sorry to inconvenience you and take up your time like this — I can see you guys are busy today.”
“Well, we’re trying to figure out what to do now that Abe’s gone. There’s still a mountain of work here, and we’ve already had a number of other agencies call to see if there was a formal transition plan,” Doug lamented. “And then there’s all the authors wanting to know who’s going to be handling them…and then Mona doesn’t show up today…”
“And Mona is…the receptionist?” Ken guessed, looking out at the work area and seeing the empty station.
“Yeah. Everyone’s kind of off balance right now. This totally caught us unprepared. I mean, one day Abe’s here, bigger than life, taking care of things, and then the next he’s gone forever — to be replaced by a steady stream of cops.”
“Right. And then your receptionist doesn’t show up, adding to the workload. Is she like that? Undependable? Is she new?” Chuck asked blithely, as if anxious to wrap up the interview.
“Mona? God no. She’s been here forever. Decades. And she’s never out sick. But I guess the Abe thing has hit us all differently. Besides, she’s kind of the office manager, too — so who would she even call in sick to? You see the problem we have here? Nobody is running the show,” Doug grumbled. “I’m not even sure how we’re going to get paid. Abe’s lawyer is supposed to show up in the next day or so and give us some news, so hopefully that will clarify things. But right now, I don’t even know whether we’re all working for free or not.”