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Murder at the New York Library / Murder in Harlem / Murder in Central Park – Part 04

Meanwhile, in the southern tip of Manhattan Island, far from Harlem, where office buildings clustered and alleys were dim even in broad daylight, reporters and photographers in suits came and went incessantly. This was Newspaper Row, an area of the business district where newspaper offices congregated.

On the fifth floor of a nondescript, mixed-use building, a thunderous voice reverberated from the editor-in-chief’s office.

“Idiots!”

The glass door flung open, and Nico and Rebecca bolted out, arms raised dramatically. In their panic, they accidentally knocked over a senior reporter who had been eavesdropping, before dashing across the corridor and finally skidding to a stop against the opposite wall.

The good-looking editor-in-chief stuck his head out, veins pulsing on his forehead.

“How many times do I have to tell you that we’re a tabloid newspaper?! Highbrow articles won’t get us anywhere, so we want the simple, degenerate, and twisted stuff! And yet here you are… Ask that idiot Kujou: Did some mystical Asian bug crawl into his brain that him suddenly think he was Shakespeare reincarnated or something?!”

“What? You really expect me to remember such a long string of insults?” Nico said.

“What did you say?! Fine. Two words, then: ‘You moron!’ Shout it right next to his ear! And rewrite that thing!”

Nico paled. “Wh-What?”

“Nico, let’s leave,” Rebecca whispered to him from behind.

“What? Are we seriously just leaving?!”

“It’ll be fine.”

“F-Fine how? Ugh, okay then?”

Rebecca pulled Nico, and they bolted down the corridor. Nico’s gloomy expression gradually morphed into one of amusement as he stumbled along. The editor-in-chief watched in disbelief, mouth agape, as the two vanished into the distance.

The reporters bustling along the corridor glanced curiously at the peculiar sight as they went about their business.

Victorique and Kazuya departed Harlem and entered Central Park from the north, traveling southward.

The winter days were short, and sunlight, soft as its evening glow, bathed everything with a gentle radiance. In the heart of Manhattan Island, the vast park sprawled, its leafless trees intertwining in intricate patterns. Faint sunlight filtered through the branches and onto the pathways.

Navigating through dense, forested areas and passing what resembled a European castle, they pressed on, stealing glances at the expansive lake along the way.

Kazuya stopped the bicycle near the cycling path. “This is the spot, Victorique. This is where Dempsey suddenly collapsed and died. Last Sunday, according to the records. It was a routine for him to visit Central Park for years. He was basking in the sun, dressed casually like a student, without a suit, hat, or leather shoes.”

“A member… of the mafia… basking in the sun?” Carlos said between breaths as he caught up with the bicycle. He was sweating despite the winter chill.

“Slow on your feet, aren’t you?” Victorique remarked.

“I don’t wanna hear that from you! You’ve just been riding a bike the whole time!”

“I’m an exception,” she said nonchalantly, puffing on her pipe.

Her silver hair swayed gently in the winter breeze. Verdant trees rustled. Migratory birds from the north descended rapidly onto the surface of the blue lake.

Kazuya pointed to a path. “Dempsey bumped into a red-haired woman around there, spilling the orange juice she was carrying over him. Witnesses said he was soaked but seemed unfazed.”

“If he had been wearing his favorite suit, he might have shot her to death,” Carlos said. “But dressed like a student, maybe not.” He grabbed Kazuya’s shoulder before he could start walking.

Looking over his shoulder, Kazuya silently gestured towards a metal bench. He laid a handkerchief on the bench and sat Victorique down.

Seated primly, she resembled a little queen awaiting an audience with squirrels and birds that inhabited the vast park. However, with Kazuya spreading out documents on one side and the sweaty Carlos on the other, they looked like a peculiar entourage.

“Anyway,” Carlos said, still breathing hard. “Dempsey was that huge guy, right? I recognize his face, but why would he be sunbathing in the park? Weird guy.”

“Are you all right?”

“Shut it!”

“Okay? I don’t think there’s anything weird about sunbathing,” Kazuya said. “Dempsey was the eldest son of a beekeeper in the South. He was supposed to inherit the family business, but he ran away from home. He must love nature.”

“Haa… Haa… I see…”

“Yeah, and…”

“I get how he felt! When you’re in the city, you start longing for nature. It’s a human thing.”

An unfamiliar young man suddenly popped his head out from behind the bench, talking as if they were old friends. Kazuya cast a curious glance over his shoulder.

Carlos, equally taken aback, asked, “A friend of yours?”

The young man, more flamboyant than stylish, sported a plaid, three-piece suit. Upon closer inspection, his pants were too short, and his knitted tie unusually wide. Despite his small build, he was rather handsome with short brown hair and light brown eyes. However, his dilated pupils gave him an eerie expression.

To top it off, he was hugging a brown teddy bear typically carried by children under ten, grinning delightfully while gazing at Victorique.

Victorique and Kazuya stared at the teddy bear, as if dredging up unpleasant memories.

“You some kind of pervert?” Carlos asked curiously.

“Of course not. I’m Benjamin… a detective with the NYPD!” the odd young man declared proudly, still clutching the teddy bear.

“What?”

“Detective Benjamin…!”

“Hmm? I didn’t quite catch your last name. Are you doing that on purpose?” Carlos asked skeptically.

Benjamin, smiling, did not respond. The winter wind whispered through, birds flitted past, and the lake shimmered softly in the encroaching dusk.

“Well, I smelled a case, so I decided to strike up a conversation and make your acquaintance. I’ve been looking into the rumored detective recently, the Gray Wolf, and finally learned what they looked like. Then, I spotted what seemed like the detective herself in the park, an exquisitely beautiful lady, with some compassionate-looking but suspicious journalist.”

“Suspicious? Me? I-I don’t think you have the right to call anyone that.”

Ignoring Kujou’s wounded voice, Benjamin affectionately nuzzled his cheek against the teddy bear. “I see a mafia-looking guy chatting with someone in broad daylight, I can’t help but smell a case. Good thing I came here for some sunbathing!”

“In other words, an NYPD detective is trying to snatch a case from a private detective. Are you serious?” Carlos said.

“Absolutely!” Benjamin nodded innocently.

Carlos looked unsettled. “What’s up with this guy?”

“I have no clue either,” Kazuya said. “Hey, Carlos. Aren’t you supposed to be our bodyguard? We need an invincible gangster at times like this.”

“All right, all right, got it, paper boy. Hey, crazy cop. Beat it!”

Carlos pointed his gun at Benjamin’s head, but Benjamin just grinned and raised his hands in surrender, backing away slowly with the teddy bear tucked between his legs.

“What in the world was that? Oh well,” Kazuya said with a bewildered expression as he watched Benjamin leave. “Let’s refocus on Dempsey.”

“Agreed,” Victorique said.

Joggers passed by on the path, and expensive bicycles dotted the cycling route. In the distance, the colorful sign of a juice stand caught the eye.

Kujou gestured towards the stand. “Last Sunday, Dempsey continued his stroll, soaked in orange juice. He circled around here and then stopped by the juice stand, where he suddenly collapsed and died.”

Victorique nodded. “Exactly. The culprit is clear, Kujou.”

“Yeah… Wait, who?”

“Who else but the red-haired girl at the juice stand?” Victorique declared confidently, surprising Kujou as much as he had surprised her.

They exchanged looks of mutual astonishment. As Carlos returned, they rose to their feet.

“Your surprise is baffling me,” Victorique said.

“I’m the one who’s baffled! What are you talking about?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Of course!”

“What?!”

“Hey, what’s going on with you two? Why are you arguing?” Carlos intervened, breathing raggedly.

Victorique turned around, looking annoyed. “When will you ever catch your breath?”

“You have not run a single time, so don’t you act all smug! Do you have any idea how far Harlem is from here?” Carlos grew irritated as well.

Victorique and Kujou headed towards the juice stand.

“A red-haired salesgirl? How do you know the seller has red hair?” Kujou asked. “We can’t see from here, and besides, you haven’t been to the park before.”

Victorique sighed with annoyance. “If you piece together the fragments of chaos, it becomes clear.”

“Hmm… So, if the seller isn’t a red-haired woman, can I be mad at you today? For all the years of being abused by you… Um… Huh?”

Kujou stopped in his tracks, tilting his head and looking up at the salesgirl in front of the stand.

The woman behind the counter, her fiery red hair pulled back, seemed to be in a foul mood. When she saw Kazuya staring at her, she snapped, “If you’re not buying, get out of the way, oriental!”

Startled, Kazuya grabbed Victorique’s hand and slowly retreated.

Carlos arrived shortly after. Noting his mafia aura and the expensive attire, the woman put on a fake smile. “Hello there, sir! How about our special juice and hot sandwiches? We’ll whip them up fresh and hot for you!” With a flourish, she opened the lid of the steaming hot sandwich maker.

Victorique tapped Kazuya’s elbow repeatedly with her pipe. It sounded like a squirrel’s knock.

“What are you looking at, oriental?! If you’re not buying, stop loitering. You’re making me sick! I was a nurse during the war, and I saw plenty of you yellow monkeys. They were filthy, and smelled awful.”

Despite the relentless barrage of insults from the woman, Kazuya peered inside the stand at Victorique’s silent request.

Huh?!

Among the cluttered ingredients, next to the hot sandwich maker, lay a dead bee, turned upside down.