Murder in Manhattan

Murder in Manhattan as viewed from Google Earth - Street View

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Paul Dean Daniggelis

3817 Skyline Ave

El Paso, TX 79904

[email protected]

COPYRIGHT © 2011 Paul Daniggelis

~2,270 words

Murder in Manhattan

Dedicated to the memory of Philip Gordon Wylie

I used to know Manhattan quite well. I was a “runner” for a big International company

occupying offices in the Grand Central Building. I got to know the City inside out from the

Museum district on south to Battery Park. The bad news is that I grew up, was promoted within

that same company and have been occupying a desk ever since. I simply do not get around much

anymore. At the end of the day, I make a beeline to the subway and home in Sunnyside, Queens.

After dinner and a boatload of

honey dos I retreat to my computer and hack away at yet another

unpublishable mystery. You got that right. I am just one of a

billion hackers out there trying to

sell a story.

I was drawing blanks on how to make plausible the murder mystery I was working on.

My spiritual muse, the late Philip Wylie, wasn’t sending any ghostly hints so, as I often do, I

took my mind elsewhere. I Googled it. I downloaded Google Earth and started browsing about

New York’s Central Park. I used to spend time there as a youngster and as the aforementioned

runner. It was a curious experience trying to imagine some of those carefree days.

I was in

street view and started my journey around the Plaza Hotel moving west along

Central Park South. I checked out the Plaza Hotel dreamily expecting to be invited in by a

doorman who looked friendly enough. But no invitation was forthcoming so I moved along the

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Park examining the Hansom Cabs; a variety of expensive eateries and hotels before reaching

Columbus Circle. I turned up Central Park West heading north along the park.

I found myself up town around Eightieth Street which was my predetermined destination.

A week or so earlier I had checked out the Metropolitan Museum of Art via Google Earth and

discovered, to my amazement, that I could actually enter the building and even the Egyptian

Room. I wondered if I could do the same at the American Museum of Natural History. I had a

particular fondness for the old Museum especially after rereading an ancient murder mystery by

Philip Wylie that was set in the Museum. He called it, “Ten Thousand Blunt Instruments”. I

always wished I could write like Wylie but it wasn’t happening.

I rotated the image so that I was facing the Museum which had a dozen or so people

milling about or just making themselves comfortable on the steps leading up to the entrance.

There was a large banner over the entrance which screamed “Extreme Mammals”. I tried to enter

but failed. I was disappointed. I wanted to trace Wylie’s story gallery by gallery. I wasn’t ready

to call it a night so I backed out and left the museum. I continued cruising along Central Park

taking in the sights wondering what famous names lived in those exclusive apartments opposite

Central Park. The streets were crowded with people and vehicles (as usual) but this remarkable

Google Earth program just cruised right past, over, and through them.

After a while I arbitrarily headed west on 89

th Street just to see if I could see the Hudson

River along Riverside Drive. Turns out I was driving west on a one way street east. Not a

problem for Google. I just kept on cruising up to Riverside. Unable to access the park areas

along the Hudson I turned left on Riverside. I was going south catching glimpses of the Hudson

as I cruised along. At 86

th Street a girl in shorts was crossing the street toward the park with blue

skies overhead and sun streaming. An instant later she was gone, the sun was gone and the

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streets were wet. Obviously the camera man was picking up where he left off from an earlier

date. There are dozens of these time changes as one moves along these

street view vistas.

It was just at 85

th Street when something caught my peripheral eye. Off to the right on

one of the park benches there was a man seated but holding what looked like a gun pointing it

toward a park bench just south of him. I zoomed in for a closer look and could just make out a

woman looking for all the world like she had been struck by something. The picture wasn’t clear.

Indeed, there is a lot of distortion with these images. I can’t even imagine what kind of camera

was capable of these three hundred and sixty degree hemispheric images.

I rotated the image in as many ways as possible. I tried to approach the scene coming

north up Riverside but those images were from a different time frame. So was my approach from

85

th going west. I came back to the initial viewpoint and examined the area. There were very few

people on the street or in the park presumably because of recent rains but there was a van

approaching Riverside from 85

th. Chances are he could not have seen or heard anything because

there was a vehicle parked on Riverside that might have blocked his view. I came at it from as

many angles as possible convincing my receptive imagination that something bad had happened

here. However, the real world intruded in the form of a restless wife and I rationalized that these

were old images and, if anything untoward happened here, it was old news and likely resolved by

now. So, I went about my business.

The next day I was daydreaming at work when I should have been working. Something

was scratching at my brain. I kept trying to clarify the itch when it suddenly became crystal

clear. I recalled that T-shirt vendor in Times Square who saw something unusual and reported it

to the police. Turns out that a parked SUV was loaded with explosives. The guy’s a hero but a

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reluctant hero at best. The media got into this guy’s face, hounding him until he came out with a

comment which is now part of the culture �"

if you see something, say something.

That phrase was buzzing around in my noggin the rest of the day until I got back to my

computer.

Maybe I should say something, I thought. It probably won’t amount to anything but it

couldn’t hurt either.

So, I went back to the scene of the crime and printed out a dozen and more

photos of the �" what �" murder scene? I chuckled at my ersatz detective self.

I was going to show these pictures to a couple of guys that I knew at the 108

th police

precinct in Long Island City. I stopped myself. I didn’t even know when this so-called crime

took place. Unfortunately, the imagery dates exist in aerial view (which was useless for my

purposes) but as soon as you zoom on down to street view those dates disappear. I decided to let

the police tell me if they had any unsolved criminal activity at the location I had scanned. I

brought one set of photos to the cops at the Long Island City precinct. I kept a second set as a

backup file.

It was days before these guys got back to me. First, they thanked me profusely for having

discovered source material previously unknown to them. I was told that there was indeed a

murder at the location indicated in 2008. It had been thoroughly investigated and remained

unresolved. It was a cold case file now.

What about my photos? I asked. Didn’t they learn

anything useful from them?

Actually there was, they admitted. They went onto Google Earth to

check out the scenes for themselves. They were able to identify the vehicle approaching the

scene from 85

th Street and trace it back to the driver and owner. The driver told them that he had

traveled that same route dozens of times since the murder time frame and

one day was just like

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any other

as far as he was concerned. He had never even read about a murder committed in that

area.

The police reinterpreted what I already knew; that the images were too distorted to learn

anything new. I asked if I could have access to the murder file. They said I would have to read it

in police presence, at Precinct 20 in Manhattan. They would vouch for my discretion regarding

any of the people involved in the investigation.

It was quite a fat file. I had to tip my hat to the NYPD. They had done a thorough

investigation. All the questions that I had in my head and/or scribbled on paper had been looked

into by these guys. It looked like it was a dead end and I was prepared to drop it as a lost cause.

A woman of means had been murdered in midtown Manhattan and not a single witness could

provide any information of value to the police. Not a single shred of physical evidence could

place any acquaintance of this woman at the scene. She was a widow lady who had carefully

chosen a very select group of reputable men and women as her companions. There was nothing

in the extensive background of any of these people to warrant filing any charges.

I admit to being frustrated that I had come upon a real life mystery and was unable to

come up with any useful clue to resolving it. It preyed on my mind for a long time. I even played

back that original Kojak TV pilot which recalled the Wylie-Hoffert murders way back in 1963

that eventually led to the Miranda v. Arizona decision. Okay, so it was Phil Wylie’s niece who

was one of the victims and was the main reason for my interest. But there was also the proximity

to those murders on 88

th Street, just three short blocks from my murder. The police were taken to

task for their handling of that case . . .

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Hell, what was I thinking? There was no police collusion here. And now that I am

thinking about it, the Wylie-Hoffert murders were on the east side of town, not the west end. I

had deluded myself into

wanting to blame someone �" anyone �" just so I could get credit for

aiding in solving a crime. I mentally resolved to forget the whole business and get on with things

I had control over.

A month or two went by and I was convinced the issue was dead; a mental cold-case-file

in my head that I had successfully dismissed. That’s when my wife dragged me away from my

computer to watch

The Shawshank Redemption for the umpteenth time. Well, why not? It was a

fine film. Actually one of the best

prison escape films ever made. I remember when the movie

first came out. Everyone wanted to know why a black man would be called “Red”. They were

unaware, or ignored the fact, that his surname was “Redding”.

So, I picked up the plot in mid-stream and lost myself in the story with my wife cuddled

up close trying to distract me. She might have succeeded but

Red was describing how Andy

Dufresne, putting his plan in motion, had simply walked back to his cell

wearing the Warden’s

freshly shined shoes.

Nobody ever pays attention to people’s shoes, Red claimed.

Nobody ever pays attention to what shoes people are wearing!

N-o-b-o-d-y ever pays attention

. . .!!!

I didn’t even excuse myself upon leaving my wife to fend for herself. I was back on the

computer. Google Earth - Eighty-Fifth Street - Riverside Drive - street view. Oh, no! Say it isn’t

so! Google had re-filmed the area. Not to worry. I have photos. I dug them out of the dead letter

file. Looked them over carefully. I had to convince myself that what I was seeing was what it

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was. I needed a second opinion. Back to the bedroom. The wife was semi-conscious. I needed

her full attention. Wake up, sweetie. Then louder --

Wake up, sweetie!

When I had her wide awake and totally focused on my nonsense, I asked her what kind of

shoes the man with the gun was wearing.

“You mean you don’t have a clearer picture than this?”

“Give it your best shot, sweetheart. It’s important.”

I could tell she was giving it the attention it deserved. She didn’t blurt out the first thing

that came to mind. The TV was blaring away so I clicked it off. I was getting impatient.

“Well?”

She looked up and said, emphatically, “White Bucks!”.

I gave her a kiss. “Now,” I asked calmly, “who do you know that wears white buckskin

anymore?”

“Nobody! Well . . . maybe in the South, in the summer, with seersucker. Not in New

York.”

“Thank you, sweetie. I owe you.”

I challenged my friends at the 80

th precinct with this new information. “We’ll call you,”

they said.

It was weeks later that the call came. They arrested one of the victim’s close male

companions. He had invested his life’s savings into wooing the lady trying to win her affections,

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her hand in marriage

and her life’s savings. He thought he had won her over only to have the

woman back out at the last minute. And, as a gentleman from the south, he was accustomed to

wearing white bucks. Indeed, it was the sartorial splendor of the gentleman that had attracted the

widow’s attention to begin with.

End of story.

I got an ‘atta-boy’ for my efforts from Mayor Bloomberg.

My wife got a dinner at the Policemen’s Ball.

Author's Note

Copyrighted but not published.