by Dorien Grey
“That sounds like you’re piling a lot on your plate for just one night.”
“I know, but I’d rather do it all at once than drag it out. I really don’t do confrontation well, but if I’m going to do it I might as well go for broke. I just want to tie up all these loose ends once and for all.”
Though Elliott was firmly convinced a party wasn’t the way to go on this, he didn’t feel it was his place to interfere. Bruno was a grown man capable of making his own decisions, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the man were finally starting to take more active control of his life, or if he were simply transferring his dependence onto Clifford Blanton.
*
Stopping for a drink after the movie Saturday night delayed their arrival home until just after eleven thirty. Checking the answering machine for any calls from Bruno, he was relieved to see there were none.
They sat in the living room with a glass of Strega, with only the hallway light for illumination, and stared out over the city.
“Cessy asked me why I hadn’t asked you to move in here,” Elliott said.
“You didn’t because you knew I wouldn’t.”
“Right.”
“And with a view like this I can see why you wouldn’t consider moving.”
“Also right. So, as I told Cessy when she asked, we’re taking a half-step.”
*
They got to sleep around one thirty, and were awakened at three by the sound of sirens that stopped in front of the building. Elliott got up and looked out the bedroom window down onto Sheridan Road and saw nothing but reflections of lights flashing on the building across the street, indicating whatever was happening was on the living room side.
Curious, he went into the living room and out onto the balcony to look over the railing. He saw three squad cars, an ambulance, and a large number of people milling around something covered with a yellow tarp.
He felt the bottom fall out of his stomach, and he started when he felt Steve’s hand on his shoulder.
“What’s happening?” Steve asked.
“I think somebody fell,” Elliott said. “And I’m afraid I know from where.”
Leaving Steve on the balcony, Elliott hurried to the kitchen phone and called Bruno’s number, a large knot in his stomach. The phone rang four times before being answered by a brusque voice he didn’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is Bruno there?”
Along pause before: “Who’s calling?”
Elliott could hear other voices in the background.
“This is Elliott Smith in unit 35J. I’m a friend of his.”
“Why are you calling?”
“I heard the sirens and looked over my balcony. Bruno was having a party tonight, and I was concerned someone might have fallen.”
Another long pause. “You’re in 35J?”
“Yes.”
“Someone will be down to talk to you in a few minutes.”
The phone disconnected.
Hanging up, Elliott discovered Steve standing directly beside him.
“We’d better get dressed,” Elliott said. “Company’s coming.”
They went into the bedroom to throw on sweats. Steve was obviously upset. “Do you think it might have been Bruno?” he asked.
Elliott was suddenly very much aware he and Steve weren’t the only ones in the room.
“Yes.”
Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Elliott opened it to find a burly plainclothes officer he would have spotted as a policeman a block away even if he weren’t holding his badge in front of him like a priest with a crucifix confronting a vampire. Elliott thought he looked vaguely familiar.
“Come on in,” he said, leading the way to the living room, where Steve sat on the couch.
Introductions made, Elliott offered the detective—Cabrera, he didn’t give a first name—a seat, which he declined as Elliott joined Steve.
Looking from one of them to the other, Cabrera said, “Don’t I know you?”
“You may have been at my brother-in-law’s birthday party,” Elliott explained. “Brad Priebe.”
The officer gave a slow acknowledging nod. “Right. So, what can you tell me about Bruno Caesar?”
“So, it was him who fell?” Steve asked.
“Apparently so. Sorry. I assume he was a friend of yours?”
“He was,” Elliott said. “How is his roommate holding up?”
“There were three guys in the apartment when we got there, all of them passed out. It took us a couple of minutes just to wake them up—it must have been some party. Two of the three claim to be Caesar’s roommates—a Ricky Esperanza, and a Cage Caesar, who says he’s the victim’s nephew.”
“Can I ask who the third guy was?”
Cabrera looked at Elliott with a slightly raised eyebrow then said, “One Chaz Conklin. You know him?”
“Yes, but not all that well. Did they tell you what happened?”
“They all claim they have no idea. They say they were all passed out when it happened. That’s why I’m here. Did either of you see or hear anything unusual?”
“Nothing until the sirens woke us up.”
“You weren’t at the party?”
“We were invited but had other plans.”
“So, you don’t know who might have been there?”
Elliott shook his head. “Afraid not. Ricky or Cage should be able to help you.”
“Well, Esperanza’s pretty much of a basket case right now, and the other two are so drunk they could hardly tell us their names. We’ll talk to them in the morning. Anything else you can tell me about the victim?”
“Yeah,” Elliott said. “For one thing, he was terrified of heights. Being inside looking out didn’t bother him, but he never set foot on his balcony, and I’m sure he never would, voluntarily.”
“Well, you never know what people will do when they’re drunk. But you’re saying you think he might have had help going over the railing?”
“I wasn’t there, so I have no idea.” But even as he said it, Elliott realized he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“Well, we’ll know more after we talk to the witnesses, and when the autopsy report comes in.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll let you get back to bed. If you think of anything—anything at all that might help—give me a call.”
Reaching into his inside coat pocket, he pulled out two business cards, which he handed to Elliott and Steve individually.
Elliott showed the detective to the door and returned to Steve, who got up from the couch as he approached.
“We’d better try to get some sleep,” Elliott said. “We’re meeting Cessy and Brad at the building at three.”
“You don’t want to call and cancel? I mean, I’m sure they’d understand.”
“Not unless you do. There’s really nothing we can do to help Bruno at this point. It’s probably best not to dwell on it.”
“God, I feel so sorry for the poor guy. I just can’t believe it.”
As they walked down the hallway toward the bedroom, Steve stopped and looked at him strangely, then put his nose up against Elliott’s neck. Pulling his head back, he looked puzzled.
“What?” Elliott asked.
“Nothing. I just wonder why I’m smelling Old Spice when I know you’re not wearing it.”
*
Elliott wanted desperately to fall asleep, hoping John would be waiting for him, but he couldn’t. It had taken Steve a good half-hour to return to sleep, but Elliott could tell by his breathing when he managed. He kept straining his mind for some awareness of John, but there was nothing. Finally, he just gave up.
Sorry about your friend.
Where have you been?
Here. Waiting for you. You’ve just been too distracted to notice.
What can you tell me about Bruno?
I can’t tell you anything about him except what I pick up from you. But there is something.
Like what?
; It’s hard to explain. Let’s call it a disturbance—a large, swirling ball of confusion. I suspect it’s your friend. This sort of thing happens a lot immediately after someone dies, especially if it’s sudden and unexpected. It’s sort of like what happens to the air in a balloon when someone pops it.
So, dying is like popping a balloon?
I said “sort of.” Without going off on a philosophical tangent, let’s just say it’s what happens to the…I guess you’d call it the soul…when it’s suddenly released from the body that’s contained it.
What happens to it?
I’m hardly an expert, but from my experience, it usually just moves on to wherever its headed. But sometimes, like with me, it coalesces and decides to stay around.
And how long does that take?
It varies. Usually it’s almost instantaneous, but this one’s been here for a couple of hours now. Like I say, I assume it’s your friend but can’t be sure yet. Maybe he has a reason for staying around.
I was afraid you were going to say that.
“Afraid I was going to say what?” Steve asked.
Instantly awake, Elliott turned toward him. “Why aren’t you asleep? Did I wake you again? Damn!”
“No, I haven’t really been fully asleep. I keep thinking of Bruno. I didn’t know him as well as you did, but he seemed like a nice guy a little out of his league. That he should die like this…”
“I know. It’s a real shame. What else was I saying?”
“Something about popping a balloon.”
“Yeah, well, sounds like dream-talk to me,” Elliott lied.
Steve’s look dipped him in a large pool of guilt. He wondered how much longer he could keep lying, and how Steve would react when he found out the truth.
*
The phone started ringing shortly after eight, by which time both Steve and Elliott had given up any pretense of trying to sleep. Several people from the building called to talk, gossip, and speculate about Bruno’s death. Elliott kept the conversations as short as politeness would allow, and finally just disconnected the phone. He did call Bruno’s number on his cell, hoping to talk with Ricky or Cage to offer his condolences, but the line was continually busy.
Morning coffee on the balcony, despite the relative coolness of the breeze from the lake, was a quiet affair, with neither saying much—the combined result of both still being a little groggy from lack of sleep and neither knowing exactly what to say. Finally, after their second cup, Elliott suggested they get dressed and walk up to the little diner under the Thorndale el station three blocks away for breakfast.
“We can shower when we get back,” he said.
Steve borrowed a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, and Elliott threw on clothes he’d worn Thursday when he got home from work. The caffeine and the walk to the diner loosened their tongues.
“I can’t stop thinking about Bruno,” Steve said, shaking his head.
“I know. Me, either.”
“Do you think it was an accident?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“Bruno would never have gone out on that balcony willingly. Never, not even drunk. And there were just too many people at that party who resented his not sharing his money with them. I’m glad we’re seeing Brad today. I want to talk to him about it.”
They were to meet Cessy and Brad at the building at three, but because Steve hadn’t seen the progress on his apartment for some time, Elliott suggested they go early so he could see that first. The work was almost done, awaiting only the finishing of the floors and the installation of the new kitchen appliances. He hoped, too, that it would help to take both their minds off Bruno’s death.
As they entered the garage and walked toward his car, Elliott experienced a familiar sensation he equated with a glass being filled with water. In this case, he was the glass, and the water was the growing awareness of John’s presence. He had no idea what John was doing there until Steve looked at him, cocked his head, and said, “Are you sure you’re not wearing Old Spice?” The scent was very subtle, but unmistakable, and Elliott immediately had his answer.
*
Despite his concern over Bruno’s death, Steve was delighted with the way the apartment was shaping up, and especially with the patio.
“I can paint out here, and get some large pots for flowers and vegetables, though it’s probably too late in the year for vegetables. And I’ll have to start looking around for some patio furniture and maybe a barbecue grill, and…”
Elliott just grinned.
They went downstairs at about 2:50 to await Brad and Cessy’s arrival, and had just emerged onto the sidewalk when they saw the Priebes’ SUV pull into a parking space across the street. As she got out of the car, Cessy stopped to survey the building before following the rest of her family as they joined Elliott and Steve.
“It’s beautiful, Elliott,” she said. “Really beautiful. I wish we’d brought the camera.”
Brad exchanged handshakes with Steve and Elliott, and Elliott hugged Jenny and Sandy. BJ said his usual cursory “hi” and focused his attention on three teenage girls walking past on the other side of the street.
“We haven’t done anything at all with the interior of the ground floor yet,” Elliott explained, “and the front part is pretty much a shambles from putting in the new windows and restoring the original facade. So, unless you really want to see it…”
“Of course, we want to see it,” Cessy said. “We seldom get a chance to see just what it is you do, and I’d like to get a before-and-after.”
Leading them to the recessed corner front entrance, Elliott unlocked the door and let them in. The interior, with little light coming through the papered-over windows, was relatively dark and gloomy, but he was able to give them a rough idea of how it would look after the interior walls were removed and the paneling on the exterior walls had been replaced. Brad remarked on the pressed-tin ceiling, and Elliott expressed his concern for the condition of it where the interior walls met the ceiling.
“But I think we have enough extra panels to make it work,” he said. “It will be perfect for a gallery, Steve,” Cessy said.
Steve looked mildly embarrassed.
“I don’t know for sure that’s what Elliott has in mind for it.”
She looked at him with a mock scowl. “Well, of course that’s what he has in mind for it. I knew that the moment he mentioned the ground floor had once been a storefront.”
“You did?” Elliott asked. “May I ask how?”
“I’m your sister, Elliott.”
“Well, that explains it.”
Leaving the ground floor, they walked down the alley so Elliott could show off the details of the refinished side bay windows.
“I love the colors,” Cessy said.
“They’re Steve’s idea.”
“I could have guessed. Isn’t it nice to have an artist in the family?”
Steve suppressed a grin, and Elliott said nothing.
Returning to the front, they went to the apartment entrance and climbed to the top floor. As Elliott placed the key in the lock, he caught a subtle whiff of Old Spice and, realizing this was Bruno’s old apartment, felt the hair on his arms and neck rise.
He glanced at Steve, who was talking with Jenny and gave no indication he’d noticed anything.
Inside the apartment, there was no sign of anything at all out of the ordinary, and the hint of Old Spice faded and vanished. Nor was there any indication of John.
As they were getting ready to leave, Elliott handed the keys to Steve. “Why don’t you take Cessy and the kids down to your place? I need to talk to Brad for a second.”
Brad, who had been carrying Sandy, looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow but merely passed her to Cessy, who followed Steve, Jenny, and BJ down the stairs.
“So, what’s up?” Brad asked.
“There was an accident at my building last night,” Elliott began. “A guy I knew—Bruno Caesar—he was the one
who told me about this building, and he used to live in this apartment—fell from the fortieth floor at about three o’clock this morning.”
“Sorry about that. He was a friend of yours?”
“I’d like to think so,” Elliott replied. “I talked to one of the detectives who was there—Cabrera. We met him at your birthday party. I told him I don’t think it was an accident.”
“Based on what?”
“Mainly on the fact Bruno was terrified of heights. He was fine being inside and looking out, but to actually be on the edge of something high? He told me he had never set foot on his balcony. Never. So, for him to fall off it is incomprehensible.”
“Do you know the details of how it happened?”
“No. Bruno had a big party last night—he threw a lot of parties. He won fifty-nine million in the lottery, and a lot of people resented his not sharing with them. He told me someone had been harassing him, and that he was inviting all the people who’d been hitting him up for money to tell them all future requests would have to go through his business manager. I’m sure that made some of them pretty unhappy.”
“And you told all this to George…Detective Cabrera?”
“Only about the fear of heights. It was three a.m., and I wasn’t thinking too clearly. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it.”
Brad nodded. “Well, I appreciate that. I’ll see what I can find out on Monday. I probably won’t see George or Frank—his partner, Frank Guerdon—until our shifts overlap on Tuesday morning, but I’ll try to talk to them then.”
“I’d appreciate it. And now I suppose we’d better get downstairs.”
*
“I’m really glad Cessy and Brad liked the building,” Steve said as they drove toward his apartment. “Cessy had some great ideas for the patio, and now I’m all hyped to get in there. I’m going to stop Monday after work and order the paint. Then, if it’s okay with you, I can maybe go over this weekend and start painting, before you finish the floors.”
In the course of all Elliott’s renovation projects, all the rooms were routinely painted white, with the idea that whoever moved in could repaint to suit themselves. Elliott thought a moment before saying, “Tell you what—we’re planning to start on the floors next week, so why don’t I go with you to get the paint, and my crew and I can paint the day before we’re ready to start on the floors.”