by Dorien Grey
“How come you didn’t call my cell?” he asked when she answered the phone.
“I knew you were busy, and I didn’t want to bother you.”
Then why, he briefly wondered, had she called his land-line three times?
“So, what’s up?”
Steve handed Elliott his drink and motioned he’d be in the den.
Included in Cessy’s rundown of the family’s activities since their last conversation, was a report on their parents’ travels—they were currently in Istanbul on yet another Middle East tour. Their mother wrote Cessy with fair frequency, but when they were traveling he received only an occasional postcard. Even when she asked how the weekend had gone, however, he didn’t mention that Steve was spending the week.
Finally, he asked to talk to Brad, who agreed to help with the furniture the following Saturday.
After hanging up, he went into the bedroom to get Bruno’s envelope from the dresser, pausing as he passed the den to tell Steve he’d be right with him. The 9 X 12 white envelope was sealed, but rather than go back to the den for a letter opener, he inserted his finger under a loose corner of the flap and ripped it open. Inside was a second sealed envelope, with “For Ricky” written on it in block letters. He was curious as to its contents but didn’t want to open it.
It struck him as odd Bruno hadn’t simply given it to Ricky directly.
Passing by the den again on his way to the kitchen phone, he said, “One more thing.” Steve merely lifted his glass in acknowledgement without looking away from the TV.
When Adam and Jesse’s answering machine kicked in, he left a message to have Ricky give him a call and was just about to hang up when he heard the receiver lifted.
“Elliott, hi. This is Ricky. I don’t normally answer the phone, but Adam and Jesse are out, and I was in the kitchen and heard your message. I was just getting ready to call you but wanted to be sure you were home from work first. The police came to see me today. They wanted to know about those stamps Cage took. They said they were real. How could they be real? They were in a picture frame hanging on the wall.”
Elliott paused only a moment. “Trust me, they were real. Did you tell them you thought Cage took them?”
“Well, yes. Who else could it have been?”
Deciding to let that ride for the moment, Elliott said, “I’m glad you talked with them. But the reason for my call is that Bruno left an envelope with me, and I didn’t get a chance to open it until tonight. It’s something for you.”
There was a long pause, then: “Really? He left something for me?” The pleasure in his voice was mixed with sadness. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. There was an envelope inside the envelope, and the inner one has your name on it. Would you like me to mail it to you, or…”
“Oh, no! Could I come over and get it? Tomorrow evening, maybe? Adam and Jesse are going out to dinner, so…”
“That’d be fine. Any time after five thirty.”
“I’ll see you then.”
As he hung up, Elliott detected just the slightest hint of Old Spice.
*
He was awakened by Steve’s suddenly sitting up in bed and exclaiming, “Whoa!”
Glancing at the bedside clock, he saw it was just after one. He didn’t have to ask the reason for the wake-up call. The room reeked of Old Spice.
He sat up, too, both of them looking around the room, although they knew it was pointless. The odor dissipated but didn’t disappear.
Steve turned to Elliott. “What the hell was that all about?” he asked.
“I have no idea.” Elliott shook his head. “But I suggest we get back to sleep. Maybe I’ll hear from John.”
They both lay back down, and Elliott closed his eyes. As always, the harder he tried to fall asleep, the more difficult it was. He could tell Steve hadn’t gone back to sleep, either, but he didn’t want to start a conversation in the middle of the night.
Finally, after what seemed like hours…
I think they call it an epiphany.
It must have been one hell of an epiphany.
Bruno knows for sure he was murdered.
That’d do it. Does he know who did it?
No. I get images and impressions of his being lifted up, going over the railing, then looking backwards and upside down at a pair of legs standing at the balcony. That’s it. I gather he doesn’t remember the rest of the fall.
Thank God for that.
Well, it really doesn’t matter once you’re dead.
Now, there’s an interesting if less than cheery thought.
Sorry. Facts is facts.
So, he doesn’t know who did it?
No. But I’m pretty sure he wants you to find out.
I was afraid of that, but I don’t think he’ll need me. The police are treating it as a murder. They’ll find out who did it.
Hopefully. But I get the idea it may not be easy—there’s one hell of a lot going on with all of this. I haven’t a clue as to what it all is, or what it means, if anything. He may start focusing and come up with some specific information that will help, and you can pass it on to the police.
Oh, sure. “My dead friends tell me…”
You’ve done it before. You’ll find a way.
Let’s see if I need to first.
*
Steve was in the shower when Elliott woke, so he first went to make coffee before using the guest bathroom shower. He was tempted to join Steve but knew, given their libidos, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea if they wanted to make it to work on time.
As they had their toast and coffee, Elliott was curious as to whether he might have talked aloud during his conversation with John; but when Steve said nothing about it, he told him about Bruno’s realization.
Steve gave an exaggeratedly slow nod. “Aha! Thus the Old Spice!” After dropping Steve at the Armitage el stop, Elliott backtracked the few blocks to the building. He was nearly half an hour early, but just as he pulled into one of the garages, a truck drove into the alley with a large dumpster he had ordered for the ground-floor interior demolition. He directed them to put it as close to the building’s side entrance as possible then went inside and started to work.
*
As they approached the condo’s driveway after work, they passed Ricky walking from the bus stop toward the building. Steve got out by the main entrance to wait for him while Elliott parked the car.
“Sorry if I’m too early,” Ricky said as Elliott joined him and Steve in the lobby, “but I just couldn’t wait, and I didn’t want to interfere with your evening.”
“No problem,” Elliott said as they went to the elevators.
“I still can’t believe Bruno actually left something for me. I never expected anything at all from him.”
“Well, I have no idea what it might be,” Elliott said. “All I know is that it’s in an envelope with your name on it.”
As soon as they were inside, Elliot retrieved the envelope from the bedroom while Steve fixed drinks. They were still in the kitchen when he returned and handed Ricky the envelope.
“Do you mind if I open it now? I’m just so…I don’t even know what words to use.”
“That’s okay,” Steve said. “We understand.”
Ricky very carefully pried the envelope flap loose and opened it, extracting what appeared to be a small sheet of stationery wrapped around another folded piece of paper. He read a note written on the stationery first.
“It says, ‘I want you to have something to remember me by.’” He then unfolded the second piece of paper, and his puzzlement was clear as he unfolded and read it. Elliott recognized it immediately but said nothing.
“It’s a Philatelic Certificate of Authenticity,” Ricky said, holding it so both Steve and Elliott could see. “For the stamps Cage stole. But why would he leave this for me? Do you think he knew he was going to die?”
Elliott felt a wave of relief that Bruno had taken his suggestion not to keep the certifica
te in the same frame with the stamps.
“I’m sure he didn’t. But I’d assume he wanted you to have them just in case anything did happen. He really cared about you.”
Ricky’s eyes filled with tears, and he pursed his lips tightly. Elliott was afraid he was going to cry, but he recovered himself.
“But they’re gone. Cage stole them.”
“Let’s go sit down,” Elliott suggested.
Steve handed him and Ricky their drinks and, picking up his own, followed them into the living room.
“Exactly when did you notice the stamps were gone?” Elliott asked when they’d settled.
“Like I told the police, it was the Tuesday after Bruno died. All of a sudden, I just saw they weren’t there. I called you almost right away.”
Which meant they could have been taken any time after Bruno’s death, including that same night.
“So, you don’t know if they were there before or after Clifford Blanton sat with you while you fell asleep the morning after Bruno’s death?”
“No. But I can’t imagine Clifford taking them. He was Bruno’s friend.”
“Exactly what makes you think Cage took them? Had he ever expressed any interest at all in them? Is he even into stamp collecting that you know of?”
“No. Bruno really enjoyed sharing his love of stamps, and he told me he’d tried showing one of his albums to Cage one time, but that the only thing Cage wanted to know was how much each one of them was worth. He was really happy I was interested in stamps, though I hadn’t done much about collecting since I was a kid, and I never really knew enough about them to be a serious collector. I wouldn’t have had the money to be one, either.”
“What about the rest of Bruno’s stamps?” Steve asked. “Were any others taken?”
Ricky looked surprised. “I honestly don’t know. Everything was going on at once, and it was all just too much. It never occurred to me to check his stamp collection. He kept it in a file cabinet in the front hall closet, but I didn’t have any reason to think about it.”
It occurred to Elliott that, unless the entire collection was missing, it would be next to impossible to know if any others were gone.
“Do you know if he had some sort of…well, like a written catalog of what stamps he had?”
Ricky sighed. “Not that I know of, and I don’t know how I could find out now. I haven’t been back to the condo since I moved into Adam and Jesse’s.” He paused, then said, “But what if Cage has sold them already?”
“Well, if he’s tried to sell anything that belonged to Bruno, he’ll be in serious trouble. Everything right now belongs to the estate. As for the Jennys, I don’t imagine selling or buying a block of stolen stamps worth two million dollars without the proper paperwork is quite the same as fencing a stolen microwave.
“It’s possible Cage might have taken the Jennys for spite, but I tend to doubt it. I’m pretty sure whoever took them knew they were real—and they’re not going to let any harm come to them, you can be sure of that. It may take a while, but they’ll show up.” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. “In the meantime, I’d suggest you put that certificate somewhere you know is safe. And I suggest you let the police know you have it. They might even be able to hold it for you as part of their evidence file. You’d get it back once everything’s settled.”
“Oh, I will!” Carefully replacing the certificate in the envelope, Ricky finished his drink and got up. “Thank you…both…for everything! You don’t know how much this means to me. And even if the stamps are never found, just to know that Bruno…well, you know.”
When the door had closed behind Ricky and they had returned to the living room, Steve said, “Do you buy that?”
“What?”
“That he’d be okay if the stamps were never found? I mean, a couple of million dollars…”
“…which he doesn’t have now and never had any expectation of having. I wouldn’t be surprised if the two million part of it hasn’t really sunk in yet. But I think he meant it. He really cared for Bruno and, as he said, just knowing Bruno felt the same about him…”
Steve grinned. “Look, you let word get around you’re a bleeding-heart liberal, you’re dead in this town!”
Elliott returned the grin. “Right.”
*
Don’t worry about the other stamps; they’re all there. For the moment.
How do you know?
I don’t. .Bruno does. How he knows, I can’t explain. He just does.
So, who knew about the Jennys other than Blanton? My money’s on him at the moment.
I’m not sure; I’ll try to find out.
Yeah, well I’m afraid it could be more people than he might think. He told me about them. I suspect he was sort of like a little kid with a secret he couldn’t resist sharing.
*
By Friday, the main floor of the Armitage building had been entirely gutted. While the damaged ceiling panels could be replaced by those they’d found in the basement, the walls were in very bad shape, and Elliott thought the best thing to do would be to just wallboard the entire space. However, on Steve’s suggestion, it was determined there would be enough salvageable panels to do the first eight or ten feet of the side walls from the front of the building. It proved to be a long and laborious job, but everyone agreed it was worth it.
Button had come over to the condo Wednesday to sign the lease on his apartment, and said he’d be moving in the weekend after Steve. Elliott talked with Cessy a couple of times but heard nothing from Guerdon or Cabrera on how the case was going. Of course, there was no reason why he would or should. It was their investigation, not his.
There was no word from John until Friday night.
Sorry it took so long to get back to you. Just remember your time isn’t quite the same as Bruno’s, and he and I still don’t have what you’d call regular in-spoken-wordy conversations.
What did you find out?
You were right. Blanton knew, of course, since he was the one who put Bruno in touch with the guy Bruno bought the Jennys from in the first place. Walter Means knew in the course of his acting as financial manager; and Bruno thinks he may have mentioned them to Rudy.
He might as well have put up a billboard on the side of the building. And Cage worked for Rudy, so it’s not too much of a stretch to think Rudy would have asked Cage about them even if Bruno hadn’t told Cage himself. Has Bruno remembered anything more about the party or his lost moments?
Not from what I can gather. Again, it’s not like we’re having a conversation where I can ask direct him questions. I have to sift through the dust clouds he’s sending out. But I’ll do what I can.
*
Moving Steve’s furniture to the new apartment went without a hitch, thanks to Brad and BJ’s help. Though Elliott knew Brad wouldn’t accept any payment for his time and effort, both Steve and he each managed to slip BJ $20 when Brad wasn’t looking.
They used the rest of Saturday unpacking and getting things in order, then spent the night in the new apartment, christening it with a champagne toast and, despite being tired from the day’s work, a pleasantly extended period of what Steve referred to as “horizontal recreation.”
Elliott had just drifted off to sleep when he was aware of John.
Bruno is getting restless.
About anything in particular?
About why he died and who killed him.
I can’t say I blame him. Still no specifics?
No. It’s like watching laundry in a glass-doored dryer—several names keep churning past the window.
Names like…?
Cage, Rudy, Walter Means.
The “usual suspects,” in other words. How about Clifford Blanton?
Not that I noticed.
Well then, my money’s on him. It’s always the guy no one suspects.
Interesting! Uh, not about Blanton, but that Steve’s close by.
Yeah, like right next to me, in case you hadn’t noticed.
<
br /> No, I don’t mean physically.
Oh, great! You mean he’s listening in?
John laughed.
No. I just sense he’s out there on the perimeter. Not surprising really, now that he knows about me. Link between you and me, link between him and you. I’m just the apex of the triangle.
I don’t know that I’m ready for a psychic three-way.
Not to worry. We’re nowhere close to that.
“A psychic three-way?”
Elliott opened his eyes to see Steve propped up on one elbow, grinning at him.
“Talking with John, I assume?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything interesting?”
“It can wait until morning. We’d better get back to sleep.”
*
A light rain was falling Sunday morning as Elliott joined Steve in the kitchen.
“I was hoping we could have our coffee on the patio,” Steve said, gesturing toward his new deck with a tilt of his head as he poured coffee.
“You don’t have any furniture out there yet,” Elliott pointed out.
“Details, details!”
Taking their coffee into the living room, they sat on the couch among opened boxes and pictures leaning against the walls awaiting hanging.
“So,” Steve said, “what was that about a psychic three-way? And what’s up with John?”
Elliott told him.
“What now?” Steve asked when he’d finished.
“No idea. None. I’m not a cop. I’m not a detective. I don’t have any authority to start questioning people, and wouldn’t even know what to ask if I did.”
Steve moved aside a box on the coffee table to allow him to set his mug down and shrugged.
“Well, you can at least talk to the people Bruno’s concerned about. You can get a feel for whether they’re telling the truth or hiding something.”
Elliott echoed the shrug. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
“And maybe John will be able to get some details from Bruno. He…” Steve leaned forward to pick up his coffee and stopped in mid-motion.
“What?” Elliott asked.
“Old Spice. Smell it?”
Elliott inhaled deeply. “Ah, yeah. Just a whiff. Looks like we have Bruno’s attention.”