by Dorien Grey
“Too bad you can’t communicate with him directly.”
“Oohh, no! Having conversations with one dead guy—no offense to John—is more than enough, thanks.
“I really don’t have any good reason to talk to Rudy, or Walter Means, for that matter, but I suppose I can find some reason to get in touch with them to see if I can learn anything. And I’ve never talked to Cage about what happened the night Bruno died.”
“Well, if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“Have no doubt!”
*
Returning home Monday night, Elliott tried to figure out a good reason to call Cage. He didn’t even know if Cage was in town, or whether he had moved from Bruno’s condo as Means had insisted. If he had moved, it might be next to impossible to get in touch with him at all.
Luck was once again with him. As he was walking away from his mailbox, he saw Cage come in from the garage.
“Cage!” he called, hurrying to catch up with him.
“Hi, Elliott. How are things going?”
They crossed the lobby to the elevators.
“Fine with me, but how are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess. Bruno’s death hit my mom pretty hard, and it’s only made her sicker, so I’ve been running back and forth to Rockford a lot. When I’m not working for Rudy, Chaz and I are looking for a place to move to. Means tried to kick us out the minute Bruno died, but Rudy says he can’t do anything until the court approves him as executor, so I told him to go fuck himself. Why Bruno ever chose him I’ll never know. The guy’s a first-class asshole.”
The elevator doors opened, and they got on. Elliott decided to take advantage of the opportunity.
“If you’ve got a minute, how about stopping at my place for a drink? I haven’t talked to you since Bruno died.”
“Sure, I’ve got some time. Chaz is coming over around six thirty. You still with Steve?”
Elliott thought that an odd question, but merely said, “Yeah.”
“Hot guy.”
“That he is.”
When the elevator stopped at 35, Cage followed Elliott to his unit.
“What’ll it be?” Elliott asked, going immediately to the cupboards to take out two glasses.
“Scotch on the rocks.”
“Sure. Why don’t you go into the living room, and I’ll be right with you.” Going about the business of fixing their drinks—bourbon-Seven for himself—Elliott said, “So, where are you thinking of moving?”
“We looked at a little place—and I do mean little—on Roscoe just off Halsted. We can’t afford anything more until the estate is settled.”
“What are you going to do with all of Bruno’s things?”
Cage laughed—a little bitterly, Elliott noted.
“Means warned me not to take anything I hadn’t brought with me when I moved in. Everything belongs to the estate, he said, and until the estate’s settled, nobody can touch a thing. He had the gall to go around taking pictures of everything. He said if I want any of Bruno’s furniture, I can buy it from the estate. Did I mention the guy’s a prick?”
Elliott brought their drinks into the living room, handed Cage his scotch, and took a seat in his favorite chair.
“Well, you should come out okay in the end, once the will is executed.”
Cage merely shrugged and took a sip of his scotch.
“So, tell me about the night Bruno died. What happened?”
Shaking his head, Cage said, “I haven’t a clue. The party was pretty much over, and everybody had gone home, and it was just Chaz and Ricky and me and Bruno. We’d all had a lot to drink, and I just conked out until the police woke us up.”
Elliott didn’t say anything for a moment. “Who was the last to leave the party? Do you remember?”
Cage thought about it. “Yeah, Bruno’s guru, Clifford Blanton. Talk about a phony! I tried to warn Bruno about that guy, but it didn’t do any good.”
“Warn him about what?”
“That he was just out to get as much of Bruno’s money as he could. Do you know he was charging Bruno five hundred dollars for their little ‘sessions’—sometimes three times a week?”
It occurred to Elliott it would be counterproductive for Blanton to kill Bruno and cut himself off from a lucrative source of income, until Cage added, “He wanted Bruno to go in with him on some resort in northern Wisconsin. He had this idea of creating some kind of ‘Meditation Retreat.’ I think I may have talked him out of that one, but I don’t know. I know they had an argument at the party.”
“Did you mention that to the police?”
“Sure.”
“Did you say anything about Rudy?”
Cage looked up from his drink. “No. Why should I?”
“Well, Rudy wanted Bruno to go in with him to buy that bar.”
“Yeah, but that was a legitimate business deal. Bruno could have made a lot of money—not that he needed it, but… Well, after the will’s executed, Rudy and I might work something out.”
Elliott assumed Cage was still working for Rudy, and wondered if he knew for sure he was in the will, but didn’t want to ask. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Rudy had rehired him so as not to let him—and the chance to get at any money Bruno might have left him—slip away.
The door had no sooner closed behind Cage when Steve called, followed by Cessy; he wasn’t able to start dinner until nearly seven. He went over his conversation with Cage, vacillating between putting him high or low on the list of Bruno’s possible killers.
A lot depended, he decided, on whether or not Cage was mentioned in the will and had known it at the time. His comment about going into business with Rudy after the disbursement of the estate indicated he was pretty confident he’d be getting at least some of Bruno’s money, which was a pretty strong motive.
But even if Cage weren’t specifically mentioned in the will, his parents undoubtedly were, as next-of-kin. Since Bruno had said both of them were in poor health, maybe Cage was counting on their not being around much longer, leaving him the primary beneficiary. Pretty calculating, but Cage struck Elliott as a man who knew what he wanted and wouldn’t be too bothered with ethics in getting it.
He had wanted to talk to Walter Means since shortly after Bruno died, but didn’t know exactly how to go about approaching him. They’d had relatively few contacts other than the man’s bids for Elliott’s business several years previously. But after talking with Cage, it struck him that Means’ intention to put Bruno’s condo up for sale might provide an excuse. He made a mental note to call him and set up an appointment.
*
I suspect Cage isn’t in it
In what? Bruno’s will? How do you know that?
Bruno’s like a lot of people who die suddenly without having any idea of why or how they died. He’s a lot like a hurricane. There is an “eye,” which is him and everything that made him who he was—every thought, every memory he ever had—swirling around it. It usually all calms down in time, but some people take longer than others.
I did pick up some interesting nonverbal impressions of family background though. There are strong positive feelings about his parents and his sister-in-law—I suspect they were probably the only members of his family he felt close to. There’s almost nothing about his brother, and what there is, is pretty neutral. There’s a little bit of anger and disappointment about Cage.
But no specifics on the will?
None. It would be a lot easier if I could communicate with him directly, but he’s not to that point yet. All I have is the feeling Cage isn’t in the will.
Well, with both his parents being in ill health—he mentioned his mom wasn‘t doing well—he probably doesn’t need to be. He’ll end up with it all eventually.
*
Having dinner at Steve’s Tuesday night, Elliott related his most recent conversation with John.
“I’m really between a rock and a hard place here,” he said. “There’s no easy way of kn
owing what the police are doing, or what leads they may be following, or what they know that we don’t. I can’t pull the same sort of thing with them as I did with Brad—even he never fully bought the ‘it’s just a hunch’ explanation, and God knows I don’t want them to think of me as a possible suspect.”
“All you can do is the best you can. At least you’re getting some information, indirect as it may be, from Bruno. That’s something the police can’t say.”
“True.”
“So, what’s next?”
“Walter Means, I think. I’ll tell him Cessy and Brad might be interested in buying Bruno’s place—or, better, that my parents are thinking of buying it for them. Since my folks are out of town, there’s no way Means can check with them even if he wanted to.”
During dinner, Steve said, “You know, since you have to be here to work every day anyway, you could just stay here until all the work’s done.”
Elliott could sense courtesy was the motivating factor behind the offer, and strongly felt that Steve really needed time to establish the sense the apartment was his.
“Tempting,” he said, “but I need to be at the condo anyway for mail and to check for messages, not to mention that it’s ground zero for most of what we need to do to get to the bottom of what happened to Bruno. But I won’t mind being a frequent overnight guest.”
Steve grinned. “I think that can be arranged.”
*
At home Wednesday evening, Elliott located Walter Means’ business card. Just as his mind collected trivia, he seemed incapable of throwing away business cards, which he kept in a special file, sorted alphabetically.
Removing it, being careful to set the card behind it on end so he could easily locate the spot from which it had been taken, he went to the phone and dialed.
“Means residence,” a female voice—probably Mrs. Means—said.
“Is Walter in?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Elliott Smith, in 35J.”
There was a moment of silence, then Means’ voice. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I think you can. I understand you’re to be the executor of Bruno Caesar’s will?”
“That’s correct.”
“And I understand you’ll be putting his condo up for sale?”
“Yes. Are you interested?”
“A member of my family might be, yes. Can we get together to talk about it?”
“Of course. When would be convenient for you?”
“Tomorrow evening would be good. Seven thirty? At my unit? 35J.”
“That will be fine. I’ll see you then.”
As he finished dinner, Button called, verifying he planned to move in Saturday.
“Sure. Do you need any help?”
“That’s very kind of you, Elliott, but Paul and a couple of friends from the Anvil have volunteered. I’ll stop by tomorrow with the signed lease and the rest of the first and last month’s rent. Will you be there around six?”
“Probably not—I have an appointment here. But I’m sure Steve will be there, and you can give it to him. I’ll leave a receipt and a key with him.”
“Thank you, Elliott. I am so looking forward to this move!”
They talked for a few more minutes, and after a quick call to Steve to make sure he’d be there when Button came by, Elliott retired to the den for a little TV before bed.
*
An interesting bit of news on the will.
Ah? And what is it?
The bulk of everything goes to Bruno‘s sister-in-law.
Not his brother?
Nope. Nor Cage. And I get a strong undercurrent of concern for her.
I’d guess she’s in pretty bad shape.
Which means Cage might end up with the bulk, if not all, of Bruno’s money.
Seems likely.
Anything- at all on his “sensei,” Clifford Blanton?
Specifically on him? Oddly, no. But there are a couple of really dark areas swirling around he hasn’t even come close to addressing yet. Maybe Blanton’s in there somewhere.
Interesting. I definitely should try to talk with Blanton, too.
*
A knock on Elliott’s door at exactly seven thirty Thursday evening announced Walter Means’ arrival. He carried a glossy-covered prospectus with “Exclusive Realty” embossed on it. They shook hands, and Elliott escorted him into the living room, noting that Means made no effort to hide his inspection of the unit. Elliott did not offer him a drink.
Taking a seat on the couch, Means got right down to business. “You’re lucky you called when you did,” he said. “I’ll be putting the place on the market momentarily.”
Elliott couldn’t resist adding, “As soon as the court approves your executorship, you mean. You can’t do it before.”
Means’ face reflected his displeasure.
“Of course, but that will be any day now.” Indicating the prospectus, he said, “I’ve already had an appraisal done, and even given current market conditions I’m sure there won’t be any trouble selling it.” He paused, then said, “You say your sister is interested in it?”
Elliott had said no such thing and didn’t remember ever having even mentioned to Means that he had a sister.
“Her husband’s a policeman, I understand.”
Elliott found the fact he had obviously done some research into the family more than a little irritating. Unaware of—or unconcerned with—Elliott’s reaction, Means continued. “I’d thought this might be a little steep for him on a policeman’s salary. But then, I’m sure your sister could easily afford it.”
Elliott’s irritation bloomed into anger, and he had to make a conscious effort not to let it show. “They already own their own home. My parents are thinking of buying it as an investment.”
Means nodded. “Aaah, I see. It would be an excellent investment. You know the J units are the most desirable in the building, and Bruno’s is in excellent condition.”
Leaning forward, he offered the prospectus to Elliott, who took it and looked through it briefly.
“I don’t see the suggested list price.”
Means looked surprised.
“It’s not there?” He took the folder and leafed through it quickly. “I must have left it downstairs. Sorry. We’ll be listing it for three-fifty, but I’m sure if your parents are interested, money shouldn’t be an object.”
Elliott found the man’s gall astonishing. He knew a newly renovated J unit on a slightly lower floor had sold for $320,000 shortly before Bruno bought his, and while he had no idea how much Bruno had paid, he was sure it couldn’t have been much more than $330,000.
“When do you think they’d like to take a look at it?” Means asked.
“They’re currently overseas, but they’ve always liked this unit”—in truth, his parents had only been in it twice in all the time he’d lived there—“and when they heard of Bruno’s death, they asked me to get them some information on it. I’ll pass it on when they call next, and if they’re interested, they can call you directly when they get back.”
“Well, I hope they’ll be back soon. It won’t last long once we put it on the market.”
Elliott resisted observing that at $350,000 it probably would. He didn’t want to give Means an excuse to get away before he got some of the information he needed.
“So, tell me, how did you come to be named executor of Bruno’s will? Isn’t that a bit unusual, considering you were also his financial adviser?”
“Not unusual at all. When he saw how well I was doing for him, he insisted I agree to take care of his estate should something happen to him. I’d be surprised if he knew how to balance a checkbook before I came along.”
“I gather he was very unhappy with his stock losses.”
Means shrugged. “Wasn’t everyone? And, of course, he blamed me, a classic example of shoot the messenger. But I explained to him I was not responsible for his losses, and that in fact, it was only my astute management that kept hi
m from losing a lot more.
“And his so-called friends were out for everything they could get. They would have bled him dry if I hadn’t been there to prevent it. He wrote a very sizable check to his ‘guru’ or whatever he was supposed to be two days before he died. It was cashed—cashed, not deposited—the following morning. I find that very unusual.”
So did Elliott, and the fact that piece of information was accompanied by the subtle but definite whiff of Old Spice caught him completely by surprise. Momentarily thrown off-balance, he surprised himself when he came up with a total non sequitur.
“Were you aware of the value of his stamp collection?”
Means didn’t bat an eye. “Of course, and I felt it a perfect example of his ignorance of finances. The money he spent on those…those…airmail stamps…”
“Inverted Jennys.”
“Yes…could have been invested far more wisely. Unfortunately, he’d bought them before he came to me and refused my advice to sell them and reinvest the money in something worthwhile.”
Elliott was very tempted to say the stamps were extremely worthwhile to Bruno. “And did you know those stamps are missing?” he asked.
He couldn’t tell whether Means’ look of shock was real or feigned. “Missing? How could that be? I instructed him to put them in a safe deposit box the minute I heard he had them.”
“He didn’t. He kept them in a frame on his bedroom wall where he could see them every morning.”
Means shook his head. “I can’t believe it! How could he have been so stupid?”
“I gather you didn’t think too highly of him.”
“How could I when he could do something so utterly irresponsible? That and his endless questioning and second-guessing. To be honest with you, it had gotten to the point where I was considering telling him to find another financial manager.”
Elliott took that comment with a pound or two of salt.
Means glanced at his watch and got up from the couch. “I really must be going. Please have your parents call me as soon as possible if they are interested. It won’t be on the market long.”
“I’ll do that,” Elliott said, rising to walk him to the door.
*