Caesar's Fall

by Dorien Grey

  As they sat at the bar awaiting their table, Elliott told Steve of his meeting with Ricky, his talk with Brad, and his conversation with John.

  “You’ve been busy.”

  Taking a sip of his drink, Elliott nodded.

  “Some progress,” he conceded, “but not nearly enough.”

  “But you believe Ricky.”

  “Yeah, I do. He might have known the stamps were real, but I can’t see him stealing them. The only things I could see he took from the condo when he left were a picture of him with Bruno and an empty champagne bottle with a candle in it. He could have gotten away with a lot more if he’d wanted to.”

  “So, he’s out as a suspect.”

  “You disagree?”

  “Not at all. I always got good vibes between them.”

  “Well, we can’t rule anybody out totally, but I think we can move Ricky to the outer perimeter of the suspects circle—and Chaz, too.”

  “Chaz?”

  Elliott realized he hadn’t told Steve about John’s report of Bruno’s looking up and seeing a pair of pants as he went off the balcony, so he did.

  “Interesting! “Steve said, then grinned. “The suspects’ circle! Wow, you really do like playing detective!”

  “I’m not about to quit my day job. But John’s right—if we don’t help Bruno, who will?”

  “Uh, the police, maybe?”

  “Of course, the police. But they can’t possibly know everything they really need to know, and they don’t have access to the one person who could help them the most—Bruno. We do…sort of.”

  “But Brad said he’d put in a good word for you with the detectives on the case?”

  “Cabrera and Guerdon. Yes. But whether they’ll be willing to talk to somebody they might consider to be just a nosy amateur detective is another matter. I couldn’t really blame them if they aren’t.”

  “Think positive.”

  “May I quote you on that?”

  They both grinned, and the bartender informed them their table was ready.

  *

  Before Elliott realized, it was Wednesday. Both offices and the bathroom were done, electrical work completed, and wallboarding of the main space was well underway. He’d had dinner at Steve’s Tuesday night and they went over the pricing and specs of the flooring choices from Steve’s research. They came up with two they agreed on, which Elliott presented to his crew Wednesday morning for comment. Ted pointed out some potential problems with one of them, so they opted for the other, and Elliott called his flooring subcontractor to set up a meeting.

  He’d had a brief conversation with John Monday night—basically just an update on Bruno’s progress, which appeared to be getting back on track, with no new revelations.

  Just after his lunch break, his cell phone rang.

  “Mr. Smith? This is Detective Guerdon. Your brother-in-law, Detective Priebe, suggested we should get together again to go over some things about Bruno Caesar’s death. Any chance you might come by the station around two thirty?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you then.”

  The station—the 23rd, on Halsted and Addison—was the one Brad also worked out of, a classic old gem right out of a 1950s TV cop show, and it was slated for demolition when the newer, larger one just to the west of it was finished. Brad was looking forward to moving, but Elliott thought it a shame to lose another piece of the city’s history.

  Not wanting to bother Steve at work, he left a note on the door for him saying he’d call later.

  Climbing the worn wooden steps leading from the entrance to the officer-on-duty’s desk on the main floor was like stepping back in time. He stopped to ask for Detectives Cabrera and Guerdon, and was directed down a short hall to a small office with an old wooden table in the center, surrounded by eight solid, no-nonsense wooden chairs of the same vintage. He went in, and a moment later, Detective Guerdon entered.

  “Have a seat,” Guerdon said after they’d shaken hands. “Want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  They both sat down as Cabrera appeared in the doorway carrying a notepad and an official-looking file. Because the width of the table and the fact Elliott was seated facing the door made shaking hands difficult, they merely exchanged nods of greeting.

  “Okay,” Cabrera said, sitting down heavily and placing the file and notepad on the table in front of him. “I have to tell you, this isn’t the way we usually do things around here, but Detective Priebe says you were a big help in the solving of a couple of previous cases. What are you, psychic?”

  Elliott cringed but managed a small smile.

  “Hardly. Let’s just say I’m lucky, and that I pick up on things. As I told you the first time we talked, I figure that because I know most of the people you’re probably looking into in your investigation, without having any vested interest in any of them, I likely have a perspective you can use. I’ve been in touch with most of them since we first talked, and learned some things you might want to check out. But first, can you tell me if you’ve found out anything about the missing stamps?”

  Receiving a barely perceptible nod from Cabrera, Guerdon said, “After you told us about Blanton’s being in Caesar’s bedroom Sunday morning, we had a long talk with him, and he swears he knows nothing about who might have taken them. He said a lot of people were going in and out of the bathroom in the master bedroom during the party, so it could have been any of them.

  “He said he knew Caesar had hung them on the wall, and that he’d done everything he could to urge him to put them in a safe deposit box, but Caesar had refused. And he claims he was too concerned with looking after the boyfriend when he was there after Caesar died to notice whether the stamps were still on the wall or not.

  “We took that one with a grain of salt, and we’re keeping a close eye on him. We’ve also alerted all the leading stamp dealers in the city, who’d be pretty sure to know when stamps this valuable show up anywhere on the market, and there’s been nothing so far.

  “The bottom line is that finding the stamps might or might not lead to the murderer, and finding the murderer might or might not lead to finding the stamps. But for right now, our main concern is who threw Caesar off the balcony.”

  Elliott shook his head. “I sure don’t envy you your jobs.”

  Guerdon leaned forward in his chair. “So, what, specifically, do you suggest we check out?”

  “I don’t know everything you’ve done so far, and the only way to avoid going over ground you’ve already covered thoroughly is for me to know as much as you’re willing to tell me before I start. Brad can verify I don’t repeat things I hear in confidence.”

  The partners exchanged a glance that wasn’t lost on him.

  “Look, guys, I don’t have any horses in this race. I’m not trying to play detective, but I don’t like the idea of letting someone get away with murder, and I don’t go around broadcasting things I shouldn’t. It would really save us all time if we’re on the same page with what we know.”

  Another glance, then Cabrera said, “Rudy Patterson’s been on our radar for a number of years. He’s definitely a con man, and he runs a couple shady operations, but he’s never officially crossed the line. He claims he and Caesar were good friends and were planning a couple of joint business deals, but that was it. We tracked down some checks Caesar made out to him, but Patterson claims they were for a deal that was in progress when Caesar died. What do you know we don’t?”

  “I know he’s lying, for one thing. Bruno was fed up with his scams, and had tried to cut him off several times, but Rudy wouldn’t let go. Bruno told me he was going to have a private talk with him the night he died.”

  “Yeah, we knew about the talk, but Patterson says it was a business meeting.”

  “That’s what he told me, too. But a business meeting at a party Bruno gave specifically to tell everyone who’d been dunning him for money that he was turning off the tap? Not likely. And I assume you knew Cage worked for Rudy, got fired whe
n Rudy and Bruno had a falling out, and apparently is back in his good graces now that Bruno is dead.

  “Rudy clearly still has his eye on Bruno’s money, and doesn’t care whether he got it from Bruno or gets it from Cage. He might consider Cage an easier mark than Bruno. I wouldn’t put it past him to have made some sort of arrangement with Cage.”

  “Are you suggesting they might have conspired to kill Caesar?” Cabrera asked, looking up from scribbling notes.

  “I’m not suggesting anything. Just throwing things out.”

  Cabrera nodded and resumed scribbling.

  “So, how about Blanton?” Guerdon asked. “Anything on him?”

  “Again, I don’t want to waste your time telling you things you already know.”

  Guerdon leaned back in his chair. “Like with Patterson, we don’t have anything specific on him. There’s a pending civil lawsuit from one of his former clients for repayment of a loan. We looked into his having put Caesar in touch with the guy he bought the missing stamps from, and it was apparently legit.

  “Blanton lives pretty far above his means, and from what we can tell, he’s barely hanging on with his seminars and what he calls counseling. His credit cards are maxed out, but the only real motive we can come up with is the check he cashed two days before Caesar died. The jury’s still out on whether it’s a strong enough motive for murder. People have killed for less. But we’re watching him.”

  Elliott realized he didn’t have anything specifically incriminating on Blanton, but he told them about the resort project and the proposed infomercials, both of which depended on Bruno’s backing.

  “Bruno thought the sun rose and set on this guy,” he said, “and for him to realize, probably after getting that phone call from the real estate agent for the resort, that Blanton was pretty much on the same level as Rudy could have sparked a confrontation. Blanton told me he was at the party for moral support, but I wonder if Bruno wasn’t cutting him off, too.

  “And if Bruno tried to stop payment on that last check he wrote to Blanton only to find out it had already been cashed, and demanded the money back, that would have painted Blanton into a pretty tight corner.”

  “What about the boyfriend?” Guerdon asked. “Anything on him you think we should know? He stands to come out of this with a couple million dollars.”

  Elliott nodded. “True, but I had a talk with him the other day, and he really comes across as a good kid. He seemed genuinely surprised when Bruno gave him the certificate for the stamps. He told you about it, right?”

  Both detectives nodded.

  “We told him to put it in a safe deposit box,” Cabrera said. “I still can’t imagine that anybody would just leave two million dollars hanging on his wall. I hope to hell his boyfriend has a little more sense, frankly.”

  “And as for his being surprised when you handed him the certificate, that doesn’t mean he didn’t take the stamps,” Guerdon added.

  “You’re right, of course, but his reaction didn’t strike me as the kind of ‘now-I’ve-got-it-all’ surprise he might have shown if he already had the stamps. And even though Bruno gave him the certificate, I’d imagine Cage could and will contest it. So, whether or not Ricky will ever benefit from the stamps is still way up in the air. But I really do think he cared for Bruno and wasn’t out to rip him off.”

  The detectives remained silent, so Elliott moved on.

  “What do you know about Walter Means, Bruno’s financial manager?”

  “We checked him out and he seems legit. He’s lost a number of clients lately, but claims it was due to the economy’s tanking. He claimed everything was fine between him and Caesar, though he admitted they had a couple strong disagreements over Caesar’s unwillingness to follow his advice.”

  “Well, that isn’t exactly true. Bruno was getting ready to fire the guy. And I assume you knew Means is the executor of Bruno’s will?”

  “He didn’t volunteer the information, but we checked the will out with the Clerk of Courts as a matter of routine in cases like this. It looks like it was pulled off the Internet—about as basic as it could get. Names one beneficiary and specifies Means as executor.

  “We called Means on that, and he says Caesar didn’t have a will when he was hired, so Means had him make a basic one out practically on the spot, telling him he could amend it later. He claims that, since controlling a client’s money while the client is alive is what financial managers do, his being the executor of the will isn’t unusual. And since he’s not named in the will and doesn’t benefit directly from it, we let it go.”

  “Directly is the operative word here,” Elliott pointed out. “Plus, he controls all the money until the estate is closed, and I wouldn’t put it past him to do a little sleight-of-hand. Bruno suspected he was doing just that, though I don’t know how he might have proved it, and I know he was seriously considering firing Means. The possibility of losing control of all that money would seem like a pretty good motive to me.”

  Cabrera nodded. “Well, the bottom line is that having a motive is not the same as committing murder. We just have to keep working at it until we get the right answer. Anything else you can think of at the moment?”

  “Not at the moment, but if I run into these guys on a casual basis and I find out anything, I assume you want to know about it?”

  “Of course. Just keep in mind that running into someone casually is one thing. Actively playing detective is another. We’ll be happy to hear anything you might come across, but we strongly suggest you leave the police work to us.”

  “Not a problem. I appreciate your hearing me out.”

  “Like you said, no problem.”

  As if on cue, both Cabrera and Guerdon got up, and Elliott followed suit.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Guerdon said as Elliott walked around the table to shake hands with both detectives. They then escorted him to the main desk, where they turned to go back the way they’d come and Elliott headed for the door and the street.

  He’d gone into the meeting hoping, but not expecting, to learn something that might indicate where they were on the case and where he might look. However, other than the reassurance they were actively working on it, he didn’t come away with much. They were playing their cards close to the vest, as he’d expected, but he did hope they might have found something in what he said that could be of help.

  He debated going back to Armitage then decided against it and headed home. Going over the meeting on his way, he realized that, for all practical purposes, unless he could find out something new about Bruno’s possible murderer himself, he was pretty much at a standstill.

  He was also mildly concerned that what he might have expected to be mounting frustration was, instead, resignation. He didn’t want to be resigned. Somebody had killed Bruno, and that somebody had to be found. He was just less and less confident he would be the one to do it.

  He called Steve before beginning dinner to tell him about the meeting, and the conclusions he had drawn on the way home.

  “Don’t give up just yet,” Steve urged. “Something will turn up that will point you in the right direction. I’m sure of it.”

  Elliott sighed. “Maybe. I hope so. But to be honest, I’m not very confident at the moment.”

  They talked for a few more minutes then hung up, and Elliott went into the kitchen. He wasn’t in the mood to cook, so he took a frozen dinner from the freezer and put it in the microwave.

  As he did so, he remembered he hadn’t picked up his mail and decided to run down to the lobby to get it. As he passed the doorman’s desk, he noted a FedEx van in front of the building, just forward of the revolving doors. It was parked directly over the spot where Bruno’s body had landed, and he felt a very odd sense of sadness.

  He went to the mailbox, pulled out the contents and, without looking through it, went back to the lobby just as the delivery man, pushing a dolly stacked with four boxes marked “Moët & Chandon,” said “Thanks” to Marco, and headed for the el
evators.

  “A little late for a delivery, isn’t it?” Elliott asked, pausing at the desk and indicating the delivery man with a tilt of his head. “And I thought all deliveries had to come in the back.”

  “They do, for most people. But it’s the Means’ anniversary this Saturday, and Mrs. Means insisted the champagne for the party be delivered today. The service entrance is locked at five o’clock, so he came around here. I wasn’t about to risk getting the wife of the president of the board mad at me by telling him he had to come back tomorrow.”

  After dinner, Elliott called Brad to tell him of his meeting with Cabrera and Guerdon. Cessy, as usual, answered the phone.

  “I’m glad you called, Elliott,” she said before he had a chance to ask to speak to Brad. “I’ve had an idea I’d like to mention to Steve, now that you’re almost done with the ground floor.”

  “What’s that, Sis?”

  “I know you’ve both said he won’t be opening a gallery for some time yet, but every time I look at that painting of the rose he did for me, I’ve envied him his talent and wished I could do something like that. So, I was wondering if he might consider giving painting lessons—or maybe teaching a painting class. I know I’d love to learn how to paint, and when I mentioned to some of my friends that Steve was an artist and that maybe I might talk him into giving me lessons, several of them said it sounded like a wonderful idea and they’d be interested, too.”

  “Well, I don’t know, Sis. You certainly could talk to him about it. Whether or not he’d be willing to do it I can’t say.”

  “The only way to know is to ask. I’ll do that, then. I just wanted to check with you before I called. Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome. Is Brad around?”

  “Of course. Just a minute.”

  There was the usual thirty seconds or so of silence before, “Elliott. How did it go?”