The Eulogist

by Liz McKinney Johnson

  Lily stops staring at the ceiling and looks at me.

  "And Howard found out?" she asks. "He found out Michael knew what was really going on?"

  "Michael told him."

  "He told him? Why?

  Her voice is so tiny, almost childlike. I’m systematically crushing her world.

  "I don’t think Michael suspected it was a cover-up. I think he trusted Howard and Gavin almost to the end. Otherwise, I don’t think he would have agreed to meet them."

  "Meet them? What do you mean, meet them?"

  "That’s why he went to that airport. To meet Howard and Gavin. He believed he was bringing them information they needed to know about. They were going to discuss what should be done. Michael had already told them he wasn’t comfortable being associated with the drug in its current state. They knew he was ready to pull out."

  "If Michael pulled out they would have lost everything."

  "Exactly."

  Lily returns her gaze to the ceiling. What’s up there? I stare up into the darkness, seeing nothing but the outline of the garage door opener. Maybe she’s looking to God to bail her out of this mess.

  "All this was in his notes?" she asks, still looking at God.

  "Not everything. I’m coming to some of my own conclusions, but I think there’s enough evidence to support them. And, I think I can find the rest of the evidence I need to convince the authorities."

  Outside a car engine roars to life. Lily and I both jump. She runs back over to where I’m standing. I recognize the low purr of an expensive transmission gliding into gear. The BMW is on the move. I grab Lily’s shoulders and hold her still until the sound fades into the distance.

  "What time is it?" I ask, shaking her a little.

  She squirms under my grasp but doesn’t break free. She presses the dial of her watch and it begins to glow.

  "About 11:30. Why?"

  Mary did it. She pulled it off. Her timing was perfect. If my instincts are right, Gavin was sitting in that BMW. Mary got a hold of Howard, and now Howard has just contacted Gavin. If this works the way it’s supposed to, both of them should be on their way to Nesler.

  I let go of Lily’s shoulders but hold her in my gaze.

  "Do you think you can trust me?" I ask.

  She’s looking right at me. The fear, the confusion in her eyes before is gone now. She studies my face, her lips pressed together in a pout, as if scanning for some clue to who I am, a star-shaped mole on the side of my cheek that marks me as trustworthy, some sign that will explain the unexplainable.

  "I don’t know."

  "Fair enough," I say. "Do you think you could give me the benefit of the doubt?"

  "Maybe."

  "Good enough. You need to come with me to the lab site."

  "It’s the middle of the night. No one will be there."

  "You have an access key don’t you? From all those media tours you’re always giving?"

  "For the interior doors, yes, but I don’t think I can get into the main building."

  "Leave that to me."

  "Why do you want to go to the lab?"

  "I’m betting it’s where Howard stashed the original patient files. Howard would keep a paper trail. He may not have confessions of guilt, but I’m betting he has notes about anything unusual that’s happened in the patients’ lives. Between those files and Michael’s computer diary, we should have everything we need."

  "Need for what?"

  "To show Michael was murdered and Nesler’s drug is a disaster."

  Lily falls silent again. Has she forgotten for a minute that this is about Michael being murdered? Let me slap you in the face again, Lily. Words hurt like hell.

  "Come with me," I say, very softly. I reach out and touch her face, sliding my hand down to cup her chin. The way you would a child you were trying to comfort. "I know I’m not who you thought I was. I lied about that. But I’ve never lied about wanting to help you."

  She looks at me. She doesn’t pull away from my hand. Instead, she tips her head toward it, resting in my palm. Her eyes are as dark and calm as the very first day I saw them, looking at me down a row of mourners in a pew. Lovely and gracious, even under such unfortunate circumstances.

  "Come with me?"

  She nods and I drop my hand.

  "I think Michael would have liked you," she says.

  "I doubt that."

  "Then I’ll like you for him."

  TWENTY THREE

  Lily’s car, a sleek black Mercedes sedan with a gleaming front grille and twin spoke wheels, is not your typical stealth-mobile. I thought we might be more inconspicuous in an economy model and suggested stealing a car, but Lily thought that would be wrong. Life and death versus right and wrong? It seems to pale in comparison. But that’s just me. So, we’re heading off to confront two murderers in the comfort and luxury of heated leather seats.

  Even with Howard and Gavin going by Nesler first, time is not on our side. Especially since we have a stop to make. We drive down the ramp into my office tower’s underground parking lot and come to a stop at the security bar. She looks at me questioningly.

  "Security bar," I say.

  "I know what it is, Albert."

  "Charlie."

  "I know what it is," she says again, staring at me and speaking very slowly, as if I might not speak the same language and need extra time to translate her words from English into Idiot.

  "How do you open it?"

  "Oh. Sorry."

  I fumble for my wallet, pull out my card key and hand it to Lily. She takes it, snatches it really, and eases the car forward to the employee card-reader box that stands guard on a thick yellow post. There’s a click and a whirr and the bar lifts up to let us pass. Lily tosses the card back on my lap and drives through.

  "Where should we park?" she asks.

  "Over there," I say, pointing across the lot to an elevator with an enormous orange "G" painted on its door. "Park in the far corner next to the elevator. I have to go down one floor."

  Lily carefully follows the directional arrows, circling around to the other side of the building. She could just drive straight across; there’s no one else parked anywhere. But that would be wrong. I’m not sure about Justin and Dave, but I know Brad drives a Corvette. No Corvette. No nothing. Maybe the lab’s assigned spots are up higher. My spot is up on the fourth level. Maybe this is visitor parking. I’ve never been a visitor here. Dammit, I hope they haven’t left without us. I check my watch. 11:51. Cuttin’ it crazy close.

  We park right next to the elevator. I jump out before Lily has a chance to turn off the engine.

  "You wait here," I say, ready to slam the door in her face.

  "No way," she shouts

  She grabs her keys out of the ignition and hops out.

  "You’re not ditchin’ me again."

  She stands at her open door, looking across at me. Her mouth firm, her brow furrowed, but her eyes bright. She’s enjoying this. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m not the only crazy one. Or, more likely, maybe she’s humoring me, stringing me along until she can alert the authorities. It’s like those old suspense movies where they keep the killer talking on the phone, unburdening his soul, while a S.W.A.T. team the size of Texas is climbing in through the windows of his hideout.

  "Suit yourself," I say, "but these guys haven’t seen a woman all day. I can’t guarantee your safety."

  We slam our car doors in unison.

  "I can take care of myself. I’ve managed to keep you in check all these weeks, haven’t I?"

  She’s still looking at me over the top of the car. I realize she’s known all along. I am a pathetic slob. A transparent, lecherous pathetic slob.

  "That obvious?" I ask.

  She drops her keys in her purse and walks around to the front of the car.

  "Pretty obvious. I thought it was sweet."

  Oh. That hurt. The only thing worse than sweet would have been cute. Both these adjectives describe a guy you are about to dump on his cute
, sweet little head.

  "You know," she continues, "if you would stop trying to second-guess what people thought about you for a minute, you might just be able to accept the truth."

  "The truth? What do you mean?"

  She steps forward and presses the elevator call button.

  "You’re a nice guy," she answers. "If you gave them more of a chance, people might actually like you."

  I walk over to her. We stand side by side, staring at the lighted numbers above the door as they count down from fifteen to one. Fifteen is my floor. I wonder why the car was all the way up there. Howard? Ten, nine, eight. He couldn’t possibly have figured it out yet. Seven, six, five. I have a sick feeling in my stomach. Four, three, two. I grab Lily, yank her away from the front of the elevator doors and slam us both against the brick wall. One, ding. The doors glide open. Nothing. No gun shot. No one rushes out.

  "What the hell did you do that for?" Lily shouts, rubbing her shoulder with one hand and shoving me with the other.

  Ding. The doors slide closed again without us inside.

  "I’m sorry. I thought there might have been someone on the elevator."

  "Next time, just tell me to move, okay? That was some kind of Stallone stunt move."

  "I’m sorry."

  "It’s okay. You just scared me."

  "That’s because I’m scared."

  Lily turns to me. She’s still rubbing her shoulder. Then, in one fluid movement, she reaches up with both hands, slides them around my head and guides my face down to hers. She kisses me, hard and full, her fingers comb through my hair and grasp at the back of my neck. This is no sympathy kiss. My arms instinctively wrap around her, running first up and then down to the small of her back. I press her body into mine. Hold her. Kiss her back as strong and deep as she is kissing me. Forever. Let me stay like this forever. But she is the first to pull away. She looks down and pushes against my chest. I allow her to move back but keep my hands around her waist. Finally, she looks up at me. Her eyes are soft, black velvet, glistening at the edges. With what? Is it just moisture … or tears? Is she cold … or undeniably miserable?

  "That was probably a really stupid thing to do," she says. "I’m not sorry right now, but I will be in a few seconds when I catch my breath."

  "Don’t be sorry."

  She twists free of my hands and turns back to face the elevator.

  "There’s too much happening all of a sudden," she says without turning around to face me. "I’m losing focus. I’m probably also losing my mind, but I’m trying to ignore that."

  "I’m the one who should be sorry," I say, coming up beside her. "This whole thing is my fault. I should have left well enough alone." I pick at the bottom of my sweater, looking for a thread to pull, one pull and it all unravels, like in the cartoons. "Let sleeping dogs lie, right? But I couldn’t do that. I had to kick the goddamn dog."

  I lean over to push the call button The elevator had simply risen to the main floor, so on this second try, it arrives much more quickly.

  "I changed my mind," I say, turning to her. "You can’t come."

  Lily whips her head around and stares at me in disbelief.

  "What do you mean, I can’t come."

  "They can’t see you with me. You are not part of Charlie Sandors’ life"

  "So, introduce me. How hard is that?

  The elevator doors start to close again. I instinctively jump forward and brace a foot against one side to keep them open. This wide open stance reminds me of how Superman stands: feet planted, fists on hips, cape furling. Superman knows to always stand into the wind to get the best cape furl. I know imagining myself in Superman’s costume is not helping the immediate situation in any way, but as usual, I can’t help it. I look at Lily. She’s waiting for me to answer her question. She is not Lois Lane.

  "I won’t need to introduce you," I say, letting my hands fall limp at my sides. "They’ll recognize you. Everyone knows the famously beautiful Lily Rudolf."

  Lily sneers at the compliment.

  "So they’ll be thrilled to meet me, so what?"

  "Think about it for a minute. Why would the famously beautiful Lily Rudolph be tagging along with the prominent nobody Charlie Sandors as he arrives to pick up a few illegal lab results at midnight in an otherwise empty building? Something tells me we’d have some ‘splaining to do and I don’t want to do any ‘splaining."

  Lily doesn’t answer. She simply crosses her arms and stares.

  "It will just take minute," I insist.

  "Okay," she says. "I know you’re right, but I don’t like it. I’ll wait here, but if you’re not back in ten minutes, I’m coming down anyway."

  I release my foot doorstop and step all the way inside the car, then spin to face the closing doors. I call this move elevator ballet: step, pirouette and stand, arms down, head back, eyes up toward the flashing lights of the ascending or descending floors. Watch for it next time you’re in an elevator. It’s really quite graceful, especially if several people get on at once.

  I drop one floor and step out onto the shiny linoleum of the lab hallway. In the distance are the strains of Led Zeppelin guitar riffs. They haven’t left yet. I jog down the hall and turn into the reception area. It’s dark and quiet. A few pizza boxes are still stacked on Brad’s desk. It smells like stale grease. A sliver of light bleeds out from the sides and bottom of the swinging door into the lab.

  "Hey guys," I shout. "I’m here. Can I come on back?"

  Someone turns down Zeppelin and Justin pops his round head through the door.

  "Hey, Charlie," he says, pushing the door open and wagging a finger in my direction. "We almost gave up on you. Actually, Dave almost gave up on you, but he’s still kinda pissed about the whole staying late thing."

  I pass through the door into the fluorescent brightness of the lab. Dave stands at a back counter slowing putting Mr. Klein’s shoes back into their bag. Justin’s right. He does look pissed. Brad sits on a tall stool in the middle of room, a boom box at his elbow, smiling and slapping his thigh in time to the drum solo.

  "Mr. Sandors," Brad says, standing up. He grasps the lapels of his lab coat and looks me over like a major general surveying a rather disheveled private. "We were beginning to worry about you."

  "If you’re finished ridiculing," I say, crossing the room in three quick strides, "I’d appreciate just picking up the results and getting out of here. I’m sure you‘re ready to split, and I have somewhere I’m supposed to be."

  "At midnight?" asks Brad, dropping the authoritarian act and leaning toward me with a sly wink. "You have an appointment at midnight?"

  "It’s a long story."

  There is a part of me that wants to brag about having just locked lips, in the garage one floor above, with the famously beautiful Lily Rudolph. But they’d never believe me. In fact, the ensuing laughter would be loud and long, and eventually, I’d have to punch Brad in his pretty-boy face to get him to shut up. At which point, he’d pummel me until Dave and Justin took pity and pulled him off. I’d lie in a quivering heap on the floor of the lab while the three of them stood over me. Finally, Justin would spit on me and Dave would drop the bag of shoes on my head. No, I don’t think I’ll mention the part about Lily.

  "We’ve all been up a lot longer than we’d like already," I say. "I promise to fill you in one of these days."

  "Your call, Chaz." Brad shrugs it off. "I’m not trying to be nosy. I have the reports right here."

  He turns and picks up a thin file folder. The fluorescents bleach out his freckles, making him look almost serious. Almost.

  "We should take a few minutes to go through the highlights," he says, holding the folder against his chest, his biceps impressive even through the lab coat. "You can call me Monday morning if you have any questions about the details."

  "I hate to be rude, Bradley, but I really do need to leave. I’m sure you’ve all gone to a tremendous amount of work and I couldn’t be more grateful. But I know you understand how impor
tant it is that I simply must take the results and go."

  I extend my arm in Brad’s direction, hand up, palm open.

  "Such a sincere request, Chaz. How can I refuse? But remember, I won’t be around this weekend so don’t try calling me to decipher results."

  "Fine, fine."

  He hands me the folder and my fingers close around its spine. I draw it in to my chest and wrap my arm around it to protect the precious cargo inside. Dave strolls forward and hands me the bag of shoes.

  "It was the Oxfords," he says. "And only the left shoe, not the right. That probably means he’s right-handed. He stood on his right leg and smeared the frosting on the bottom of his left shoe."

  "You guys are the best," I say, grabbing the bag. The juice glass clinks at the bottom. "I’ll see you Monday with the money. First thing, I promise."

  I turn to leave and am almost through the swinging door when Brad calls after me.

  "Remember. None of us were ever here tonight. Those results aren’t admissible with a standard report. I’ll never admit they came from my lab."

  I catch the door with my free hand and hold it open. But I don’t turn around. I let his words bounce off the back of my head.

  "If you decide any of this is worth pursuing," Brad continues. "You’ll have to do an official 40-24 request and we’ll rebuild everything. We won’t need any of the evidence back. We can use the same information, probably just copy it right over from the original. But it has to be on a corporate form to make it valid and you have to have it notarized. Justin here’s a notary."

  The sleazy sonofabitch. He’ll get paid twice for this, once by me and once by corporate to do it on the up and up. I’m gonna get stuck with the bill for tonight. If I turn around now, I know they’ll be a smirk on that freckled face. So I don’t. I simply step through and release the door. It swings in and out, sending diminishing flashes of light into the dark reception area. Stupid, creepy lab rats. But it doesn’t matter. I got what I needed.

  The elevator arrives and I ride back up to the main garage level. I open the folder. The results are handwritten on graph paper. Not that you could really call it handwriting. Most of the sheets contain nothing but random calculations and scratchy notes. There are a few spectrometer print-outs stapled to the first page and in the very back of the folder are several sheets of paper with Polaroid photos of shoes glued to them. Shit, maybe I should have let the asshole explain this mess.