The Dead Key

by D. M. Pulley

  If financing cannot be renegotiated by December 15, 1978, the City of Cleveland may default. All unpaid debts will be turned over to the State of Ohio for settlement. As you know, gentlemen, recovering lost revenue may take years. Please reconsider the impact to your balance sheet.

  The letter was signed by the deputy mayor.

  Beatrice struggled to understand. She flipped back to the memo signed by Teddy that reassured investors “impacts to the short-term revenue stream will be absorbed by strong deposits.” The memo concluded with

  The mayor’s inability to support the business community’s investments in real estate development and the betterment of Cleveland leaves us no choice but to make this gesture of no confidence.

  Beatrice couldn’t wrap her brain around it all, but it seemed as though the First Bank of Cleveland was playing a game of chicken with the city. She’d seen those races down long country roads, with reckless boys and screaming girls and cars driving at full speed on a collision course. One car always ended up in a ditch. She looked at the deputy mayor’s letter again. December 15 was only four days away.

  Beatrice pulled out her steno pad and transcribed parts of the letters in shorthand. Then she finished her filing. At the end of the day, she left the building with the other secretaries. She stepped out into the gray, slushy street and realized it had been a week since she’d breathed in the fresh evening air.

  The bus brought her back down Mayfield Road toward the hospital. Once inside, she rushed to the elevator that serviced the intensive care unit, where she’d left her aunt a week earlier. The terrible thought occurred to her before the elevator’s doors slid open that her aunt might have died while she was away. Her chest tightened.

  The usual nurse was at the front desk and looked up at Beatrice with a smile. “We thought you’d left town.”

  “Oh gosh. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy at work,” Beatrice said sheepishly. The shame of neglecting someone in the hospital washed over her again, but the nurse’s easy smile told her what she needed to know. Doris was still alive.

  “Oh, don’t worry, honey. We all need a break sometimes. Besides, your sister has been here a few times.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your sister. She was here earlier today.”

  Beatrice didn’t have any sisters, much to her chagrin as a young girl growing up in a dark and lonely house. “Uh, I have two. Could you tell me which one?”

  “Let’s see.” The nurse leafed through the visitor’s log. “Sandra? I think this is her. Pretty girl. She was just here yesterday. She said she was looking for you.”

  Beatrice’s hands clenched inside her coat sleeves as she nodded at the nurse. When she reached the door to her aunt’s room, she opened it cautiously. Her mysterious “sister” might be waiting for her. The room was empty. Even Doris looked like a sterile piece of furniture. She was sunken and gray and hadn’t moved in the eight days Beatrice had been gone. She was growing thinner. Beatrice touched her aunt’s cheek. It was still warm.

  She sank into the chair next to Doris and put her head on the edge of the bed. She longed to feel her aunt’s hand pat her hair, to hear her gruff laugh, to smell her cigarette smoke. She was an orphan waiting in a graveyard. She closed her eyes as a hopeless tear slid down her cheek.

  “Beatrice,” a soft voice whispered in her ear. “Beatrice!”

  “Huh?” Beatrice muttered sleepily. She must have dozed off. Her head was still on her aunt’s bed, but someone was shaking her shoulder. The tip of a high-heeled leather boot and the hem of a long wool coat grazed the floor next to her.

  It was Max.

  “Beatrice, I’ve been looking all over for you!” she said in a low voice.

  “Max! Wha—? What are you doing here? You’re missing!” Beatrice gasped.

  “Well, not exactly.” She glanced anxiously at the clock. “I don’t have much time.”

  “Are you my sister ‘Sandra’?”

  “For the next ten minutes. They’ve been watching the room. I can’t stay long.”

  Max looked agitated. Actually, she looked terrible. Heavy bags hung below her blue eyes, and her pale, unmade lips looked dry. Her brassy blond hair was dyed black, making her skin look ghostly.

  “Your brother is looking for you, Max. What’s going on?”

  “I know. I don’t have time to explain. Don’t tell him you saw me here. This thing is way over his head. It’s better if he thinks I’m gone.” She reached into her pocket. “Here. Take this. Don’t tell anyone you have it. I’ll find you when this is all over.”

  “What is it?” Beatrice looked down as Max handed her a key.

  Max pressed her lips together and looked pained. “It’s nothing. Don’t go looking for answers, Beatrice. You don’t want to get involved in this.”

  “I’m already involved.” She motioned to Doris. “What did you find in my aunt’s deposit box? Diamonds? Gold? More love letters from Bill Thompson?”

  “Shh! You don’t want them to hear you.” She pulled Beatrice out of the room and down the hall to a vacant ICU room. They froze in a shadow as a nurse walked by. When the hall was empty, Max said under her breath, “Bill is just a small-time crook. This thing is bigger than him.”

  “Did you know what he’s been doing?” Beatrice hissed. “Did you sleep with him too?”

  “I found out, okay? It’s not like the old bastard’s a criminal mastermind. I found out, and I’ve been trying to find a way out of this mess ever since.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was smart enough to cover his tracks. He put everything in my name, including the damn deposit inquiries. The son of a bitch had me doing his research for him, sniffing out dead boxes and calling it an audit. It all points to me. If I go to the cops—shit, even if I go to my brother—they’re going to think I’m in on it.”

  “Tony would believe you, wouldn’t he?”

  “I haven’t always been an angel, Bea.” Max threw up her hands. “I grew up in a rough neighborhood. I got into some trouble. All of this would just confirm what everyone already thinks about me.”

  Beatrice could hear the tears in Max’s voice but couldn’t see her eyes in the dark room.

  “I believe you, Max. I really do. I heard Bill with Suzanne Peplinski the other night. He has her on the hook too.” Beatrice dropped her voice and added, “Right along with Doris.”

  “Doris was different,” Max whispered. “She had her key.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t try. It’ll only make things worse. Listen, I have to go. Just keep the key somewhere safe. Don’t let anyone find it.”

  “But where will you go?”

  “It doesn’t matter. When I think it’s safe, I’ll come find you.”

  Max kissed the top of Beatrice’s head before rushing out the door.

  CHAPTER 43

  Friday, August 21, 1998

  Iris couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she swore she could hear someone else breathing. Someone had been in the mechanical chase on the fifteenth floor. Someone had whispered her name. She rolled over and tried to convince herself she’d imagined the whole thing. It had been sweltering hot, and her hangover had warped her mind. Besides, she’d been terrified that some homeless man was going to slice her up with a broken bottle, but it was just Ramone doing his job. The breathing sound was just the wind whistling out of the rooftop duct. The whisper was nothing, and there was no such thing as ghosts.

  A paisley blouse and pencil skirt drifted through her mind. Beatrice. The files she’d taken from the abandoned suitcase were still sitting in her field bag, but they would have to wait. The clock read 2:00 a.m. She needed sleep. Iris flipped onto her stomach and swore she could hear someone else breathing. Before she knew it, daylight was bleeding in through her windows.

  Iris pulled into the bac
k of the abandoned bank at 7:00 a.m. and downed her coffee and smoke. It was as though she’d never left. She sleepwalked over to the button. Brad was standing inside the loading dock, punctual as always.

  “Good morning, sunshine!”

  Iris glared at him through the bags under her eyes. He was dressed and pressed as usual. He must get up at 4:00 a.m. every day to do his ironing.

  “Good morning,” she grumbled. “I finished. It took me half the night, but I’m done with the schematics.”

  “Great! I’ll let you give me a guided tour.” Brad watched her pull herself out of the car and added, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but we need the base drawings drafted by Monday.”

  Her jaw dropped. He shrugged a weak apology. Iris should have expected it by now, but the thought of working the weekend again still made her want to scream. She waved her middle finger in the air at him while his back was turned.

  A loud banging rattled the garage door. Iris dropped her hand as Brad spun around and jogged over to the manual override button next to the dock. The door rolled open, and there stood a nerdy little man holding a humungous box.

  “Where do you want this thing?” the guy yelped under the crushing weight.

  “Hey, let me give you a hand with that.” Brad trotted over. “Iris, where do you want to set up?”

  “Hmm?” Her brain was gummed up with sleepy pudding.

  “Is there a vacant office where we can put the workstation?”

  “Oh, the third floor. Follow me.”

  Iris led them to the elevator and up to the third floor. Finding her way was second nature. The building was becoming a regular home away from home. She led her entourage to the old HR office, past Suzanne’s desk, and into Linda’s office. Fragments of the shattered bookcase were still strewn on the floor.

  “Here, I’ll just clear this stuff out of the way while you set up,” she said before anyone could comment on the wreckage.

  She shoved what was left of the bookcase against the wall. Besides a few deep scratches, the desk was clear. She gave the top of it a quick wipe with her shirtsleeve for good measure. As she was running her hand across the wood, she remembered it was already clean. She recoiled. They were going to set up her computer in the office where some lunatic liked to do his dusting. Not some lunatic, she corrected herself, Ramone. He was the one up on the fifteenth floor last night. He wiped off the desk. Probably. She had to stop drinking and get some sleep. It was getting hard to separate her memories from her delusions.

  The two men had already dragged the computer inside.

  “Thanks, Arnie.” Brad set the box on the floor. “Why don’t you get Iris set up here while she and I finish our walk-through?”

  The scrawny guy agreed and began meticulously removing the tape from the top of the box, being careful not to tear the cardboard.

  Iris spent the rest of the morning touring the building with Brad and his red pen. When they reached the stripped structure on the twelfth floor, she asked, “Did you know this was all here?”

  “I did a quick walk-through about a month ago but didn’t spend much time on the upper floors. Too hot and dark. They cut the power up here years ago.”

  “I wondered about that. Why are there still lights on the lower floors?”

  “You know, I asked about that when we started. Usually when they mothball a building they shut it all down. They don’t usually have live-in security either.”

  “So what did you find out?”

  “Not much. Cleveland Real Estate Holdings Corp. bought the building around the time the bank assets were sold and the offices were vacated. They used to own several other buildings around town, but now it’s just this one.”

  A flare gun went off in her head. She had seen or heard the name somewhere before. Brad walked on ahead of her. As she trotted after him, a yellow slip of paper on a bulletin board came to mind. Joseph Rothstein, she thought. She’d seen the name in his office.

  Brad snapped a few measurements, not fully trusting Iris’s notes, and kept talking. “Maybe they saw redevelopment potential from the start. Maybe they have a poor insurance rating and couldn’t pull a policy without full-time security. You know, there were a lot of insurance fraud cases involving arson back in the 1980s in Cleveland. Who knows?”

  Brad packed in the tape measure and headed back toward the stair tower, with Iris trailing behind. As they climbed the last two flights up to the fifteenth-floor inferno, she remembered she hadn’t technically managed to complete the survey. She’d faked the layout at home from what she could remember, and now Brad was dragging her back up to verify it all. Shit.

  Fortunately, he only made a quick loop around the service hallway and reception room. “So this is it?”

  “I think so,” Iris said, thumbing through her notes. “Everything but that locked room on the third floor. I think the mechanical chase stretches from the third floor to the roof. There are access doors and large grates in the bathrooms. I could almost see in one of them.”

  “Cold-air returns. Anything else?”

  “I don’t think so . . .” Iris frowned. Just the ghost of a lost secretary locked up in a suitcase and a madman breathing in the air shaft, she thought. The unbearable heat of the fifteenth floor was making her dizzy.

  As if he read her mind, Brad headed toward the service elevator.

  Once her ears had popped halfway down the tower, she remembered. “Oh! And the tunnels.”

  “Tunnels?” Brad lifted an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, Ramone says there are tunnels in the basement that lead to other buildings, like old steam tunnels.”

  “Awesome! Let’s go check it out!”

  “Do you think they need to be included in the schematics?”

  “Nope, but don’t you want to see if we can find Jimmy Hoffa down there? Come on, it’ll be fun!”

  Brad wanted to do something on company time for fun. She could not have been more surprised if he had suggested they go smoke a joint in the bathroom or torn off his shirt to reveal a giant tattoo.

  As they stepped off the elevator into the lower level, the slam of a door thundered down the hall. Iris turned toward the noise.

  “Ramone?” she called out.

  She headed past his bedroom and around the corner. The vaults were empty. The slam must have come from the door to the spider-infested stairwell that led up to the loading dock.

  “Looks like he took off,” Brad said behind her.

  “I guess we’re on our own.” She managed a smile despite the nagging feeling in her gut.

  “Did he say they were on this level?”

  “Well, he said ‘basement.’ This is the basement, right?” She said it and realized the vault room looked nothing like a basement. Basements had pipes and boilers and dripping water. She glanced back at the vaults lined in bronze and marble, and it occurred to her that bank customers must have come through there from time to time to access their safe deposit boxes. Rich people with priceless valuables definitely didn’t use the spooky service stairs. The service elevator wasn’t fancy enough either. How did they get down there?

  She pulled out her plans and compared what they had drawn for the basement with the main banking level. She and Brad had surveyed the lower level together, so she hadn’t doubted its accuracy until that moment.

  Sure enough, they were missing a column bay to the north underneath the main lobby. Her fingers traced the monumental staircase that flanked the east wall. The stairs stepped down from the lobby. Holding the plan like a treasure map, Iris headed east and north, until the giant vault door stopped her in her tracks. It stretched from the ceiling to the floor and was swung open against the wall.

  “Brad.” There was no response. “Brad?”

  “Yeah?” He stepped around the corner from the service elevator.

  “We’re missing something
on our plan. The building keeps going twenty more feet that way.” She pointed at the giant metal door. Brad grabbed the plans and looked them over.

  “You’re right. Good catch!”

  “This closes, right?” she asked, pointing to the giant steel circle blocking her way. It was the door to the larger vault where the bank had once stored its cash reserves.

  “Well, it is a vault.”

  Iris tried not to roll her eyes in annoyance. “Let’s try to close it. It’s not like there’s anything in the vault anyway.”

  She gave it a pull, but it wouldn’t budge. Brad walked over and gave it his all. No luck.

  “There has to be a trick to it.” Brad searched the perimeter of the round door.

  Iris scanned the rest of the room and located a small red button on the far wall. She walked over to it and pushed it as Brad was pulling on the door with all of his might. The door sprung free and sent Brad sprawling on the floor with an oomph. Iris slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

  “I see you smiling.”

  Brad stood up and brushed himself off. He grabbed the door and walked it closed. As the circular door swung shut to seal the cash vault, it revealed a round entryway, which led to another room.

  “Clever,” Brad said, walking through the portal. “They use the vault door to block access to the room when the vault is open.”

  Iris nodded and stepped through the round doorway. The room beyond the vaults was twenty feet wide and ran the length of the building. It was dark except for the faint light coming from the far end. Iris clicked on her flashlight. There was a small security station and a long reception desk. At the west end of the room were three small booths. Red velvet curtains were drawn to conceal a chair and a small table inside each little chamber.

  “What the hell are these?” Iris asked, pulling a curtain aside.

  “This must be where people went to open their deposit boxes, eh?” Brad pulled out his tape measure and set about correcting their floor plan.

  While Brad busied himself, Iris walked across the soft red carpet to the far edges of the room, trying to find access to the tunnels. The walls of the lower lobby were wood and inlaid bronze, just like the main lobby above it. The faint light grew brighter as she made her way past the elevator bank and around the corner. Trapped sunlight streamed down the marble stairs from the lobby above.