Murder Is Uncooperative

by Merrilee Robson

  “I'm surprised people put up with that kind of behavior.”

  She laughed. “He yells a lot, and it can sound quite scary. People don't like to stand up to him. But I don't think he'd really be violent. Kevin can usually calm him down. He's a real sweetie. We all love Kevin.”

  Seeing my puzzled look, she went on. “The guy sitting next to him? That's his partner, Kevin. Kevin mostly comes to meetings. Aaron doesn't come all that often. But I guess he knew we were going to talk about the motor home. People are getting quite fed up with it. He had it in the parking garage before, and we had so much trouble getting our van around it. I hope he finally moves it.”

  She grinned at me. “Well, I should get Jordan home. But I'm really glad you moved in here, Rebecca. Maybe we could get together some time. I hear you have a little boy too.”

  “Yes, Ben is four,” I answered.

  "A bit too old for a play date with Jordan, then. But we could still get together, couldn't we? You could, you know, maybe answer some parenting questions if I need advice?”

  “Sure, that'd be fun,” I answered. Anna seemed so young. She couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty, and possibly younger. But it would be fun to get together some time.

  She hurried off and I looked around the room. Gwen and Jeremy were still at the front of the room, talking to Les. Mariana was chatting to some of the other members, so I headed home on my own. But as I was opening my door, I heard the elevator and saw Naomi getting off. I really wanted to make friends in the co-op. I felt like I was making a good start with Mariana and Anna, but it bothered me that Naomi seemed to dislike me for something really not my fault.

  I hoped I could clear things up.

  “Um, hi, Naomi,” I started hesitantly. “Can we talk? We seem to have got off on the wrong foot, and I'd really like to be a good neighbor.”

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she said. “I don't like your type.”

  “But you don't know me. I'm sorry your daughter didn't get this apartment, but I really didn't have anything to do with the decision.”

  “Well, my daughter wasn't willing to sleep with the manager!”

  I was dumbfounded. “Of course not. Did someone suggest that? That'd be completely inappropriate.”

  “Well, that didn't stop you.”

  “What did you just say? Why would you even think that? I'd never sleep with Les to get an apartment, and I don't think he's the kind of man who would even suggest it.”

  “That's not what he said,” she answered and slammed her door in my face.

  I went into my apartment, but I couldn't help thinking about what Naomi had said. Had Les really implied I'd slept with him to get the apartment? Or had he propositioned Naomi's daughter, holding out the promise of the apartment if she agreed? Both seemed unlikely.

  I wondered if Les or Gwen were still downstairs, clearing up after the meeting. Maybe they could explain why Naomi had said what she had. Or perhaps they could give me some advice on how to get along with my neighbor. I took the elevator back down to the office.

  The meeting room was deserted. At first glance, I thought the office was closed, but then I saw that the door was slightly ajar. I pulled it open and peered in, calling Les's name.

  I almost tripped over one of the storage boxes that had lined the wall of the office, waiting to be put into storage.

  The boxes, which had been stacked neatly against the wall, providing some order in the chaotic office, were now scattered in piles around the room. It was as if some giant toddler had used them as building blocks and then had a tantrum, throwing the boxes around and piling them in random heaps.

  I looked around the room, wondering if I could start piling the boxes back against the wall in some sort of order or if I should call someone to help.

  What had happened here anyway?

  Knowing Les's odd method of storing things in the office, maybe this was his idea of organizing things.

  Then I noticed a pair of denim-clad legs sticking out from the largest pile. The legs were twisted at an odd angle, ending in a pair of scuffed brown suede shoes.

  CHAPTER

  Seven

  I stood still for a moment, not quite believing what I was seeing. Then I grabbed one of the boxes and tried to shift it. The thing was heavier than it looked. I needed help.

  I looked around for the office phone but couldn't see it anywhere. I started for the door when I remembered I still had my cell phone in my jacket pocket.

  “Police, fire or ambulance?” the 911 dispatcher asked.

  “I need an ambulance,” I told her. “There's been an accident.”

  I gave the address, then ran down the hall to pound on the door I thought was Gwen's. “The office,” I gasped when she answered the door, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “I need help.”

  “Rebecca, what on earth . . . ?” But I was already running back down the hallway. Gwen followed. She still had the dishtowel in her hand when she got to the office, but she dropped it when she saw the legs under the pile of boxes.

  “Oh, no, I think that's Les.”

  We were able to shift the heavy boxes together, lifting them off quickly and piling them to the side. But when we pulled the last box off him we could see that he wasn't moving and that blood was pooling around his head.

  “Do you think someone broke in?” she asked. “There's stuff all over the place, but there usually is. All these boxes.”

  “Maybe he was trying to get something in one of the boxes, and they fell over,” I said.

  "I knew this office wasn't safe. I should have done something. But every time I brought up how cluttered the office was, Les would just say he was going to get to it soon. He had a million excuses. He was going to sort through the stuff and get rid of it; he just needed to get the storage room painted. Now look!”

  “I called the ambulance, but we should probably do something.”

  Les was lying face down and I could see a huge wound on the back of his head. Blood stained the fringe of dark hair that circled his bald spot and trickled to the floor. I know head wounds could bleed heavily, even if they weren't serious. But this looked like a lot of blood. I picked up the dishtowel Gwen had dropped and pressed it against Les's head.

  She shuddered. “All that blood.”

  I could hear Les taking raspy breaths. Then they were drowned out by the sound of an approaching ambulance, and I sighed with relief.

  Gwen looked a bit greenish. “I'll go let them in.”

  I was relieved when the paramedics took charge, loading Les onto a stretcher and wheeling him out. They moved quickly, and I worried about the serious looks on their faces.

  The elderly woman I'd seen at the meeting peeked out from the door of one of the ground floor units. She was wrapped in a bathrobe, and wisps of her hair stood up like she'd just woken up. She had a scared look on her face.

  “We've had an accident, but everything's been taken care of,” Gwen assured her. “You can go back to sleep.”

  Gwen still looked too pale.

  “Do you want to go back to your place and sit down? You look a little shaky.”

  She shook her head.

  "I guess we need to notify his family. They'll want to be with him.”

  “Does he have a wife and kids?”

  “You know, I have no idea. Les has worked here for longer than I've lived here, but he never really talked about himself. We must have some contact information in the files,” she said. “Can you help me look?”

  The filing cabinets were unlocked. Gwen frowned at that. “These are supposed to be kept locked. Ruth usually handles the filing, but Les might have been looking for something,” she said. “We just need to find the staff records.”

  We each took one of the file cabinets. I found a file marked PERSONNEL. I handed it to Gwen, and she started to leaf through the sheets of paper.

  “Oh, here it is,” she said with relief. “And he does have an emergency contact listed. Oh, that's odd.” S
he looked up. “He's listed an emergency contact, but the person he's listed is Ruthie.”

  “He's related to Ruth?” I asked.

  “Well, not that I knew, and that wouldn't really be appropriate. He supervises her work. But she was hired before I got on the Board, so I don't know. Maybe he just listed her because he doesn't have family nearby.

  “Anyway, I guess I need to call her and let her know.” She looked around the room. “It probably would be a good idea to clean up this mess, but I just can't handle it right now. I'll just lock up and we can deal with it tomorrow.”

  She was just locking the office door when I saw Mariana coming down the hallway.

  “Did something happen?” she asked. “I heard a siren.” Then she gasped. “Oh, my goodness, Rebecca, are you all right?” She hurried toward me.

  I looked down to see what she was looking at. My pants and T-shirt were streaked with blood, and the palms of my hands were covered with it.

  CHAPTER

  Eight

  I looked down at my hands in horror. “I . . . no, Les was the one who was hurt.”

  Gwen grimaced. “I think there was blood on the boxes we moved.” She looked at her own hands and wiped them off on her jade green sweater, smearing it with small streaks of blood. “You were closer to him, trying to stop the bleeding.” She gulped and looked for a moment like she was going to throw up. “I better call Ruthie,” she muttered and hurried down the hall toward her apartment.

  Mariana looked at me with concern. “Are you really all right?” she asked.

  “I'm not hurt but it was a shock finding him like that.”

  “What happened? You said Les was hurt?”

  “I don't know. Gwen seemed to think someone might have broken in. I suppose someone could have got in and thought there might be money in the office. But I don't know how you would tell if anything's missing. I think maybe the boxes fell on him.”

  I realized I was shaking.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” Mariana said, stepping toward me. She put a comforting arm around me and I leaned into her. Her scent was something powdery and floral, not the Chanel my mother had favored, but I was instantly reminded of the hugs my mother had given me whenever I was feeling down.

  Great, I thought, anything bad happens, and I want my mommy. When am I ever going to grow up enough that this stops happening? Probably never.

  "Let's get you home,” Mariana was saying, steering me toward the elevator. It was comforting having her with me. “I could make you a cup of tea. That's always helpful after you've had a shock.”

  My dad opened the door when we reached my apartment. “That was a long meeting,” he started to say, and then realized I was covered in blood. “Becky, what happened? My god, are you all right?”

  “There was an accident in the office,” Mariana was saying.

  “I'm fine, Dad,” I said, interrupting her. I remembered my manners enough to introduce her to my father.

  “I live next door,” Mariana explained. “I was going to make her some tea.”

  “Oh, Mariana, thanks, but I'm okay. I just want to have a shower and go to bed. Thanks for looking after me.”

  Dad put his arm around me and pulled me into the apartment, thanking her before closing the door.

  I leaned against him. Even if I couldn't have my mom, I still had my daddy. That would do.

  I headed for the bathroom and started the shower. I stripped my clothes off, knowing I would never wear them again. I could probably wash them and get the blood out but just thinking about it made me shudder.

  Actually, everything was making me shudder. I was shaking uncontrollably. I got into the shower and scrubbed myself until my skin was red. I knew everyone tried to avoid blood because of fear of disease. But I wasn't really thinking of that.

  I was pretty sure that, despite my first aid and the care of the paramedics, Les wasn't coming back.

  I went to bed after that, but I kept replaying the scene in the office over in my mind. I was still wide awake when the phone beside my bed rang. I grabbed it before the sound could wake up Dad and Ben. It was Gwen.

  “Oh, Rebecca. It's awful. Ruth called to tell me Les didn't make it.”

  I felt tears in my eyes. “I'm so sorry. He was such a nice man. Maybe if I'd found him a bit sooner.”

  “Don't even think that,” Gwen interrupted me. “You did everything you could. But that's not why I'm calling. There's a police officer here. He wants to talk to us about what happened.”

  “A police officer? But wasn't it an accident?”

  “Well, remember that I thought at first someone might have got into the building. I suppose Les could have found someone breaking into the office and they pushed the boxes on him to get away. Anyway, he told me they investigate any sudden deaths that aren't expected. I'm sure it's just a formality. But they should be able to tell if someone broke in. He just wants to talk to us about what we saw.”

  I got dressed and went down to the main floor again. I gulped when I saw the boxes, Les's blood staining some of them.

  The officer with Gwen looked young to me. He took statements from both of us.

  “So you found him?” he asked me. “You were the one who made the call for the ambulance. I believe you said it was an accident?”

  “That's what I thought. The office has boxes piled all over it. I thought they'd fallen on him.”

  “But you thought someone might have broken in?” he said, turning to Gwen. “Is anything missing?”

  “Who could tell?” she said, gesturing to the mess. “It's always complete chaos. We keep some petty cash in here but not a lot. I could check the files to see if it's still there. But Ruthie would probably know more than I do. She's the one who handles the bookkeeping. That's Ruth Jacobs, the office assistant.”

  He checked his notes. “Ah, yes. We talked to her at the hospital. I have her contact information.”

  “She would normally be here tomorrow at nine o'clock,” Gwen continued. “But when she phoned about Les she asked for a couple of days off. I think she's some sort of relation, but I don't know what.”

  “That's okay,” the officer said. “We won't want anyone going into the office until we've finished our investigation. I'll seal it up after I leave.”

  “So you do think someone broke in?” Gwen was saying. “This is a nice neighborhood, but I know there have been break-ins in the area. And sometimes homeless people get in, looking for a place to sleep.”

  I thought of the woman who had warned me about the co-op the first day I came here. She had been right that bad things happened here.

  “Was the lock damaged?” I asked. “Here or the front door? How would someone get in?”

  “Well, Les wouldn't have locked the office door if he was working. And the front door, well, we were having trouble with the intercom, so sometimes people just buzz people in if they're expecting someone. I think Les had it fixed, but maybe it's broken again. Or people will prop it open if they're just going out for a minute. They're not supposed to, but it happens.”

  “We'll look into that,” the officer was saying. “So you two were both in here tonight?”

  We answered a few more questions before he left. He seemed to be asking a lot of questions for something I still hoped was an accident.

  CHAPTER

  Nine

  I don't think Les's death really hit me until the next morning. I had barely known him, but he had been considerate and helpful to me. And he seemed such a dedicated employee. It would be a real loss to the co-op.

  I'd taken Ben to pre-school and had come back to do some work in my home office. I had a couple of assignments to complete for two of my corporate clients. One had asked me to draft their annual report from material they had given me. The reports they had asked me to use were full of jargon and odd bureaucratic phrases that might have meant something to the staff members who wrote them, but not to anyone else. They were hard to read, but I enjoyed the challenge of trying to keep the m
eaning, while turning the language into something a layperson would understand. The other assignment was a bit more fun—a couple of articles for an employee newsletter.

  Not exactly the investigative stories I had wanted to do when I started journalism school. But the work paid the bills and I still took satisfaction from turning a bit of jargony nonsense into prose that anyone could understand.

  I hadn't completed as much as I had planned, thanks to all the disruption of moving. So I settled down to finish as much as possible before it was time to pick up Ben from pre-school.

  I was so deeply into my editing work on the annual report that it took me a moment to realize someone was knocking on the apartment door. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I'd been sitting at my keyboard for over three hours. Good time for a break, I thought, heading to open the door.

  I was pleased to see Mariana and even more pleased to smell the scent of warm chocolate. She was holding a plate of cookies. “I was doing some baking and thought you might like these,” she said, “or at least I thought your little boy would.”

  “I think we'll all like them,” I said. “They smell wonderful.”

  “Good. Are you doing all right? I know last night must have been rough.”

  “It was,” I admitted. “But worse for Les. What a terrible thing to have happened. You heard he didn't make it?” She nodded. “Look,” I said, “would you like to come in? I could make some tea.”

  “If you're sure I'm not interrupting. Some of us do tend to drop into each other's homes all the time, but I'm sure you have lots to do.”

  “Well, I'm ready for a cup of tea, and I'd love to have your company. I really appreciated your help last night. I was pretty upset.”

  “I can imagine how awful it must have been.” She followed me into the living room. “Oh, this is charming. It's funny; most of the units have the same layout, but everyone decorates them differently, so they each look different. That loveseat looks like it was made for this room.”

  “Hardly. We're not in the custom furniture income bracket. But I was glad it fit so well. And the bookcase is exactly the right length for the wall. That was lucky. They're both fairly new. My mother bought them when she and my dad sold their house and moved into a townhouse. Their old furniture was too big for the new place.”