Diagnosis: Death (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 2)

by A. P. Eisen

  “Yeah. We need to ask the law firm about Ulrich’s will and who inherits.”

  “Yup. Cui Bono. Who benefits. Never fails me.”

  “You know it. Think we’re finished here. We can go upstairs to their bedroom to look now.”

  They took to the stairs, and the housekeeper came scurrying after them. “Where are you going?”

  “We need to look around the master bedroom.”

  The housekeeper pressed her lips together, and with an impatient swish of her skirt, beckoned them. “This way. I’ll take you. I can’t have you wandering around the house unattended. Catherine wouldn’t expect that.” They trailed behind her as she strode down the wide hallway with modern art hanging on the walls.

  “You call her Catherine? Have you been with the Ulriches a long time?”

  “I’ve been with her since she was fifteen. I was only twenty-five, and it was my first job. She wanted me to come with her when she married. I loved working for her; she’s a sweet, lovely woman who would do anything for her family. Dr. Ulrich didn’t realize how much she did. She made life so easy for him, he never had to think of anything. It was all taken care of for him.”

  They reached a door, and she opened it. A large, airy room spread out before them. His whole apartment could fit into this space, Paul decided as he did a walk-through. A wall of windows faced the gardens in the back. It was a woman’s room, Paul realized, with the walls painted a pale purple and the comforter a big, puffy, flowery spread. He could never sleep in a bed like that. Waking up to all those colors would give him a headache.

  “Wow,” Rob said. “My wife would kill for a setup like this. The bed looks like one of those harem things.” The king-sized bed had sheer curtains flowing down around it from the ceiling to the floor.

  “It looks like it belongs in a magazine.” Paul touched the silky fabric.

  “They’ve had the room featured several times,” the housekeeper said with pride in her voice. “Mrs. Ulrich loves this room.”

  Paul didn’t see anything of Dean Ulrich’s in the room and now understood his office and the bottle of Scotch in the drawer. “What side of the bed did Dr. Ulrich sleep on?”

  “The left side.”

  She pointed. “And that door is his closet.” Again she pointed to the door across the expanse of the room on the left side.

  Rob went to the closet, and Paul checked the nightstand drawers. He opened the top drawer and found little but a mystery book and several pens. No surprise. He opened the bottom drawer and flipped over the magazine to see the cover. He recognized it as a gay porn magazine. The tattooed, bearded guy on the cover stared up at him. Paul quickly closed the drawer.

  Rob came out of the closet, holding a few sealed manila envelopes. “I found these on the top shelf, behind his shoe boxes, and figured it would be a good place to hide things he didn’t want his wife to see. Did you find anything?”

  “Nope, nothing. Okay. Let’s head back and see what we’ve got.”

  The housekeeper dogged them as they walked down the stairs. “What did you take? Did you ask Mrs. Ulrich if you could?”

  Paul and Rob ignored her.

  Much of the furniture sat under covers, and faded spots on the wall indicated where paintings and other pieces of art had been removed. Paul couldn’t imagine keeping track of everything and where it all belonged. He had enough trouble with his keys and his phone.

  They reached the front door with the housekeeper still yammering in their ears, and Paul was done. He planted his hands on his hips and tried to control his anger as he spoke.

  “Do you want us to arrest you for impeding an investigation?”

  She paled. “I’m only doing my job.”

  “We understand. So are we. Tell Mrs. Ulrich we’ll be in touch.”

  They left the house and climbed into the car. Rob settled into his seat and handed Paul the envelopes. “Here, look at these while I drive.”

  Paul waited until they were on the highway to open the envelopes, and he almost choked when he pulled out the photos. “Uh, okay, then.”

  Rob glanced over, and the car swerved. “Jesus.”

  There were various photos of Ulrich, naked and aroused, lying in what looked to be a hotel bed. He was smiling at the camera. Other, more disturbing shots were of him sleeping. Paul’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth together.

  “That’s fucking disgusting to take pictures of the guy when he’s unaware.”

  “You thinking what I am?” Rob signaled to change lanes and took the exit that would bring them to downtown Thornwood Park and the station.

  “That we might have a little blackmail going on? Yeah. When we get to the station, let’s check Ulrich’s phone records for incoming calls from Callahan. And we’ll get the bank records and see if Ulrich withdrew any large sums of money. Then we’ll pay Callahan another visit.” Paul slid the photos into the envelopes.

  “It might not be him, you know.” Rob pulled into the Third Precinct’s parking lot. “Maybe he was banging more than one guy.” He cut the engine and opened the car door. Paul exited, and they continued talking on their way into the police station. “He could be another Jerry.”

  “Maybe. But I got a feeling about Callahan. Like he was hiding something from us, and this might be it. If he sent these pictures to Ulrich and threatened to expose him to his wife…” Paul shrugged, and Rob nodded.

  “Oh, yeah. They could’ve arranged to meet that morning, things got heated, and Callahan cracked him over the head. He seems like a bit of a hothead. And it wouldn’t be something Ulrich would enter in his calendar, like, Going to meet with my blackmailing lover.”

  Totally plausible, and Paul wished nothing more than for the case to be decided that easily. Somehow they never were.

  A wry grin tugged at Paul’s lips. “Let’s check it out.”

  When they got to their desks, Paul took charge of matching up phone calls to and from Callahan and Ulrich, while Rob called the bank to see what he could find out. Thirty minutes later they reported back to each other.

  “So,” Paul began, “I have calls between the two of them, about once a week, starting, as Callahan told us, a couple of weeks after Jerry died. Then they increased to two and three times a week. Always from Ulrich to him, until about a month before Ulrich was murdered. That’s when Callahan started calling Ulrich almost every day.”

  As Rob listened to him, Paul noticed the gleam in his eye. “Yeah, makes sense. The bank officer I spoke with told me that about a month ago, Ulrich started making weekly withdrawals of five hundred dollars. Then, two days before he was offed, he made out a money order for ten grand.”

  Paul whistled. “Damn. And that matches the note I found in the trash.” He chewed the end of his pen. “All of which may prove Callahan was a nasty little blackmailer, but that doesn’t translate into a murderer.”

  “True,” Rob said. “But it’s a place to start. We’ll have to pay him another visit and see if he has an alibi for Saturday morning.”

  “Yeah. In the meantime, let’s call Hamilton and Stone and set up an appointment for tomorrow.”

  “Okay, but since attorney-client privilege survives death, I’m not sure how much they can tell us.”

  “Guess we’ll find out,” Paul said with a grim smile. He had no use for lawyers who would hide their clients’ crimes and scream about privilege. To him, bringing a killer to justice was of the utmost importance.

  Rob placed the call, and after informing the answering service that it was police business, finally made the appointment. “Okay, tomorrow at two.”

  “Good. We can hit the hotel up in the morning. I can get Cliff to pull Ulrich’s records.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Rob clicked out of his files and leaned back in his chair. He laced his fingers over his midsection. “You’re not convinced Callahan is the killer, are you?”

  Paul stretched out his legs. This was the best part of investigations, when he and Rob would talk things through to tie t
he pieces together. “I’m looking at the big picture. Why would he kill off his gravy train? It looked like Ulrich was obsessed with him and willing to pay to keep quiet about their affair. Killing Ulrich ends all that beautiful extra cash coming in.”

  “Point taken. But maybe Ulrich balked at giving him the ten thousand. Or maybe he took it out and never gave it to him.”

  “Or,” Paul mused, “maybe he gave it to Callahan, and the guy asked for more. They argued, Callahan decided he wasn’t worth it, and popped him one.”

  “All possibilities. We didn’t find the money order in his effects, so either we’re totally off the mark or Callahan already has it. We’ll see where it leads us. Ready to call it a night?”

  It was after six, and Paul had promised to pick up dinner. “Yeah. I’m going to go to Maria’s and get Cliff and me some dinner. I’m sure he’s been thinking about that call all day.”

  “See, I don’t get it. We talked about this already, but I don’t understand how a parent can turn away from their child. I hope it turns out okay.”

  “Thanks. Me too.” Paul would have to go home first to get his own car before driving to the restaurant. “Hey, want to do me a favor and drive me to Maria’s? You can get stuff for yourself. Surprise Annabel.”

  “Good idea. She’s so stressed now, the last thing she needs is to worry about making dinner. Her blood pressure is a little high, and the doctor told her to take it easy.”

  “Then this’ll be perfect.”

  Maria’s was halfway between the station and his place, so it didn’t take long. Paul called ahead, and by the time they parked the car and went into the restaurant, Maria had their food waiting.

  “You tell Cliff I have a recipe. Special, only for him.”

  “I will.” Heat rose in his cheeks. They had dinner there at least once a week, and Paul guessed the staff had figured out the two of them were more than friends. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he no longer wanted to run away at the thought of someone knowing he was gay.

  He’d brought Rob to the restaurant a number of times, and Maria gave him a pat on the cheek as well as his stomach. “Tell your beautiful wife I gave her and the children a special dessert. Not for you.”

  Rob grinned. “She’ll like that. Thanks, Maria.”

  They paid and walked out with their bags stuffed to the brim.

  “I hesitate to even open this, knowing there’ll be so much more food than we ordered.” Rob sniffed the contents. “Damn, that’s good.”

  “Always is.”

  Rob dropped him off, and Paul didn’t go upstairs to his apartment, heading straight for his car and driving the now-familiar route to Cliff’s house. Where he’d once spent every night alone or driven to faraway bars to pick up random strangers, life was so much better now with Cliff. It never occurred to him that he could have what Rob had—a stable home to come to every night with someone to talk to about his day. A safe haven away from the job, where he could forget the ugliness of life for a little while. A person who cared whether he lived or died.

  He reached Cliff’s house and parked in the driveway, noting the glow of the living-room lights. Anticipation swirled inside him at seeing Cliff. Never having had a relationship prior to this one, even after three months, Paul couldn’t be certain he handled things right. He forgot to call during the day, and when he and Cliff were together, he zoned out thinking about work, or often dominated their conversations, talking about his cases. Deep down he still didn’t understand what he brought to the table.

  But he couldn’t imagine not seeing Cliff every day.

  Cliff greeted him at the door and kissed him. Hard.

  Before Cliff, there’d been no reason to want a home and family. After all, you can’t miss what you’ve never had. But now that he had it, Paul knew he didn’t want to let Cliff go.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Wow,” Paul said, his lips red and his eyes dazed. “You should get more days off if this is the greeting I get.”

  Cliff wanted to say he could get this greeting every day and night if they lived together, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—push. Everything about this relationship spoke magic to him, and knowing Paul’s stress level was off the charts now with this murder investigation, he would keep it low-key.

  “Come on inside. I made cookies.”

  Paul sniffed the air as he walked toward the kitchen, and as always, his large presence dominated the space. “Smells good.” He hefted a bag. “I had Rob stop by Maria’s. I know we just had it the other day, but I figured you could use some comfort food tonight, after hearing from your father.”

  “Th-thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

  “It worked out ’cause Rob also picked up stuff for himself and his family.” Paul tossed his jacket onto a chair and walked into the kitchen, leaving Cliff to stand and stare after him. “I’m grabbing one now. It won’t hurt my appetite.” After placing the bag with their dinner on the island, he popped half a cookie into his mouth. “Damn, that’s good.” His huge smile faded. “What’s wrong? Did you hear more news about your mother?” He dropped the other half of the cookie and put his arms around Cliff. The unexpected, sweet response brought the sting of tears to Cliff’s eyes.

  “No, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right.”

  The now-familiar scent of Paul filled his senses and the thump of his heart settled Cliff’s nerves. They might’ve been together three months, but Cliff still woke up sometimes and stared at Paul’s sleeping face, unable to believe the man he’d never forgotten was there with him.

  “Hungry? We can eat now, and you can tell me about what’s happening in the investigation.”

  “That can wait. I want to hear all about the phone call from your father and what you’re going to do.”

  That telephone call. Every time he put it out of his mind, it reared back up like an angry cobra. Cliff didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t focus on his mother being sick and asking to see him. So many years had passed, he’d resigned himself to being okay without them.

  Paul cupped his cheek. “Unless it’s too hard for you. I understand. I feel like that about Harley. I still find it almost impossible to talk about him.”

  “Yeah, it’s something like that. I’m glad she wants to see me, of course, but what if it’s only to say she hasn’t changed her mind? What if they only want to tell me how sorry they are to have me as their child?” Forcing himself to walk away from Paul, Cliff busied himself by taking the food out of the bag. “Boy, Maria must think we have guests. There’s enough here for—”

  Paul’s arms slipped around his waist. “Hey. You don’t have to pretend with me. It’ll be okay. You know why? Because you’re strong. If you ever doubt yourself, remember how you talked Amy Parsons out of slitting your throat. You talked a killer out of killing you. Not many people get to say that.”

  “I don’t feel so brave right now. I feel like I’m going to have to tell my parents I’m gay all over again and have them look as horrified as if I’d confessed to murder.” He began to shake. “I don’t want that a second time. I can’t take being their disappointment twice.”

  “You’re nobody’s disappointment.” Paul kissed his neck, and Cliff sighed his pleasure. “Least of all mine. I was thinking about you all day.”

  “You were?” It was hard to talk with Paul’s lips pressed against his skin. He’d caged Cliff between his large frame and the island, and Cliff could feel every hard plane of muscle.

  “I thought about coming home to you and eating dinner, just talking about everyday stuff, then leaving the dishes and going to bed.”

  “Somehow I knew that would come into the equation.” Cliff tilted his neck to give Paul better access.

  “Don’t bring up math when I’m trying to be romantic. It was my worst subject.”

  “Never again. I promise.” Paul could give a course in sensuality, Cliff decided hazily as the man trailed hot, wet kisses up and down his throat. “You’d get an A from me
in kissing.”

  Paul rested his lips against the corner of Cliff’s mouth. “I just want to make you feel better.”

  “You’re succeeding.” Cliff turned around to face Paul. It didn’t seem possible, but Paul settled his thumping nerves and helped him see more clearly. “I’m really glad you’re here with me tonight.”

  “C’mon.” Paul took his hand and led him away from the kitchen to the comfortable living room. “Sit and talk to me.” Paul sat on the couch and patted his lap and Cliff stretched out. Paul’s fingers played in his hair.

  “I don’t know what more to say. I want to see them, of course. My mother’s sick, maybe dying.…My father didn’t need to say that specifically for me to understand.”

  “And you’re wondering if asking to see you is more for her benefit, to ease her conscience, than because she really wants to say she’s sorry and that she loves you no matter what.”

  His throat too tight to speak, Cliff nodded. Paul stroked his head, threading Cliff’s hair through his fingers.

  “I’m a terrible person, right? To think only about myself and not my sick mother?”

  “You couldn’t be a terrible person if you tried. You lost all these years due to their prejudice, and now, understandably, you’re upset that it took a tragedy to maybe make them realize what they lost.”

  The pain in his chest lessened at Paul’s words. “Yes. But I can’t stay away. I have to see her. I told my father I’d go tomorrow.”

  “You’ll go. And you’ll listen and say all the right words, hoping it will ease her mind. But what are you going to say to your father?”

  Cliff struggled to seated and swung his legs to the floor. “That’s the question of the night, I guess. I have no idea. Yes, he’s dealing with my mother, but I can’t walk in there, smile and hug him as if everything is fine and we’re a close and loving family.” He hung his head in his hands.

  “You shouldn’t be expected to. But I know you, and you’ll find the right time and place to have your say.”