Brownstone

by Dean Kutzler

  His transfer stop came up and he got on the F without a problem. He took another egg-carton seat and waited for the Rockefeller Center stop.

  The connection with his uncle was obvious, but the reasoning or motive was a mystery. The two crimes had to be related. But, how? Why? Who even knew where he was staying? Whoever ransacked his room had to be tied into the murder, that was definitely clear, but what were they looking for in his room? And what possible connection would something in his room have to do with his uncle?

  Jack knew none of his uncle’s friends or connections. Uncle Terry was a lawyer and a damned good one at that. During his career he had brought many criminals to justice. Anything was possible, like a disgruntled client or family member. The detective work was best left up to the not-so-dumbo Columbo. Jack had told him what little he knew to help with the investigation. He’d failed miserably at getting his last chance with his uncle. He had to focus on what came next—the strange TV drama reenactment of the reading of the wills.

  The F screeched to a halt and Jack made his way out of the subway and to the front of Rockefeller Center. He remembered his first visit to the center. His uncle had taken him, of course. He’d told him it was a little secret that he’d share with him. Top of the Rock!

  Rockefeller Center was pretty much smack dab in the middle of the city and the view was far better from there than from the Empire State and Chrysler buildings. Plus it was less crowded. You could see most of the major landmarks from up there. On a clear day, you could even see New Jersey and Connecticut. The best part for Jack,—the secret—was the funky light show elevator ride.

  Just a few short blocks walk and he was back at the Marriott in his new, upgraded room. The upgraded room really didn’t differ much from the cheaper rooms, only in respect to size. You could host a debutant ball in it! The courteous staff had taken the liberty of packing up his belongings from his ransacked room after the forensic team was done and neatly unpacked them in his new room. They even went to the lengths of cleaning, pressing and folding his clothes and nicely arranging them in the dresser drawers and closet. His poor battle wounded laptop was on the executive-style desk and his empty luggage stowed away in the closet. One good thing, he didn’t have to unpack!

  He sat down at the desk wondering if Dr. Alderson had broken the bad news to his parents. The doctor offered Jack the choice of being the bearer of bad news, but he gladly declined. Dealing with his father was enough on its own. He expected him to handle the news as he did in all fashions relating to anything non-work related. The paper must run at all costs! His father’s most emotional task would be finding time away from the paper for the funeral. It was cold thinking on Jack’s part, but it wasn’t unwarranted.

  Over the years, Jack picked up on the distance his father and his uncle shared. They were close, even chummy, but always with a certain indescribable reserve, which Jack chalked up to sibling rivalry. They both had been very successful men, each in his own right. His father never found any importance greater than his beloved paper, his career. Everything else came second. It was surprising that he even took time to have a child. The best guess was to keep Jack’s mother occupied and out of the way while he climbed to the top of the ranks and became Chief Executive Editor. Second best guess would be to have a fledgling successor that he could brag around the office about how he nurtured and developed him.

  A more surprising fact was that Uncle Terry never had any children. Their relationship had been a very close pseudo father-son bonding type of relationship. He was as perfect a father figure as any Jack could guess and he’d died a single, childless man. And until now, it never dawned on Jack that he couldn’t ever recall a single relationship that his uncle had had. Male or female. Maybe that’s what drove their relationship to such closeness. Or could it be the possession his uncle never had? Jack’s father had one up on Uncle Terry after all. Regardless of their close relationship, Jack’s father was still his father and his uncle was just his uncle. No matter which way you sliced it. Guilt washed over Jack as he thought about what his life would have been like if Uncle Terry had been his father instead.

  The phone suddenly rang giving Jack a stir and causing his head to throb even more. The sound echoed throughout the enormous ballroom style suite making Jack aware for the first time of a feeling of loneliness. Letting go of his goatee, he picked it up on the second ring.

  “Hello?” He answered, waiting for the inevitable.

  “May I speak with Jack Elliot?” a familiar voice said.

  “Yes, speaking.”

  “Mr. Elliot, this is Barnabas, Barnabas Leibowitz, your uncle’s lawyer. Jack, please accept my condolences on behalf of the whole firm on the loss of your uncle.” That was fast, Jack thought. “It was a shock to the firm and to me personally at the circumstances regarding his murder. He was certainly a fine man, Jack. If we can be of any assistance to the law enforcement, please don’t hesitate to have them contact us.” Jack could hear the earnest in his voice over the phone. “I’ve been his lawyer for quite some time now and I truly can’t conceive of a single person that would have wanted to bring harm to the man. It’s just staggering.”

  “Thank you Mr. Leibowitz. I appreciate that.” Jack thought that if his parents hadn’t known before, they knew now.

  “Please. Call me Barney. Jack, your uncle has stipulated in his will that we handle all of the arrangements for his burial in order to alleviate any burden on the family.” Jack’s dad would be happy to hear that, less time away from the paper. Guilt or no guilt, Jack couldn’t help it and the saddest part was he suspected his uncle made this decision predicated solely on that reason alone. Snapping Jack back to the conversation, the lawyer continued. “The church services will be held at St. Peter’s Church on Barclay Street Friday 9 a.m. Thereafter he will be interred at The New York City Marble Cemetery on Second Street between First and Second Avenues.”

  “Excuse me Barney—the Marble Cemetery? The hidden one in the East Village of Manhattan? I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it before. I didn’t know there were any cemeteries left in Manhattan that weren’t filled?”

  “Actually, there are two Marble Cemeteries located next to each other. Back in the 1800s, a law was passed restricting any further land development for the construction of cemeteries due to the rapid growth of residents in Manhattan. Your third great grandfather, Ernest F. Elliot bought family vault number five back then in an attempt to keep the family together in death. The vault has since been filled, but your uncle, Terrance, donated a large sum towards the cemetery’s endowment in order to expand the vault large enough to accommodate your current family members. I personally drew up the papers.”

  “I never knew that.” Jack said, surprised, grabbing at his goatee. He wondered if his father knew about Uncle Terry’s morbid investment. Actually, it wasn’t really morbid. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. Even in death, his uncle was family guy through and through.

  “Your uncle was an extraordinarily modest man. I had a family tree extensively researched and created at his request. Once it was finished, that was when we discovered Ernest’s burial site right here in the city and he came up with the idea. He wanted to keep it a secret from the family. I believe it was his way of trying to keep everyone together as your great-great-great-grandfather had done.” Jack could hear a ruffling on the lawyer’s end of the line from being covered with his hand. “Excuse me, Jack. I apologize for having to cut this short, but I have an important call that I have to take. I still need to confer with your father on the date, but I’d like to execute the readings as soon as possible as requested in your uncle’s will. I’m tentatively scheduling it for the Monday after the funeral at 9 a.m. That’s if you have no objections, of course.” The lawyer said this with as much sincerity possible due to the urgency of his call in waiting.

  “That would be fine, Barney.” Jack said, keeping it short.

  “Excellent. Unless you hear from me or our staff, it will be on Monday 9
a.m. at our office here in Manhattan. If something arises, please contact us as soon as possible. Again, our deepest condolences are in order.” The lawyer clicked over to his other call before Jack could say goodbye.

  “Huh? Must have been an urgent call.” He said to himself, placing the executive phone back on its cradle. That wasn’t the call he was expecting, to his relief. He would avoid his father for as long as he could. It was one of the reasons he left New York City in the first place. But the circumstances made it inevitable. Sooner or later, he was going to have to talk to his father and he really couldn’t see a better time than the present. Best to get on with it. The faster, the better.

  Jack fished out his iPhone, found his father’s office number and called. It was late in the day, way past work hours, but if he knew his father, he’d still be at the office. After four rings it went to voicemail. Maybe he didn’t know his father as well as he thought, so he hung up without leaving a message and called his parent’s house. On the second ring his mother answered.

  “Hello? Jack?!” his mother answered. She finally learned how to use the caller ID feature. She never was very tech-savvy. Some people are resistant to technology, some can’t figure out how to use it and some just don’t care enough. The latter is where she fit in.

  “Hey, mom. Sorry I didn’t call earlier. I—I was a little busy, aah—to say the least.” He wasn’t sure if she knew what happened or if he should worry her about the break-in. “Did you hear about Uncle Terry?”

  “Yes, yes darlin’, I did. Are you okay? The doc called from the hospital. Your poor ole Uncle Terry. He was such a good man. The two of you were peas in a pod. He was always so good to you. Especially at Christmas time. I never knew who was having more fun. You tearin’ away at those wrappin’s or him watching you. Do you remember that time he dressed up as Santa?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Lawdy-be, the look on yo face—I wouldn’t trade it for my last breath of life. That sweet age of innocent surprise and delight, you just beamed from ear to ear with reverent awe. He’s long from this world now and will sorely be missed. I’m so sorry, honey.”

  His mother’s southern lilt always slipped in when she was distraught or talking alone with Jack. She was a white woman raised in the black south. She’d worked hard at trying to hide it because father hated it, hated everything about the South. He pictured her sitting there on the other end of the phone, with her big hair and fancy dress, something she couldn’t leave in the South, regardless of the New York Styles. She would always say that women needed to look like proper women and not like little boys ready for church. And like a true southern belle, she was long-winded and gossipy at any given circumstance. “And chil’, what is all this about murder? I was just taken back by it all—shocked, honestly. Why would someone want to murder such a good man? And he was already on his death bed. Glory—be, it’s just so tragic.”

  “I just don’t know, mom, I’m still trying to understand it. I feel pretty confident that the detective working the case will get to the bottom of it.”

  “The detective? Dear, you’ve met the detective?” She seemed surprised.

  “Yes, he came to my room—“ It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He wasn’t sure how much the doctor told her, but he was pretty sure that he would stick to his oath of patient confidentiality. He didn’t want to worry her about the bump on his sphenoid or whatever that bone in his head was called, especially with the break-in.

  “He’s come to your hotel room? Already? I just gave the detective my statement. As if I would know the likely sort that would commit such a violent act of sin. My, he is efficient.” She chuffed.

  “Ah—yes.” He lied. Better to cover it up with a little white lie for the greater good. Plus, she would have insisted that he came home to stay so he’d be safer. Despite the lack of love from his father, his mother made up for it tenfold.

  “How’s dad taking it?” He quickly steered the conversation away.

  “Oh, you know your father, dear. Always the trooper. He’s truly distraught at the loss of his kin, but he’s held fast like a rock.” A lie that benefited or fooled no one. “Despite the ill nature of your visit, he’s eager to see you, Jack.” Another lie. “As am I, dear. My mama always said to me, as I say to you now, comfort is always taken best in the company of family. Well, she used to say ‘in the company of blood’, but that’s too gruesome for a proper lady to repeat, so I embellished just a tad.”

  She could sense the tension over the line in Jack’s silence. Feeling a need to explain she said, “Your father is such an important man, Jack. Great attention is required of important men. Important men get things done in this world. Under the circumstances, I wish you would reconsider your lodging and come stay at home. I’ve missed you so much.”

  He could hear the loneliness in her voice. Being a proper southerner, she would never admit how lonely her life was with his father. She’d kept herself busy over the years to stave off the pain of alienation, but book clubs and shallow tea socials only got her so far. Reality was a harsh truth to hide in the southern face of pride.

  “You know it doesn’t have to be like this, mom.” He said softly, trying to mend her heart.

  “Like what dear?” She sharpened the sweetness in her voice, ever the southerner.

  “Mom, you know I love you. Right?” he asked, less of a question and more as a salve.

  “Of course I do, sweetie. You were always the sparkle in my eye, Jack. From the day the doc put you in my arms. I’m so proud of you dear and I love you more than all those stars up in the sky.” She wasn’t budging. Jack had been down this road with her before, outright confronted her, spelled it out, even. But she never, ever, had a derogatory word to spend in regards to his father. The facade she built up around herself in the face of the world was so thick, so tall, so strong, that it would be there until the day she died. No one was taking that from her. Be it for her own good or not, Jack had to admire her tenacity if anything.

  “Mom? Can I talk to dad?” He couldn’t hide the sadness in his voice.

  When she answered the phone, he thought about taking advantage of the situation and confirming all the arrangements with her in order to avoid talking to his father. But that wasn’t the man Jack was or who he set out to be all those years ago. Procrastination was one thing, but cowardice was another. Not this boy.

  “Oh dear—“ she chuckled. “You should know that hard working father of yours by now. He’s still at work honey. It’s only quarter to ten. He’s never home this early. Did you try his office?” She said plainly, like it was a normal thing for a woman’s husband to be gone before she awoke in the morning, only to return long after she was asleep at night.

  “Oh, ah, no. No, mom. I—I didn’t. Maybe—um. I’ll try him tomorrow. It’s late, yeah late. I’m going to turn in for the night.” He told his mother how much he loved her one more time before he hung up the phone.

  October 30, 9:00 A.M., EST

  St. Peter’s Church, New York City

  THE CORRUGATED STONE columns reached up to the sky and beyond in an attempt to compete with the burgeoning sterile edifices that surrounded it. A black pigeon took flight to the cloudy gray sky, leaving the safety of the inlaid A-frame structure and soared past the top of the empty gold crucifix that had been erected there over a century’s time.

  Bearing more resemblance to a courthouse than a house of God, the Greek Revival style church sat atop a small set of marble stairs on the corner of the intersection like a Metropolitan Parthenon amongst its urban setting. The three ton steel cross girder found in the wreckage by a 731 laborer still hung faithfully on the side of St. Peter’s church, thanks to the efforts of a Franciscan friar. Mourners—ever vigilant—still came to the 9/11 artifact at least once a week to pay homage to a miracle cross that emerged from the wreckage, like a fiery phoenix.

  During his preliminary research on the Basilica piece, Jack had seen pictures of St. Peter’s church before he left Montréal. He’
d been by it numerous times growing up in New York City, but never physically in it or even this close. Now he stood before it, contemplating why he was here. Uncle Terry had been a wonderful man and accomplished wonderful things during his lifetime for the community. A random act of violence made more sense than his presumably calculated murder.

  At the top of the church stairs, his mother’s black dress billowed slowly in the late autumn gust, held down properly by a thick black clutch she held with both hands. Jack was pleased to see that she had tamed her southern mane quietly beneath an appropriate black hat. On the phone standing next to her was Jack’s father in his best black Armani. Jack locked eyes with his father as he climbed the marble stairs. He seemed agitated as he gestured into the air to the other end of the conversation, never losing eye contact with Jack.

  “I don’t care what’s involved or what people will think! Either he meets the deadline for the editorial proofing or his column is canned!” Franklin Elliot shouted into the phone before he hit the End Call button.

  This wasn’t starting off on the right tone, but when had anything with his father ever gone right? “Mom,” Jack said embracing his mother after he reached the top of the stairs. He and his father never unlocked eyes for a beat. “I really hate the circumstances, but it is really good to see you, Mom. You look great!”

  “You were always quite the charmer, Jack.” She pushed back from him, looking him over. “What are you eating these days? You look so thin since the last time I saw you! Won’t you please reconsider staying with us for your stay? I could have Bessie cook you up some good ole southern cooking and fatten you right back up.” She readjusted her hat after their embrace. The autumn sun shone harshly on her face, defining lines Jack hadn’t remembered being there before.