Pretty City Murder

by Robert E. Dunn

  He looked up. With half a smile, he said, “What about?”

  “Can we go outside?”

  He followed her to the sidewalk. The bitter wind blew up inside her black skirt.

  “Over here.”

  They stood at the edge of the white zone.

  The noise is good.

  “I have to tell you something about Cornelius.”

  “Why I can’t see him?”

  “You just can’t. Besides, you don’t want to see him.”

  “What do you mean? He’s my friend.”

  “Would you listen to me if I tell you something?”

  “I want to see Cornelius. It’s important.”

  Gerald paced and shivered. A street-cleaning truck entered the white zone, and its heavy forward brush whirred. They stepped back.

  She took his arm and pulled him closer.

  He let her.

  “Cornelius asked me to bring him something. I can’t tell you what it was.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because. But, it’s bad. And I don’t think you should be seeing him.”

  He turned away and stepped toward the front door.

  She lifted her right hand. Her fingers touched the goosebumps on the back of his neck.

  He turned back.

  “If he’s such a bad guy, then why are you helping him?”

  “I don’t know...I just...“

  “Why?” demanded Gerald.

  “Don’t be mad at me. I’m in love with Cornelius.”

  “What? How can you be? Does he know?”

  His face turned beet-red.

  “Please understand. I’ve got to tell someone.”

  “Why me?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell Doris. She’s my junior, and she will think I’m crazy. I told Cornelius I love him, but he pretended he didn’t understand.”

  “He doesn’t. You know his situation.”

  “The only thing I know is he’s a little slow. What else do you know?”

  “Really? Really?” he said angrily. “All he can do is the job given to him. Beyond that, he’s...limited. I don’t know if he’s ever been in love. Do you?”

  “He says he’s too old.”

  “Then believe what he says and leave him alone.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Haven’t you ever been in love? Something inside me is telling me he just needs a woman in his life and it will be complete.”

  “You read too many romance novels.”

  “I do not.” She didn’t feel the need to lower her voice, and she daren’t now with cars and people thrumming by.

  “Do you think I’m pretty?”

  Gerald looked perplexed. “Yes.”

  “Then why wouldn’t Cornelius?”

  “Maybe he does, but that’s not the point. He does his job, family visits him, he goes to bed and gets up the next morning. Why not ask him to take you to church? He goes almost every day. That would be a better way to get to know him and what he is capable of, but, honestly, I think you should look for someone else.”

  “Like you?”

  Gerald teetered on the sides of his feet. “You need a man your own age.”

  Pepper scoffed. “You really don’t know men like you think you do. Cornelius doesn’t drink or smoke, and he comes from a wealthy, educated, and sophisticated family. If he’s religious, that’s a good thing, something I could learn from. I want children, and he can give me that.”

  Gerald shook her and said, “Leave him alone,” and with that he pushed the front door open and left her standing in the unfriendly airstream of his wake. Her lip balm had become suddenly bitter.

  She followed him as he walked over to an Edwardian three-seater and sat down.

  Back behind the front desk, Pepper answered a call.

  “O’Hara here. Is Cornelius on duty?”

  “No, sir, he’s gone up to his apartment.”

  “What about Morales?”

  “He’s on his break.”

  Pepper heard a click. Puzzled by the phone call, she nervously busied herself and looked at Gerald again. Minutes passed. She glanced at the clock: five minutes after twelve. When she looked for Gerald, he was gone.

  •••

  The door buzzer awakened Cornelius. A giant, pyramidal light on the roof of a building across the street threw its beams on the blue and green tartan sweater he placed an arm into as he shuffled out of the bedroom into the kitchen. Not a single dish or utensil lay on the kitchen table. He passed into the living room. Not a single piece of clothing lay about, and the newspaper was neatly folded on the black chesterfield. He crossed the entry hall rug in his slippers and, from the other side of the door, he heard a voice say, “It’s all right.” The door knob turned. It stopped. He placed his hand on the knob and rested his head against the door when there was a click and the sound of someone stepping back.

  Cornelius flicked on the entry hall light and opened the door.

  “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here? Come on in.” In the living room, Cornelius turned around. “No. No!” he shouted. “Ralphy, Ralphy, come help me.”

  A single shot was fired.

  Cornelius was dead.

  •••

  Father Ralph cupped a hand in front of his mouth.

  A pistol shot aimed at the temple would be better than being stopped for a DUI.

  He opened the window for some fresh air and saw the Corinthian pillars of the Academy of Art University building at Post and Mason.

  At half-past midnight, Father Ralph walked into the lobby.

  “Pepper, I’ve come to see my brother. Is he in his room?”

  “Yes, Father, he went off duty an hour ago.”

  Father Ralph passed a limping woman and felt her eyes fasten on his collar in an accusatory way. Could she sense his eagerness to reach Cornelius’ apartment for another drink, something to dispel the visions of domestic bliss cohabiting with priestly duties and the demands put upon a university dean? She wasn’t in view long enough to know.

  The chatter of the party needed to put it to bed, but he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to come home to Joyce’s companionship, rather than stealing away from it. Her face was all pink and white. With a start, he realized that he had been staring vacantly at the elevator doors like a ghost about to be sucked in and hurled down the shaft. He hadn’t even pressed the button.

  When the limping woman joined him at the elevators, the overpowering strength of her perfume brought the taste of booze-coated hors d’oeuvres up into his mouth. Her floral dress was tired and worn, like drooping plastic flowers.

  Even though the chime announced the doors were about to open, she jabbed the button again and again. He found the idea of sharing the same space with her unbearable. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked. “You were in a rush before.”

  “I’ll take the next one,” he said with a weak smile, unable to find a plausible excuse in the eternity it took for the doors to close again. He boarded the next elevator and listened to the elevator’s beep and a honeyed female voice say, “Twelfth floor.”

  Maybe, he didn’t need a drink. Maybe, all he needed was the quiet company of his brother. Cornelius might need help caring for himself, but he knew how to make a place feel like home. The apartment had offered him the chance to labor over a place, like a garden, away from a hovering parent.

  “Are you in bed?” With fondness he recalled the story of the first night Cornelius was a bellhop, fell asleep on a luggage cart, and stayed too long because no one thought to tell him his shift was over.

  “Cornelius? Are you in bed?” he called, as he entered his brother’s apartment.

  Troubled by the lamp on the living room floor, he left the door resting against the frame and moved forward. The black lacquered coffee table was clean and clear of drinking glasses.

  Something felt wrong.

  Abruptly, the awfulness of the scene became apparent, and he jumped
back. Just enough light revealed a molten, reddish-purple pool spreading out on the white carpet.

  Father Ralph waved the sign of the cross in Cornelius’ direction and brought his hands together over his eyes in the vain hope that the scene might change.

  Time started coming in fragmented, jittery sections. Was it possible that the brother he had spent hours training to pass as a man without a disability, the brother who never harmed anyone, never told a lie, and never forgot his morning and evening prayers, was gone?

  Father Ralph reached for the ache in his stomach and forced down the bile in his mouth. He looked around the impeccable apartment for a bucket or a dish to vomit in and swallowed. The smell of iron hit him, and his legs shook. He knew the smell from hours spent waiting outside emergency rooms.

  Closing his eyes did not discharge the impending specter, a conspicuous scene imagined in all its gaudiness, employees grouping, guests straining, and strangers gawking. Medics would arrive and pull the white sheet over his brother’s face, as if departure from this life and reception into the next could be dispensed in such a pragmatic way.

  Then there was nothing.

  •••

  He came to.

  “Leahy.”

  “Larry, it’s me.”

  “Ralph?”

  Father Ralph heard concern beginning to course through his friend’s voice. “Larry,” he said, “Larry, you’ve got to get over here right away. I’m in Cornelius’ apartment. He’s dead.”

  “What? What did you say? Repeat it, Ralph.”

  Father Ralph summoned his fortitude. “Larry, I’m in Cornelius’ apartment. He’s dead. There’s blood.”

  Larry’s voice turned sharp. “Stay where you are. Don’t touch anything. Understand?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “All right. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Father Ralph pushed the phone back in his pants pocket and rose to his feet. From across the room, air seeping out of an iron wall grate warmed the smell of gunpowder. As the oldest of three, it was his duty to look after his brother and sister. Now there were just two. He got on his knees with barely enough power to begin the Sacrament of the Sick ritual, though his brother was already dead.

  May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.

  It took a long time. It seemed important to say each word with exactness and deliberation. Once his rhythm got going, his mind drifted. There was Cornelius staring down in fascination at horses, camels, foot soldiers, and gyrating women crossing the stage of his favorite opera, Aida, and then, there he was, perched like a pigeon on a long tree branch in their Fifth Avenue backyard, waving his heels in the air.

  For almost his entire life, Father Ralph had undertaken the obligation to protect Cornelius, and ever since becoming a priest, and most especially with the decline in his mother’s health, the burden had intensified. What he never imagined was failure so abject.

  Chapter 4

  Friday, July 5

  Larry threw on his white shirt and black jacket, struggled to get pants on pajamas, ran down two flights of stairs, and backed out of his garage. His siren blared across shiny streets, and the flashing lights cleared a way. He started to punch 911 when the hotel’s marquee and lobby lights appeared.

  He rushed the front desk and lifted his badge. “Inspector Leahy. Here to see...the MacKenzie’s. What’s your name, miss?”

  “Pepper.”

  He was breathing hard. “Thank you, Pepper.” Larry saw her begin to shake and asked, “Is there something wrong?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He looked at the other clerk and asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Doris Harris.”

  “All right, Doris. Here’s my phone number. Call me if you need me.” Larry scribbled his number on a notepad, ripped out the page, and handed it over.

  The elevator binged. In his notebook, he jotted down his arrival time: 1:15 a.m. When the elevator door opened, he bumped into a man and apologized.

  He wiped his brow with a handkerchief and wondered what Father Ralph’s condition would be. Outside Cornelius’ apartment he listened with his ear against the door, drew his service revolver, and pushed.

  “Ralph, are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m okay.” Father Ralph was hunched over. The entry hall light was on. Larry saw one side of his face and its high cheek bone. Hearing Father Ralph’s voice was a relief, and now Larry really began noticing details.

  “Is anyone else in the apartment?”

  “Just the two of us, but I didn’t...”

  “Shush.” In his head, he heard an admonition. Go in twos. Two detectives, or one detective and one cop, was best.

  But best wasn’t always possible, or even right.

  “Stand still, Ralph.” With the service revolver in his right hand, Larry carefully walked on the edge of an oval rug and brushed up against a framed picture. “All right, Ralph, get behind me and stay there.”

  “Larry?”

  “Shush.”

  Go in twos. Go in twos.

  Father Ralph did as he was told.

  Larry reached his left hand around the door frame and slid his fingers over the switch. The room lit up. A fine crystal chandelier hung over a broken lamp and end table lying on the floor. A gun lay abandoned like a piece of garbage two steps to the right. Cornelius’ eyes were open and clouded. Even if he were upright, his eyes could no longer see what Larry tried to deconstruct, the fine, dark woodwork of the windows and doors, the chesterfields upholstered in shiny black material with green, purple, pink, and yellow crisscrossing stripes, and the hearth insert.

  He had been there less than twenty-four hours ago, but now everything had to be considered in a different light. Anything was possible. Larry stared at a scene, but what he saw was a eulogy, Father President praising Cornelius to an overflowing audience, professors sitting up front, and members of the Board of Supervisors, recipients of O’Hara’s largesse, squirming in reserved seats.

  The back of a swivel chair touched a sofa arm and faced Larry. Cornelius must have fallen backward against the swivel chair and knocked over the lamp and end table. Blood spatter on the chair and lamp led Larry to estimate that the gun was fired at some distance, possibly from where he stood.

  No other furniture was upended or out of place, and no clothes or other objects lay strewn about. Windows were closed. Room temperature was normal. The place smelled like the inside of an orange crate. He skirted the entry hall carpet and quietly pushed the front door shut with his elbow. There were no signs of forced entry, but Father Ralph’s fingerprints would be on the doorknob.

  “What’s the smell?” Larry whispered.

  “Gunpowder.”

  “No, the other smell.”

  “Cornelius liked room freshener.”

  Go in twos. Go in twos.

  A floor board creaked when Larry entered the living room. A repellant smell, like a rusty sink, infused the air. Five stacks of money were on the table.

  He looked back at Father Ralph, put his finger to his lips, and said, “Stay put.”

  Larry stepped around Cornelius and surveyed the kitchen.

  Go in twos. Go in twos.

  Larry passed through the kitchen with the barrel of his service revolver pointed straight ahead.

  An open door on the right summoned, but danger might be lurking in the dark. Crouched a few feet back, a big man with an iron bar might take a swing. Stumbling over a second dead body was another possibility.

  He took one hand from his gun and felt for a light switch. A mazarine-blue lamp on a side table lit a bed draped with a white comforter. The top sheet was open, and one of two white pillows bore the indentation of a head.

  As he stood there, a bead of sweat the size of a small jelly opal rolled out of his scalp and lodged inside the pajama top.

  Go in twos. Go in twos.

  He could see nothing through the space between door and frame and rolled his eyeballs up and d
own, left and right, and stepped in. A crow sat outside a closed window. Its smooth head and sharp beak showed like a disembodied menace above the window sash. The roost was a ledge lit like a miniature stage. Diaphanous eyelids were frozen. The crow’s demeanor was unemotional, and its presence imitated the room’s peace.

  Did the weapon have a silencer?

  Larry flipped up the purple bed skirt but feared a hissing cat would swipe his face or a man might lurch forward and land on his back.

  He traced his steps back to the window and looked out one more time. The bird didn’t move.

  Oily, black vagrant sitting there like it’s part of the architecture.

  Larry’s gaze over the ledge assured him that no one could have entered the apartment that way. He felt dizzy looking.

  A twelve-story nose-dive would hurt.

  With the instincts of a coyote sniffing out a chicken coop, the forty-year veteran advanced toward an armoire on the opposite side of the room. He opened the doors. Should he shake the suits or be happy no villain was inside? He bent a collar back.

  A door on the right was next.

  Go in twos. Go in twos.

  He yanked it open. Pulling on the ceiling chain wasn’t necessary. The shelves were white.

  An open door on the other side of the armoire was next.

  Go in twos. Go in twos.

  His hand found the switch and turned on the ceiling light. There was only one more hiding place, and this was it. Was there a perpetrator behind the frosted glass door of the shower? Tile dry. No footprints. Mirror free of condensation. A sticky trigger forced him to free his finger. Natural gas had warmed the bathroom.

  Larry felt liberated.

  He retraced his steps to Cornelius and knelt, but not too close. The size of the hole in the forehead matched the handgun’s small caliber. Drawing himself away, he looked around for the casing, which would be an easy spot on white carpet.

  “Where did your brother get the money lying on the coffee table?”

  “I have no idea. I didn’t see it.”

  Larry noticed drops of blood on the money wrappers.

  “What about the gun?”

  “There’s a gun?”

  “Does Cornelius own a gun?”

  “He has some guns up at the lake, but none here. Can we handle this as quietly as possible? I don’t want people pawing over Cornelius and gossiping about what happened.”