by Dorien Grey
There was a pause until Brad said, “I tell you what—I know George talked to you briefly right after the incident, but I’ll suggest that he or Frank contact you again. You can probably give them a more objective view of what might be behind Caesar’s death than they’ve gotten from most of the people at the party.”
“I’ll be glad to do whatever I can.”
“Good. As I said, I really don’t know what they’re doing, and I can’t tell them how to conduct their investigation, so I can’t guarantee they’ll call, but I can at least present them the option.”
“Thanks, Brad. I appreciate it. You can give them my cell phone number, too, if you want.”
“Well, just watch your step. If this wasn’t a suicide…”
“Yeah, I know. And I will be careful.” There was another pause until Elliott said, “I’d better let you go. Thanks again for everything.”
“Like I said, no problem.”
When he hung up, a hint of Old Spice hung in the air.
*
While he hoped for word from Cabrera or Guerdon Tuesday, there was none. He and his crew finished painting Steve’s apartment, and he called before starting dinner to tell him. Steve sounded pleased by the description of how good it looked, and by the news the floor refinishing would start Wednesday.
He was watching TV and waiting for the ten o’clock news when Ricky called to say he’d gotten the job with Jesse and Adam.
“I can start right away, and I can’t thank you enough, Elliott.”
“I’m really glad to hear that, Ricky.”
“Adam is coming over tomorrow to help me move my things. I don’t have much, but I can’t wait to get out of here. Every minute I stay, it just reminds me of Bruno, and the sooner I can get away from Cage, the better.”
Elliott detected Old Spice, which caused him to shiver. Disregarding it, he said, “Any further word on the funeral plans?”
“Cage hasn’t told me a thing, but there was a call on the answering machine for him yesterday from some funeral home in Rockford, so I guess Bruno’s being sent there.” There was a brief silence. “In a way, I’m glad I won’t be able to go to the funeral. This way, I can remember Bruno the way I want to, and…”
Elliott was afraid Ricky was going to start crying, but he pulled himself together.
“I’m just glad Bruno didn’t live long enough to know what a bastard Cage really is.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s started stealing things before Bruno is even in the ground!”
“What things?”
“Well, Bruno had some reproductions of some classic stamps framed on the wall just opposite our bed, and it’s gone. I have no idea why Cage would want them, other than he knew both Bruno and I loved stamps. Probably his way of taking a slap at me.”
Feeling a rush of adrenaline, Elliott asked, “You’re not talking about the Inverted Jennys, are you?”
“Yes. Had you seen them?”
“Bruno made a point of showing them to me. Did he tell you they were reproductions?”
“No, but they’d have to be. Nobody would just hang a block of real Inverted Jennys on a wall.”
So much for hiding in plain sight, Elliott thought, but said nothing. To get his mind off further speculation for the moment, he said, “So, tell me about the party. How did everyone handle Bruno’s announcement? Any big reaction?”
“Not really, and I think Bruno was really surprised—and relieved. I’m sure nobody was happy about it, but no one said anything.”
“What about Rudy? I know Bruno was planning to have a private talk with him.”
“He did. He talked to Rudy when he first came in. I stayed in the living room, so I don’t know exactly what they talked about.”
“But Bruno seemed okay with it?”
“Yes. Like I said, Bruno seemed relieved afterwards. I think maybe that’s why he drank too much, and…”
“I know this is painful for you, Ricky, and I don’t mean to pry, but what do you remember about the last hour or so before you crashed?”
“It started thinning out around midnight. Sensei was one of the last to leave. There was just Bruno, me, Cage, and Chaz. The last thing I remember is having a glass of champagne at around one thirty. I didn’t realize I’d had so much to drink. I don’t usually drink all that much. I think I went into the bedroom to lie down, and I don’t remember anything after that until the police woke me up.”
“What time did the police leave?”
“I honestly don’t know—I wasn’t paying any attention to the time. But they came back again around eight the next morning to talk to us after we’d had a chance to sober up.
“They’d just left again when Sensei showed up. He said he heard about the fall on the news, and though they didn’t mention Bruno’s name, he said he knew it was Bruno, and came right over. He was really nice to me, and he insisted I go back to bed, and sat there with me until I finally fell asleep. That was very kind of him, and I appreciated it. I know Bruno would have, too.”
“Cage isn’t there now, I assume?”
“No. I haven’t seen him all day. We’ve hardly spoken to each other. For all I know, he went to Rockford for the funeral. I should go to the garage to see if Bruno’s car is still there, but I really don’t care.”
“Could you leave him a note asking him to call me?”
“Sure.”
“Well, it’s getting late, so I should let you go. I’m really glad you got the job—Adam and Jesse are great guys.”
“And thank you again for being so nice to me, Elliott. I know Bruno would appreciate it.”
*
He was on his way to work Wednesday morning when his cell phone rang.
“This is Detective Guerdon,” the voice said without preamble. “You’d spoken with my partner, Detective Cabrera, and your brother-in-law Detective Priebe said you might have some information on the death of Bruno Caesar?”
“I don’t know what you’ve already learned from the others you’ve interviewed, but I think I probably have a broader and more objective idea of what was going on in Bruno’s life than most, and some of it might help.”
“Are you free this morning?”
“I’m on my way to work, but I’ll be there in about ten minutes. If you want to stop by, I’ll be happy to talk with you.” He gave him the address.
“We’ll meet you there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll watch for you.”
He assumed Guerdon and Cabrera had just finished their shift and were probably eager to get home.
After making a quick run up to the apartments to check that everyone had what they needed for the day’s work, Elliott went back downstairs to wait for the detectives. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, an unmarked car pulled into a vacant space directly in front of the building. He went outside just as Cabrera got out of the driver’s side. The man opening the passenger’s door, he assumed, was Guerdon.
Going over to meet them, he extended his hand to Guerdon and introduced himself, then shook hands with Cabrera.
“We can go inside if you’d like,” he said, “but there’s no place to sit other than on the stairs.”
Cabrera gave a small wave of his hand.
“That’s okay, we won’t be that long. We can talk here.” He paused only a moment before saying, “So, tell us what you know about Bruno Caesar.”
Elliott gave them a rundown of everything he knew about Bruno’s background and of the purpose of the party that had ended in Bruno’s death.
“But I’m not positive as to who was there,” he said, and wished he’d thought to ask Ricky.
“We compiled a list from the three guys who were in the apartment when we got there,” Cabrera said, “but there were apparently a lot of people coming and going, and none of the three seemed to be able to agree on who was there when. We’ll be checking everyone out. The tapes from the lobby security cameras will give us a good idea of when they all a
rrived and left.”
Guerdon, who had not taken his eyes off Elliott since they arrived, said, “Do you have any idea who might have had a particularly strong grudge or a real or imagined score to settle with Caesar?”
Elliott shook his head. “I suppose just about everyone who was there had something of a reason, but I’d say the two with the strongest motivation would be Rudy, uh, Patterson and Bruno’s nephew, Cage.” He gave a brief explanation for his reasoning. He then reemphasized Bruno’s dread of heights and his own firm belief he would never have willingly gone out onto his balcony, drunk or sober.
“Do you know if he had any problems sleeping, or if he took drugs?”
That caught Elliott by surprise.
“No. I never heard him mention problems sleeping, and I’d sincerely doubt he took drugs. Bruno struck me as a pretty average guy. I don’t think he had the kind of personality that would have anything to do with drugs.”
“Yeah, but not every average guy wins the lottery. A lot of people who do tend to go overboard when it comes to what they would or wouldn’t do before the money came along. How about his friends? Any druggies among them that you know of?”
Elliott shook his head. “No idea. I never heard drugs mentioned, even at those of his parties I went to. Do you have any reason to think otherwise?”
“The autopsy found chloral hydrate in his system.”
“Chloral hydrate?”
“Knockout drops. A Mickey Finn. Still pretty popular with hookers looking to rob johns.”
“So, somebody drugged him?”
“Looks that way. But you don’t have any idea who might have wanted to harm him?
“Other than what I’ve told you, no—but I’ll bet I know why he was killed. He had a set of four very rare stamps, worth a couple of million dollars, that he kept in a picture frame on his bedroom wall, and Ricky told me someone’s taken them.”
Both detectives stared at him until Cabrera said, “He kept a couple million dollars’ worth of stamps on his bedroom wall? Are you serious?”
“Very. They’re called Inverted Jennys, one of the first airmail stamps ever issued. One sheet of them was accidentally printed upside down, and they’re worth a fortune. He kept them there so he could see them any time he wanted. He claims no one else even knew he had them other than the guy who arranged the sale, and that, even if anyone knew about the Inverted Jennys, they wouldn’t imagine he’d just hang them on his wall.”
“But other people did see them, if they were just hanging right out there.”
“Yeah, but in the bedroom. There couldn’t have been a lot of people wandering through there, I don’t imagine. I suppose during his parties people might have gone in to use the master bathroom, but the chance that they’d see and recognize the Jennys, let alone realize they were real…”
Cabrera gave him a slightly raised eyebrow and the hint of a smile. “Caesar was gay, right?”
The implication wasn’t lost on Elliott. He nodded.
“And the roommates were just roommates?”
Elliott shrugged but said nothing.
“Any of them collect stamps, that you know of?”
While he would have preferred not to answer, knowing it could get Ricky into trouble, he was in something of a corner.
“Ricky collected stamps as a hobby as a teenager, and Bruno encouraged him to get back into it, but I doubt very much he’s expert enough to know much about really rare stamps. I’m sure he had no idea the Jennys on the wall were real. And it’s unlikely he’d tell anyone they were gone if he took them himself.”
“Do you know where or how Caesar got them?”
Elliott nodded. “He bought them through a middleman from the previous owner.”
Guerdon took a notepad and pen out of his shirt pocket. “Any idea who this ‘middleman’ might be?”
“Yeah. His name is Clifford Blanton. He was sort of Bruno’s spiritual guru. I met him briefly a couple of times at Bruno’s parties. No idea where he lives, though.”
Writing the name down, Guerdon said, “I saw his name on the list we got from one of the guys who was there when Caesar died. We haven’t talked to him yet, but we will.”
It occurred to Elliott that exactly when the stamps went missing was the key to whether their theft was the motive for the murder. He also knew it would be nearly impossible to tell if they were there or gone when the police first showed up at the condo.
A sudden thought jarred him.
“Wait a minute. It wasn’t until the Tuesday after Bruno died that Ricky told me the stamps were missing. But it’s possible, given the shock of Bruno’s death, he just didn’t notice they were gone at first. He said Blanton came over as soon as he heard Bruno had died—apparently right after you’d left the second time—and that he sat with him…with Ricky…in the bedroom until Ricky fell asleep. He certainly knew the Jennys’ value and could very easily have taken them then.”
“Possible,” Guerdon said noncommittally. “We’ll check it out.”
Elliott had another thought. “You said Ricky, Chaz, and Cage were asleep when you got there. Were they just asleep, or had they been drugged, too?”
Cabrera, whose attention had momentarily been distracted by the sound of squealing tires, pulled himself back to the moment.
“Good question. Since we didn’t know about the chloral hydrate at the time, we had no reason to assume anything but that they were all sleeping off the party. And by the time the autopsy found the chloral hydrate, it was too late to go back to check the others—it would have metabolized out of their systems by then. Still, I suppose it’s not impossible they were all drugged to cover up what really happened.”
“So, you’re treating it as a murder?”
“All suicides are considered possible murders until it can be proven otherwise, so, yes. Chloral hydrate isn’t exactly a recreational drug someone would be likely to take knowingly. We were already operating on the assumption the drugging was deliberate and the death therefore probably murder. But now with this stamp thing…”
“Where would someone get chloral hydrate? Can you trace who bought it?”
“Afraid not. Chloral hydrate’s easy to make from readily available ingredients—hell, there are instructions on the Internet. Takes fifteen to thirty minutes to work.”
“Well, could you figure out how Bruno took it?”
“After we found out about it and realized the other three guys probably had taken it, too, we checked with them, and they all mentioned having had champagne shortly before they passed out. A couple of them had a drink after that, but the champagne was most likely the source. Of course, all evidence of the party was long gone by that time.”
Elliott wanted to ask if they’d checked with the doorman to see if he’d noticed anything unusual, but realized Guerdon and Cabrera undoubtedly had, and they’d said they’d be checking the building’s surveillance tapes—they were experienced investigators, after all.
They talked for a few more minutes, then the two detectives left and Elliott returned to work.
*
We have Bruno’s attention.
How so?
I get the impression he’s aware of your conversation with the detectives—don’t ask me how. He may finally be accepting the idea he could have been murdered He is not happy, and I can sense these—I don’t know what word to use. Vibes? Anyway, I can feel he’s definitely directing them your way.
What does he expect me to do?
Other than find out exactly what happened to him, and if he was murdered who did it? I don’t know. I do know there’s not much he can do about it himself from where he is now.
Point. Look, if I’d wanted to be a detective, I’d have joined the police force. I don’t. I just want to live my own life and not worry about other people’s.
I understand. But like it or not, and for whatever reason, you’ve got a…well a gift, for lack of a better word…and sometimes gifts come with implied obligations. Sort of nobl
esse oblige. If someone killed Bruno, how can you not help him find out who did it?
That’s what the police are for.
True, if they were as close to the situation as you are, which they’re not.
Elliott felt himself rise toward the surface of consciousness, then drifted back down.
Do you smell that? Old Spice.
I think Bruno sent you his regards.
*
He wanted to talk to Ricky but decided to hold off a day or so while he got settled into his new houseboy job. He tried calling Cage when he got home Thursday night, but there was no answer. Elliott had no idea if perhaps he was still in Rockford for Bruno’s funeral, or just out.
After checking with Steve about taking most of his smaller items to Armitage by car over the weekend, he called Brad to verify that he and BJ could help with the main move the following week. They planned to rent a U-Haul and estimated the entire move would only take a few hours.
As he sat watching TV, his mind wandered to his latest conversation with John and his totally unasked-for awareness of…what? He didn’t even know what to call it. The afterlife? The Other Side? Ghosts? Spirits? They all sounded far too melodramatic to fit into what he had always considered his well-ordered and practical life.
Each of his three encounters with…whatever it was…had been totally different. John, his first, had now become an accepted and even pleasant part of his life. Odd as it would have seemed to most people he knew—Steve being the notable exception—he even considered John a friend.
Aaron Stiles, his second encounter, had been totally different. He’d had no direct contact with Aaron as he had with John. The only evidence Aaron gave of his presence was through rapping sounds, which Elliott had never experienced with John.
And now Bruno. No sleep conversations, no sounds. Just the scent of Old Spice to make Elliott—and Steve—aware of his presence.
John, from the moment he’d entered Elliott’s life, was an active participant in the effort to find out who he was and who had killed him. They had worked so well as a team that the relationship continued after the mystery was solved.
Aaron, though he never directly connected with Elliott, relayed information and clues as to what had happened to him, and why, through John.
