by Dorien Grey
I can’t do too much, I’m afraid. But you can find Bill.
And what if Bill did leave him?
Then he’ll at least know the truth. He won’t feel he has to wait anymore.
* * *
Awakening to the smell of coffee, and noting that Steve wasn’t in bed beside him, Elliott got up, put on his robe and padded down the hall to the living room. Steve stood in his shorts in front of the sliding doors to the balcony, coffee cup in hand, looking out on the city.
“Morning,” Elliott said, heading for the kitchen.
Steve followed him for a refill.
“You want a robe?” Elliott asked, doing the pouring honors.
“Not unless you mind my nearly nekkid body sweating all over your furniture.”
“You’re sweating?” Elliott followed him back into the living room.
“I could be,” he replied with a wicked grin.
“How about I have a cup of coffee first?”
Elliott led the way back into living room and sat on the couch. Using his free hand, he patted the space beside him. Steve joined him.
They drank their coffee silently for a while, until Steve said, “You did it again, you know.”
Elliott looked at him, brows furrowed. “Did what?”
“Talked in your sleep.”
He felt a flush of embarrassment. “Damn! I’m sorry. Don’t let me do that! Please! Just punch me and tell me to shut up.” He debated whether he should ask his next question, but couldn’t resist. “What was I saying?”
Steve shrugged. “Something about knocking on doors. Like you said the other day, dreams can certainly be interesting.”
“Well, again I apologize for waking you up.”
Steve laid his hand on Elliott’s thigh, patting it lightly. “Not to worry. At least you don’t snore.”
* * *
He was at the building by seven thirty Monday morning, awaiting the arrival of the sandblasters. He didn’t technically have to be there, but he always liked to make sure everything was going on schedule, and he wanted a chance to talk with the crew boss. His own crew arrived at nine to discuss and finalize the details of their respective assignments. Ted, Arnie, and Sam needed very little in the way of oversight, but there were still always myriad things Elliott had to do to coordinate and facilitate progress on every project.
He made arrangements to go with Ted and Arnie later in the afternoon to select and order the appliances and plumbing and lighting fixtures. Even before the city had fast-tracked permits for projects that incorporated “green” elements, he had specifically looked for environmentally friendly appliances and materials. As he was leaving the building on another errand, he met Mrs. Reinerio coming out of her apartment with a collapsible wheeled cart. They exchanged greetings, and he opened the door for her.
“Going shopping?”
“Yes, it’s grocery day.”
“Do you drive?” He asked as they started down the stairs. “No, I take the bus. It’s just a short ride.”
“Well, I’d be happy to give you a lift, if you’d like.”
She smiled. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“No problem at all,” he assured her. “It will give us a chance to talk a bit on the way.”
They walked to his car, and he put the grocery cart in the back seat.
“I’ve been thinking about Aaron…Stiles, was it?” Elliott said as he pulled away from the curb. “And I’d like to know more about him. You indicated there might be more to the story than just that he died.”
Mrs. Reinerio turned her head slightly to look at him, then gave a small sigh. “Yes, there is, I’m sorry to say. I think I told you Aaron was very friendly and charming, but always had an air of sadness about him until he met Bill. From what little I knew of his family, this was hardly surprising. I gathered he owned some sort of marketing business, which he’d sold just before he met Bill.”
“But you say he and Bill seemed happy together.”
“Oh, yes, it was like night and day before and after he met Bill. He even stopped smoking when Bill asked him to, and he’d smoked for years.”
“So, do you have any idea why Bill left him, or what became of him?”
She shook her head sadly and sighed again, this time more deeply. “That’s the tragedy,” she said. “I’m sure Bill had no intention of leaving Aaron. Two weeks after Aaron died, the police came by asking us all questions about Bill. They said he had been found dead, and while they gave no details, apparently he had been dead for some time before he was found.
“If you ask me, I think Bill died the same day he disappeared. I have no idea what could have happened, or why they didn’t find him until after Aaron died, but the tragedy is that Aaron died thinking Bill had deliberately left him. It breaks my heart that poor Aaron is still waiting for him.”
Elliott couldn’t quite grasp what he was hearing. “Didn’t Aaron report Bill’s being missing to the police?” he asked, trying to remain detached. “What about the people Bill worked for?”
“Bill was a partner in some sort of computer business, and of course, that was the first place Aaron called the morning when Bill didn’t return home. They told him Bill had called in the previous day to say he had an appointment he had to keep, and that was the last they’d heard from him. Apparently, he did that sort of thing frequently, and no one thought anything of it.
“Aaron called all the hospitals, thinking Bill might have been in an accident, but no one knew anything. When he tried to file a missing persons report, he was told he’d have to wait several days to be sure Bill didn’t come back.
“And after he did file the report, nothing was done. Aaron called every day. They said they were looking into it, but implied Bill had probably just left him. Two weeks later, Aaron died, waiting.”
This time it was Elliott who sighed. “So, you never found out exactly what had happened—how or when Bill died?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing. I do know the last few times I saw him, he was, well, distracted. I have no idea why.” She lowered her head and stared at her clasped hands. “Such a shame,” she said softly. “Such a shame. Aaron’s brother and sister-in-law came over the very afternoon of Aaron’s funeral and cleaned out his apartment. They took all his artwork and everything else of value, then just threw all of his personal things in the trash. Bill’s things, too. What an insensitive thing to do! How could anyone be so cold?”
Pulling into the grocery store parking lot, Elliott drove to the entrance and got out to open the door for her then retrieved her cart from the back seat. Accepting her profuse thanks, he smiled, waved and, getting back in the car, drove off, his mind in turmoil.
* * *
You’re getting very good at this.
At what?
At being a detective. You’ll be giving your brother-in-law a run for his money.
The last thing I want is to be a detective. But thanks. Did you know Bill is dead?
Not until I heard you talking with Mrs. Reinerio.
What did you think?
Surprised. Sorry for Aaron, .for having thought Bill left him willingly.
Does Aaron know?
Not yet. I need to figure out how to tell him. You’re finding out a lot more about Aaron than I am. I’ve been making some progress, but it’s slow. At least he’s not swatting at me like I was some gnat buzzing around his head anymore. And I think you’re right.
About what?
About talking to Brad about Bill Somers.
How did you know that? I just thought it this minute!
I’m getting good too. I’ll be curious to see what he says.
Other than thinking I’m crazy, you mean? We’ll see.
He woke long enough to look at the clock. It was four-fifteen. Sighing, he rolled over and went back to sleep.
* * *
Largely because of his ability to consciously shut out everything but work during the day, it wasn’t until Elliott was on his way ho
me that he gave serious consideration to actually talking to Brad to see if he could find out anything at all about Bill Somers’ death. Chances were that Brad, a homicide detective, wouldn’t have any idea what or who he was talking about unless Bill had been murdered, which was a thought that hadn’t occurred to him until that moment.
Still, he reasoned, Brad might have access to any police files relating to Bill’s death, and might be able to look at them and share the information. He realized it would be a huge imposition on his part, and he’d come close to alienating Brad before, during his search for John’s identity. But it had been worth it then, and he felt it would be worth risking the same thing now.
He wasn’t looking forward to making the call, though. Brad would want to know why he was once again curious about someone he didn’t know, and might resent being used at Elliott’s whim, just as a lawyer would resent being asked for free legal advice, or a doctor for a free consultation.
He was in the kitchen fixing a drink when the phone rang, and he picked it up to hear Cessy’s voice.
“Have you forgotten us?” she asked.
“Sis, it’s been all of two days, tops.”
“Three,” she said, “but who’s counting? So, what have you been up to?”
“I’ve been keeping busy with the new property,” he said. “You know how I like to put everything I’ve got into things.”
“Yes, I do. And how is Steve?”
“Very clever, Cecelia. He’s fine, thanks.”
“We have to have you both over for dinner one weekend soon, if he’d like to come.”
“I’m sure he would. You know he likes you and the family.”
“Well, that’s a relief. In-laws should get along.”
“We’re not to the in-law stage by a long shot,” Elliott protested, then decided to change the subject before it went much further. “Is Brad home yet?”
“Yes, he’s here. Would you like to talk with him?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’ll get him for you.” The sound of the phone being set down on a hard surface was followed by a distant, “Brad, Elliott would like to talk to you.”
A lengthy silence was broken by, “Hi, Elliott. What’s up?”
Not quite sure if there was a diplomatic way to bring up what he wanted to say or how he could say it, he just plunged in.
“I was wondering if you might do me another favor. I’m trying to find out what happened to somebody.”
“Oh-oh,” Brad said. “Another one of your hunches?”
Elliott sighed, feeling not unlike an idiot. “Well, basically, yeah. It’s a long story.”
“It usually is.” Elliott hoped he was only teasing. “So, who are you looking for? Do you have a name this time?”
“Yeah, I do. The guy’s name is Bill Somers, and he died about four years ago.”
“Four years ago? I don’t suppose you have a date?”
“No, I’m sorry, I—” He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence.
“Wait a minute. Somers. That rings a bell somehow. Let me think.” A long pause was followed with, “Yeah, I remember now. I had the case.”
“The case? He was murdered?”
“No…well, I’m not sure. I only remember because it was one of my first cases after I made detective. But now that I think of it, I recall my gut told me it could have been murder.”
CHAPTER 4
Elliott had to stem the tsunami of thoughts and odd emotions washing through his mind. “Exactly what happened to him? Do you remember?”
“Let me think a second… He was found in a garage behind a vacant house that had been on the market quite a while. The realtors told us it had been sold, but the escrow had fallen through just about the time Somers disappeared. Somers wasn’t involved in the sale, and nobody could figure out what he was doing in that particular garage. He’d been dead about a month. A real estate agent found him while showing the property. The garage door was closed, the car’s ignition key turned on, and the gas tank empty.”
“So, there was no evidence of foul play? He was just sitting there?”
“No, actually, he was on the garage floor. It looked like he’d changed his mind at the last minute—that’s not uncommon—but it was too late. He may have stumbled while trying to get out of the car and hit his head when he fell, but with the state of decomp, it was a little hard to tell. The autopsy report listed carbon monoxide poisoning as the cause of death. Of course, his having been dead a month before he was found sort of eliminated the element of immediate follow-up on our investigation, but we did what we could, and came up with nothing.”
“You say the ignition was turned on. Wouldn’t he have turned it off the second he changed his mind?”
“You’d think so, but he was probably too far gone to think of that. Got the door open, fell out, and that was it.”
“So, they ruled it a suicide.”
“No, it was ruled an unexplained death. Any suicide is initially considered a possible murder until it can be proven one way or the other. While my gut told me it wasn’t a suicide—you’re not the only one with hunches—my partner, an old-timer who was just checking the days off the calendar waiting for retirement, had handled dozens of similar cases, and he was sure it was a cut-and-dried suicide. I wasn’t about to argue with him. He was probably right—there was no real evidence to indicate it wasn’t exactly what it appeared to be. But that’s one of the reasons suicides are categorized as unexplained, just in case something might come along later to indicate otherwise.”
“Could the injury to his head have been caused by somebody knocking him out long enough for the carbon monoxide to have killed him?”
“Anything’s possible. Whether it’s practical is another story. All we had to go on were the facts that presented themselves. We went over the whole garage and the car looking for anything suspicious and found nothing. He had his wallet, with all his credit cards and quite a bit of cash, as I recall. Some loose change and a Bic lighter with his initials scratched on the bottom were on the floor under his body—they probably fell out of his pocket when he toppled out of the car. Other than that, there wasn’t so much as a gnat’s eyebrow to indicate it was other than what it looked like.”
There was a long pause before he continued. “So what, exactly, is your interest in all this?”
Elliott had no idea what to say, but knew he had to say something.
“I just found out that Somers lived in the building I just bought. One of the tenants was telling me about him and his partner, who died two weeks after Somers disappeared. The partner had a congenital heart condition, but the tenant swears it was Somers’ disappearance that triggered the heart attack that killed him. I was just curious as to what actually happened. Anything at all that you can tell me about it would be welcome.”
“I thought I was the detective here,” Brad said with good humor.
“Believe me, you are!” Elliott assured him. “But I want to try to get some sort of handle on this and know I won’t be able to get it out of my head until I do.”
“Ah,” Brad said.
Not sure what that meant, Elliott forged ahead. “But, especially, if you think it could have been murder, wouldn’t it warrant a little further looking into?”
“As I said, what I think and what I can prove are two different things. We did everything we could. The guy had no relatives or family. We heard about the partner, but by that time he was dead, too. The victim’s office said he had an appointment scheduled for the morning he disappeared, but he hadn’t said who it was with, and whether he kept it or not, they didn’t know.
“It was a pretty casual outfit. Just three people—Somers, his business partner, and a receptionist. Both of them said Somers didn’t keep an appointment book that they knew of, and we didn’t find one in the car. An appointment might explain what he was doing in that part of town, but I find it hard to believe a guy planning to kill himself would take the time to keep an appointment. A
nd if he was planning to close himself in a garage and kill himself with carbon monoxide, he wouldn’t have had to drive halfway across town to do it. He had a rented garage less than a block from his apartment.”
“What about his business partner? Anything there?”
“Nope. According to him, everything was fine. He said Somers was pretty moody at times and had his own way of doing things. He admitted they had an occasional disagreement, but claims they were never anything serious. The receptionist backed him up on that, from what she knew. Somers apparently spent a lot of time working with clients in the field, and the receptionist verified that sometimes he didn’t come in to the office for days at a time.
“The business partner said Somers’…uh…other partner, Stiles, had called several times right after Somers disappeared, but the partner figured they’d just had a fight and Somers wasn’t going home.”
“Did the business partner file a missing persons report?”
“Yeah, about three days after Stiles did. And as I said, he and the receptionist said Somers sometimes worked one-on-one with customers and wouldn’t show up at the office for a couple of days. When we asked him why he’d waited nearly a week to file a report, he said he assumed Stiles had already filed one but decided to file one of his own, just in case.”
“It sounds to me like maybe he was just covering his bets.”
Brad laughed. “Yeah, that occurred to me, too. But the bottom line is, there was simply nothing to indicate it was not a suicide, and while we do our best, we didn’t, and don’t, have the time to pursue outside chances.”
“Did the business partner know anything about Somers’ private life?”
“Not nearly as much as you might have expected. Apparently, their partnership was strictly business. He knew Somers was gay, but from what he said, I gather he didn’t even know Somers was living with someone until about a week before he disappeared.”
“A little odd, but I guess it makes sense. From what I’ve heard of Bill, he seemed to draw a definite line between his business and personal lives. Thanks for filling me in. I appreciate it.” He was glad Brad had accepted the reasons he gave for his interest in Bill Somers.
