by Dorien Grey
Granted. But we have no way of knowing how or if he could have found out what Bill was planning.
Who knows? If Bill called the lawyer’s office from work, or if the lawyer for some reason called him, and Babcock found out, maybe he put two and two together. Brad said Bill didn’t keep an appointment book, but he might have made some sort of note to himself that Babcock could have come across…
That’s a few too many ifs, I think. There’s just too much we don’t know, and after four years, we have no way to find out. I don’t think Aaron would be much help, since Bill apparently didn’t talk to him about work.
I can see how you would find it all frustrating.
And you don’t?
Well, being where I am does tend to make one a bit more stoic.
Yeah, I’d imagine. But I keep coming back to the question of what the hell I think I’m doing. I’m just an ordinary guy, not a detective.
Brad is.
True. I suppose I could tell him about everything I’ve. found out, but then he’d want to know how I found it all out and what I was doing asking in the first place. I’m already walking on eggshells with him—he’s been really patient, but he’s not happy about my getting involved in things that shouldn’t concern me. Not easy.
I’ll resist the temptation to point out that nothing is. But Brad said he wasn’t comfortable with the suicide ruling. I’d think he might jump at the chance to reopen the case.
He did say he had questions at the time. But it’s not exactly like he’s not already overworked with current cases. He doesn’t really need to go back. four years for a cold one.
Oh. Okay. I’ll explain that to Aaron. I’m sure he’ll understand.
Ouch! All right, I’ll talk to Brad. But I can’t guarantee he’ll go along with it.
I don’t think any guarantees are expected. Trying is enough.
The ringing of the phone woke him. Glancing at the bedside clock, he saw it was two in the morning. He picked up the phone, wondering who would be calling so late.
Not in the mood for niceties, he merely said, “Yeah?”
He could hear street noises in the background, but no one spoke. Then came the sound of the phone being hung up.
Muttering, Elliott replaced the handset on the cradle and went back to sleep. John did not return.
* * *
On Friday morning, work on the last apartment nearly completed, Elliott reflected on the smoothness with which he and his team worked. Even with the disruption of moving Mrs. Reinerio, they had moved through the project in far less time than it would have required were it not for Elliott’s planning and coordination.
He’d hoped to be able to call Brad before heading over to Steve’s but, after taking an extra-long shower, decided he wouldn’t have time, especially if Cessy answered the phone.
The restaurant they chose for dinner was closer to Steve’s than to Elliott’s, so after stopping for an after-dinner drink, they returned to Steve’s for the night.
* * *
Aaron wants to know what you found out from your brother-in-law.
I’ll call him tomorrow. I didn’t get a chance today… I assumed you knew that.
As I told you some time ago, I don’t keep an apartment here inside your head. I don’t know what you’re doing every minute. I’ve got a life…let’s make that an existence…of my own, you know.
A little touchy tonight?
Sorry. It’s just that, stoicism aside, I’m getting a little…what word do I want?…impatient with Aaron. He wants to contact you directly, other than by just knocking, but he doesn’t know how. I still don’t know how he does the knocking by the way. I let him know I didn’t think it was a good idea—contacting you directly, I mean.
And you are two hundred fifty percent right!
I’m getting this sudden image of you sitting by candlelight at a card table with a white fringed tablecloth and a crystal ball wearing a turban.
Exactly. And exactly what I don’t want. Not now, not ever. Aaron’s waited four years. Just let him know I’m dancing as fast as I can. He hasn’t bothered me at work lately, I’m glad to say.
I suspect he’s making more progress than he realizes. At least he obviously knows he shouldn’t piss you off. But I can appreciate his frustration. He really needs your help.
And I’m trying to give it to him. But I’ve also got a life…no offense…to live, and unlike you and Aaron, I’m stuck in a twenty-four-hour, minute-by-minute day. I can only do what I can do.
So, I can let him know you’ll be calling Brad tomorrow?
Yes, and I’ll—
He was instantly awake, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand, and realized it was Steve’s hand on his shoulder that had done it.
“Oh, Jeezus! I was talking again, wasn’t I?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said, leaning on one elbow and staring down at him with a sleepy smile.
“What time is it?” Elliott asked, turning his head to see the clock on the nightstand.
“Just after four.”
Sighing, he reached up and pushed Steve back onto his pillow. “Well, I’m really sorry. Try to get back to sleep. I promise I’ll keep quiet.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“In the morning.”
“You’ll forget by then.”
“I’ve already forgotten,” he said, immediately feeling guilty for lying again.
CHAPTER 11
He’d planned to wait until after dinner Monday to call Brad, and was mildly irritated to note how frequently he glanced at his watch from the moment he arrived home. In spite of himself, as soon as he was fairly sure Brad was home, he called.
He guiltily recognized that one of the advantages to calling before dinner was that Cessy was usually too busy preparing the meal to be able to talk too long. Even so, they talked for a good five minutes before she turned him over to Brad.
There was a slight pause as the phone changed hands, then, “Hi, Elliott. What’s up?”
“You said Bill Somers’ case is still open?”
A longer pause before, “Uh, yeah. As I told you, unexplained deaths go into the cold case file and remain open forever unless there’s reason to change the ruling. Why?”
“Well, I’ve found out a couple things that might have a bearing on his death.”
“Such as…?”
“I’ve run into a couple people who knew both Somers and his partner, Aaron Stiles. You mentioned that you had talked to Jim Babcock, Somers’ business partner, and that he’d indicated things were fine but admitted they’d had a few problems.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, apparently, they were pretty serious problems. Somers was planning to dissolve the partnership, which would have left Babcock swinging in the wind. Somers found out Babcock was taking money from the till, and he had the choice of filing charges against him or dissolving the partnership. Plus Somers’ original will left the business to Babcock as surviving partner. He had an appointment to make a new will but died before he could keep it.”
“How did you find that out?”
Rather than dig a deeper a hole for himself than was necessary by telling Brad he had gone to Probate Court to look up Bill’s will, Elliott reluctantly opted for another lie. “One of Somers’ friends told me.”
“Hmm. Well, that is interesting, but I’m afraid hearsay isn’t enough to justify our officially spending much time on it.”
“I understand. I just thought I’d take a shot.”
“Anything else you found out?”
“Well, there’s a guy Bill had been dating before he met Aaron. I’ve met the guy, and he’s a real stalker type. I understand from another of Bill’s friends that this guy—his name’s Irv Wilson—threatened Bill the weekend before he disappeared. Do you suppose, if you have a minute, you could check to see if he has a record? I realize it’s not much to go on, but…”
“I suppose I could do a quick check. Wilson, was it?”<
br />
“Yeah. Irv Wilson. He lives on Thorndale—twelve or thirteen hundred block west.”
“Okay. I don’t know how soon I can do it, but…”
“Hey, I appreciate your doing it at all. I know it’s not much to go on, but I’m convinced Bill Somers did not kill himself. And if he didn’t, whoever did is still walking around out there.”
“I admire your conviction, but as I’ve told you, it doesn’t matter how strongly you or I may feel about something. Unless there is proof that will stand up in court, speculation is just an exercise in futility. Believe me, I’ve been there dozens of times in this job.”
He heard Cessy’s voice in the background, then Brad said, “Dinner’s ready. I’ve gotta go. Talk with you later.”
“Sure. Thanks, Brad.”
Elliott hung up feeling no better or further ahead than before he’d made the call.
* * *
He went to bed not looking forward to a conversation with John, and there had been none by the time the phone jarred him awake at two.
“Yeah?” He hoped his displeasure showed in his voice. Again—street noises, but no response. Not waiting for the hang-up, he punched the disconnect and slammed the handset back on the cradle. “Asshole!”
It took him some time to get back to sleep, and there was nothing from John when he did.
As he showered Tuesday morning, he didn’t waste much time wondering who had made the hang-up phone calls. He was sure it was Irv Wilson, and he was more than a little pissed. He determined to unplug the phone before going to bed. Anyone he might want to hear from had his cell number, and he was sure Irv didn’t.
He was a little curious as to why he’d not heard from John, but resisted the temptation to speculate on the grounds that to do so might smack of paranoia. He forced himself instead to focus on the day’s work ahead.
Once at the building, he remembered his decision to call Larry Fingerhood, and did so while on a run to the hardware store for some supplies. He arranged a meeting at the property on Saturday for the walk-through, and told Larry to start looking around for prospects for his next project.
* * *
The early evening news had just ended when the phone rang.
“Hi, Ell. How are things going?”
“Fine, Steve. How about you?”
“Great.” The tone of his voice said otherwise.
“Something up?”
There was a slight pause. “I feel kind of silly mentioning this, but…”
“What’s wrong?”
“Not wrong, exactly, just weird. I had the strangest dream last night.”
Feeling the hair rising on his arms and the back of his neck, Elliott kept his voice calm when asking, “What about?”
“I think it was about Aaron. Really hard to describe. It was like being caught up in a tornado of thoughts and images and feelings moving so fast I couldn’t catch any of them before they were gone.”
“What makes you think it had anything to do with Aaron?” He knew full well it had everything to do with Aaron. He was also aware of rising anger at Aaron’s persistence in trying to drag Steve into it all. But what worried him most was the realization Aaron was now able to extend himself beyond the confines of the building in which he had died.
“I just knew. It was…well…really, really weird. It was like watching a foreign movie where someone is obviously upset and jabbering away and you haven’t a clue what they’re talking about.”
Elliott was pretty sure he knew, but he forced aside his growing concern over the implications of Aaron’s contacting Steve to concentrate on the moment.
“I’d wake up,” Steve continued, “and the minute I’d get back to sleep it would start up again. I didn’t get much real sleep, I’m afraid.”
“Well, it’s probably my fault,” Elliott said, keeping his voice casual. “I keep talking in my sleep and that probably bothered you more than you thought. I’d say maybe we shouldn’t sleep together anymore, but I’d rather duct-tape my mouth shut and get you some industrial-strength earplugs.”
Steve laughed. “I never mind your talking. But this—do you think Aaron’s trying to tell me something? And are you sure you don’t think I’m crazy to ask a question like that?”
“Of course, I don’t think you’re crazy.”
“But why me? Does he do the same thing with you?”
Though that question was at the very core of his concern, and carefully avoiding the issue of John, Elliott said, “Not exactly. But if you’ll remember, you were aware of him before I was, even though you might not have realized it. You did paint him in the window. I’m just around the building nearly every day, which is why I’m so aware of him. I told you I think he expects me to help him somehow. Maybe he’s trying to reach out to you, too, now. Take my advice, and don’t let yourself get dragged into it.”
“Do I have much choice?”
An excellent question, Elliott thought, but said nothing.
“I really appreciate being able to talk about this,” Steve said. “Otherwise, I think I’d be starting to be seriously concerned.”
“Well, don’t be,” Elliott said, hoping he sounded more reassuring than he felt.
“What if these dreams keep coming back?”
“Again, don’t worry about that right now. Trust me.”
“Okay, I’ll try.” He did not sound convinced.
Changing the subject, they talked for a few more minutes until Elliott heard a faint “ding” from Steve’s end of the line.
“Ah, the oven says dinner’s ready,” Steve said. “I’d better go. Again, I really appreciate your letting me unload on you.”
“Any time,” Elliott replied. “Enjoy your dinner, and I hope you sleep better tonight.”
Steve laughed. “You and me both. We’ll talk later.”
* * *
Elliott did his best to adhere to his evening ritual of dinner and TV, but he spent most of his time trying to force unwanted thoughts to the back of his mind. It didn’t work. He grew increasingly frustrated and angry—largely at himself for giving in to frustration in the first place, which was totally out of character for him, but also at the entire Aaron situation. It didn’t help that he wanted to talk to John and knew not only that he couldn’t do so until he was asleep, but that even then he would have to wait for John to initiate the contact.
When he did go to bed, after first disconnecting the phone, he could not go to sleep, which only fueled the frustration. Finally, though, he drifted off.
Interesting.
To hell with interesting! This goes way beyond interesting. I’m pissed!
Yeah, I rather surmised that. And I understand why.
Do you? Then maybe you can tell me what the hell Aaron thinks he’s doing? I don’t want him bothering Steve! And how did he manage to do that, anyway? He’s never left the house before, and now he’s out wandering around getting into Steve’s head?
There was a long pause.
Are you still there?
Yes, I’m here. I was just giving you a minute to get it out of your system.
Well, I don’t mean to take it out on you, but I want to know what he thinks he’s doing and why he thinks he’s doing it!
I wish I had some solid answers, but I don’t. Aaron’s his own person. But I’ll try to answer your questions as best as I can. First, I overheard your conversation with Steve, and I think your point about Aaron’s having been aware of Steve before he was aware of you is at the core of it. I’m sure Steve sensed him when he first started doing his painting of the building. That’s why he put Aaron in the window. So, it was easier for Aaron to reach out to Steve than it would be for him to get to you.
And that is because…?
Again, I’m not sure. But I suspect one reason is that I’m here, and Aaron has no idea of how to get past me to get to you. That’s why he wants me to help him. And as for him getting through to Steve, from what Steve said it appears that Aaron’s still having serious proble
ms communicating.
Well you’ve gotten through to Steve once or twice—those dreams he and I had at the same time shortly after we got together, for example.
Yes, but that was just mainly me trying out my wings, as it were. I would never interfere with Steve now. I guess I just wanted to see if I could.
Okay. Well I want you to give Aaron a message. If he wants me to help him, he’s got to leave Steve the hell alone. You can give him the olive branch of letting him know that I talked to Brad. I honestly don’t know what he might be able to do after all this time, but I’m doing my part and I expect Aaron to do his.
Done.
* * *
The next few days flew by without incident, and without any word from John, which Elliott took as a good sign. He called Steve Wednesday night, ostensibly to ask if he’d be interested in going to a concert of the DePaul Symphony Orchestra Friday evening—to which Steve readily agreed—but primarily to see if he might mention having had any subsequent dreams. Elliott wasn’t about to bring up the subject, but thought that Steve might if he’d had any. When Steve didn’t say anything, he let it pass.
Cessy called after dinner Thursday for one of her in-depth periodic checkups and sisterly interrogations about his love life.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am that you found Steve,” she said. “I never could keep up with the way all those others kept coming and going. I can’t even remember most of their names.”
Grinning, Elliott replied, “Neither can I. But it wasn’t exactly like I was servicing an entire infantry battalion, you know.”
“Have you two talked about moving in together?”
“Jeezus, Sis! Give me a break! Neither one of us is within light-years of that yet.”
“Well, at least you said ‘yet.’ I just don’t want you to let him get away. You’re perfect for one another.”
Not wanting to prolong the conversation by asking exactly how she’d come to that conclusion, he opted for a quick change of subject. “Is Brad home?”
“He was, and he said he was going to call you, but then he got called out on some case or other. I have no idea when he’ll be getting back.”
“That’s okay. I’ll wait to hear from him.”
