by Linda Barlow
As she quietly entered the construction site through the south transept entrance, the humming in her ears grew louder. She shook her head, wondering if she was getting a cold.
As soon as she was within the walls of the cathedral, however, Barbara Rae began to have the eerie feeling that, despite the early hour, she was not the first one to arrive this morning. She stood silently, letting her eyes adjust to the pervasive darkness. Although nearly blind in the unlit structure, she felt her other senses grow more acute. “Hello?” she said softly.
“Is someone there?”
A great hollow silence engulfed her.
*
Annie was awakened by the trilling of the phone. She groped for it. “Hello?” she said groggily.
“It’s me, Sam.”
She squinted at the clock. No, she hadn’t overslept—it was just a couple of minutes after seven. Her alarm didn’t ring until seven-fifteen.
“Hi, Sam. It’s a little early.”
“Yes, I know, I’m sorry,” he said in a clipped voice that was very unlike him. “I’ve just had a call from the police. There’s been an accident at the construction site. One of the workmen has been killed.”
“Oh no!”
“Apparently he fell from the scaffolding to the cathedral floor, some eighty feet below. The cops are there now, and they want to talk to the people in charge. Since you’re one of them—”
“Sam, for God’s sake, who was it?”
“I’m afraid it’s the foreman of the crew of craftsmen we brought over from Italy to install the stained glass.”
“Not Giuseppe?”
“Yes.” There was a slight pause. “Annie, I’m so sorry. I hate to wake you with such awful news.”
“Dear God,” she whispered. She leaned forward, clutching the phone in one hand and wrapping her free arm around her suddenly aching middle. “When did it happen? How?”
“No details yet. But you’d better get over there. The police will want to talk to you—well, to all of us.” Again he paused. “When someone dies suddenly… you know how they are.”
“I’ll go immediately,” she said. “Has his family been
notified? He has a sister here, and Ludovico, the nephew, who used to work for us—”
“I believe the cops are taking care of that now. They have some questions. I’m on my way down there too—to the site, I mean.”
They have some questions,“Sam, it was an accident, right?”
“What else could it be?”
Right, Annie thought in confusion. What else could it be?
She dressed rapidly feeling numb. Giuseppe dead? That talented, vital, friendly man? God. What a waste!
Had Sam called Darcy? she wondered. She didn’t hear any sounds from next door. She went out onto the front porch and rapped on her friend’s door, but Darcy didn’t answer. She hadn’t been home last night, either. Annie had stopped by after getting home from Matt’s to assure her that she hadn’t been raped or murdered after all.
She shivered. No, she hadn’t been murdered.
But a wonderful man was dead.
Chapter Sixteen
Annie arrived at the construction site just before eight o’clock and found an ambulance and several police cars parked with the construction trailers. Several workers in hard hats were standing around, talking nervously to one another and smoking cigarettes. Yellow crime-scene tape had been used to cordon off the entire site, and a policewoman prevented her from entering the cathedral.
“Sam?” she said shakily. “What’s going on?”
He was talking to a police detective outside the south transept entrance. As soon as he saw her, he held out his arms. She went into them and he hugged her convulsively. Then he stepped back, shaking his head sadly. He looked exhausted. His golden hair looked dull, almost gray.
“I’m so sorry, Annie. I know how important all these workmen have been to you, and Giuseppe in particular.”
She moved back into his arms and for a moment clung to him. “Do they know how it happened?”
“I’m not sure, but it looks like they’re treating it as a crime scene, at least until they have evidence to the contrary. I guess they have to make sure that Giuseppe wasn’t pushed off the scaffolding or something. The medical examiner is in there now,” he added, nodding at a coroner’s van parked at the curb. “The cops have been in there making perimeter searches for physical evidence.”
“Who would push somebody off the scaffolding?”
“Shit, Annie, I don’t know. I assume they’re just being cautious, doing their jobs, all that sort of thing.”
He looked so distraught that Annie laid a gentle hand on his arm to comfort him.
“Does anybody know exactly what happened?” she asked. “Were any of the rest of the crew working with Giuseppe?”
Sam shook his head. “It was too early. Apparently he was here alone.”
Annie nodded. Giuseppe typically arrived earlier than the rest of the crew.
“I think Barbara Rae was here, though,” said Sam. “Praying or something. Or maybe she’s the one who found him. She’s in there.” He pointed to one of the trailers. “They’re interviewing her now.”
As he spoke, the trailer door opened and Barbara Rae emerged looking grim and tired. The police detective, a tall, expressionless woman, pointed to Sam. “You next, Mr. Brody, please.”
Annie rushed to Barbara Rae Acker’s side. The older woman embraced her. “The poor man,” she said in her deep contralto. “He was a master craftsman and a good family man. It is a heavy loss.”
“Barbara Rae, what happened? Did you witness the accident? What time did it happen?”
“I didn’t see him fall, but I did discover his body,” she said. “I came here to pray. I thought I was alone.”
“You were praying in a construction site? I know it’s going to be a church—your church—but still…”
“I know it sounds a little strange, but I come here often to pray. I think of it as, well, nurturing the sacredness of the place right from the start. Asking God to come here and feel at home, as it were. Making it a comfortable place not only for humanity but also for the divine.”
Well, maybe God hadn’t shown up yet, Annie thought. Letting somebody die in the construction process didn’t seem a particularly wise or generous gesture on the part of God.
Don’t even think such things,she ordered herself. Her faith had been sorely challenged when Charlie died.
“The worst thing is, I had a premonition about this,” Barbara Rae said. She was looking off into the distance, and her voice was low, barely audible.
“A premonition?”
Barbara Rae shook her head slowly, back and forth, back and forth. “I get them. It’s the Sight. My mother had it too. She called it a gift, but it’s always been hard for me to see it that way. The premonitions, when I have them, are always bad, and no matter how much I pray, I don’t seem able to avert what’s going to happen.”
“You mean you see, in advance, when some tragedy is about to occur?”
“Not always, no. It’s very rare—for which I’m thankful. And I don’t see the actual event. I get just a hint of it.”
Annie nodded, not really understanding or believing in premonitions or visions. That sort of thing was more in Darcy’s line. “What sort of hint did you get about this?”
Barbara Rae folded her arms around her middle. “It came on one evening when I was in there praying. Darkness. A sense of something falling from a great height. The scent of blood.”
Annie found herself shivering. There was a commotion near the door as two men began rolling out a metal stretcher, the body hidden from sight in a black zippered bag. Annie turned away as it was loaded into the back of the ambulance.
Poor Giuseppe!
Barbara Rae turned toward her and they moved into a hug. Annie could hear Barbara Rae murmuring something, and little by little her voice got louder until Annie recognized the words:” ‘Yea, though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me…’ “
Sam came out of the trailer the police had commandeered and joined Annie and Barbara Rae. He looked dispirited and sad. “I think they want to talk to you now,” he told Annie. He gave her hand a squeeze as she went in.
There were two detectives, Catherine Sullivan, the businesslike one, a tough, no-nonsense woman with graying brown hair and glasses, and John Foster, a middle-aged man with a paunch and a thick smell of cigarettes. Sullivan asked most of the questions, while Foster tapped his fingers on the edge of his laptop computer.
How well had she known the deceased?
What, exactly, was his job?
Did she have any idea why he had come to work so early in the morning?
Did he have any enemies?
What did she know of his family?
Who had access to the construction site during the night?
Who had access to the scaffolding and how many people understood how construction scaffolding was put together?
At some point as she struggled to give satisfactory answers to their questions, Annie asked, “You sound as if you’re considering this a suspicious death. You surely don’t believe that this was anything other than an accident?”
“We’re not excluding any possibilities at present, Ms. Jefferson,” Sullivan said.
“But do you know what happened? I mean, no one seems to be able to give me any clear information. Did part of the scaffolding collapse? Is that why he fell?”
“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain, Ms. Jefferson.”
“You see, as the project manager and the interior designer, I’m in charge of the interior as well as the entire construction site. If there’s a safety issue here—”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re concerned about your liability. Mr. Brody expressed a similar concern,” Sullivan said in a somewhat sour tone.
Annie flushed. The possible legal ramifications had not yet occurred to her. What she was thinking was that if there were dangers, she didn’t want any of the other workers to take any risks.
Projects like the cathedral did have inherent dangers, no matter how much planning and effort went into trying to reduce them. Construction workers suffered one of the highest rates of occupational hazard of any profession. People did occasionally die on such massive projects.
But until this morning she had been satisfied that everything possible had been done to reduce the risks associated with this job. And it was important, both for Brody Associates and for McEnerney Construction, to affirm that they had done their best to provide a safe working environment.
Therefore, the cause of Giuseppe’s death was vitally important. If he’d fallen because the scaffolding was faulty in some way, somebody would likely be hit with a lawsuit.
“It has come to our attention,” said Detective Foster, “that the deceased, Mr. Brindesi, had a nephew who used to work with him on this project.”
“Yes. Vico. I think his full name is Ludovico Genese.”
“And is it also true that this young man—this Vico—was fired recently from his job?”
“I’m sorry to say that he was.”
“For what reason?”
“He didn’t show up for work, and it was our understanding that he had been accused of a crime and was a fugitive.”
“And do you know the whereabouts of this fugitive, Ms. Jefferson?”
She shook her head and said, “No.” She wondered if she should mention that she had seen Vico at the youth center with Paolina, then decided to wait and see what else they asked her. She wouldn’t lie to the police, but she didn’t feel inclined to get Vico and Paolina into worse trouble than they were already in.
“Did Vico have any problems with his uncle?” Detective Sullivan asked.
“Well…” She hesitated. “They argued a lot. Giuseppe was trying to straighten the boy out, but Vico is proud and very stubborn.”
“So there was conflict between them?”
Annie stared at the two detectives. Her head was beginning to ache. “What are you suggesting?”
“We’re not suggesting anything, Ms. Jefferson. We are merely trying to establish a few facts.”
“Is there something suspicious about Giuseppe’s death?” Annie demanded. “Are you looking for someone to blame it on?”
The cops exchanged glances. Sullivan nodded, and Foster said to her, “We’re looking at some possible sabotage of the scaffolding in there, yes. Three of the pins that hold the pipes in place under the wooden platform where your workman was standing have been removed. The thing was bound to collapse, killing whoever was standing on it at the time. So, yeah, we think Giuseppe Brindesi was murdered.”
Chapter Seventeen
With the cathedral closed down and the site surrounded by crime-scene tape, Annie had no choice but to return to her office at Brody Associates. There she found people standing around in small groups, talking and speculating. The news that Giuseppe’s death had not been an accident spread fast.
By eleven o’clock the press had arrived, trying to get some footage to put on the noon news. Annie declined to talk to them. She knew that as the project manager, she would have to talk to them sooner or later, but she was damned if it was going to be now.
At a few minutes past twelve, Matt Carlyle telephoned. “I heard about your workman’s death,” he said. “How are you holding up?”
Annie was touched. Except for Sam and Barbara Rae, who were always thoughtful, Matt was the first person to ask about her state of mind instead of peppering her with questions about what had happened at the site.
“I think I’m in shock. I knew him and liked him very much, but I haven’t had a moment yet to focus on the fact that he’s gone.”
“Can you escape for a few minutes?” he asked. “I know what it’s like over there—but can you meet me for lunch?”
“I don’t—”
“I’m concerned about this too, Annie. After all, I am the new head of the building committee. And I was introduced to this poor man yesterday, just a few hours before his death. I thought of coming directly to your office, but I’m sure you’re getting enough publicity as it is without the zoo that would result if the infamous Matthew Carlyle showed up in the aftermath of another suspicious death.”
He was right, of course.
“Where do you want to meet?”
He gave her the name of a small pasta restaurant in Union Square just a few blocks from her office. “They know me, and they’re discreet.”
“Okay. I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”
Annie slipped out the side door and walked briskly up Post Street to Union Square, the heart of the city’s shopping district. Macy’s, I. Magnin, and Neiman-Marcus rose over the small park, and she longed to head into one of them and lose herself in a whirl of what Darcy called “retail therapy.” And where was Darcy? she wondered. She hadn’t seen her all morning.
A cable car chugged up Powell Street. It stopped in front of the park to take on passengers—most of whom were tourists clutching cameras and maps—then continued up the hill. It would go over Nob Hill and Russian Hill, then descend to sea level on the other side of the city at the Cannery near Fisherman’s Wharf. Annie wished she could join the tourists and forget her troubles. Just be a visitor here, without anything greater to worry about than which cable car to squeeze onto.
She found the restaurant tucked between two stores on Geary. She descended into a dimly lit cellar, which was filled with a few small tables with green and white checked tablecloths. Matthew had already arrived. He was wearing a beautiful dark suit and tie that fit perfectly over his broad shoulders and that spoke, discreetly, of his great wealth and excellent taste.
He stood as the waiter led her to his table in the corner, and Annie thought, I keep forgetting how tall he is. She knew that she was deliberately trying to forget how magnetic he was.
She felt a thrill go through her when he took her ha
nd.Mentally, she rebelled against it. I don’t have time for this.And it’s just not right, with poor Giuseppe lying dead.…
“You look pale, Annie. Sit down. Have you eaten anything today?”
“I don’t think so. I had some coffee at the office. Too much coffee, probably.”
He signaled the waiter. “Do you mind if I go ahead and order for us? I have a feeling you’re not going to be able to concentrate too well on that menu. Is there anything you don’t like?”
“I don’t eat much meat,” she said. “Fish or chicken is okay.”
He ordered hearty salads and their catch-of-the-day special, to be served with plenty of pasta. Crusty bread and red wine showed up almost immediately, and Annie forced herself to taste a bit of both.
Matt kept the conversation going with pleasantries of various kinds, and Annie relaxed and allowed the sound of his husky voice to help to center her. He ordered tea instead of coffee after the food was cleared away, and as they sipped it, he finally asked about the tragedy.
“I’ve already heard rumors that he was murdered. Is there any truth to that?”
She nodded wearily. “That’s what the police told me when they interviewed me. They said it looked as if the pins had been removed from some of the joints just underneath his platform on the scaffolding.”
“Pins?”
“Construction scaffolding is made of metal cylinders that slide into one another,” she explained. “It’s similar, in a way, to an erector set. The joints are secured with metal pins about a quarter of an inch in diameter… maybe a little thicker than that, actually. If the pins are pulled out or loosened, the wooden platforms they support can’t take a man’s weight. The police wouldn’t allow me inside, but from what I can gather, that part of the scaffolding collapsed, and he fell to his death.”
“So somebody sabotaged the scaffolding? When? During the night?”
“Presumably. Giuseppe gets to the site very early every morning. Just after dawn, usually, so I suppose it must have been done during the night.”
