Perhaps he wasn't dead. I approached him cautiously.
"How do you know if someone is dead or not?" I thought. I touched him. He was cool, but not completely cold. If he was dead, then he must have died not long ago. I didn't want to touch the body and I certainly wasn't going to turn it over, but I checked the pulse in his ashen wrist.
Nothing.
I was never any good at checking my own heart rate that way at the gym, so I watched for several seconds to see if he was breathing. Also nothing.
That settled it. I grabbed my phone but in the concrete basement, I had no signal. I ran up the stairs to call the police. When I got outside, I dialed 911 and explained what I'd found. They dispatched a police car and an ambulance. While I waited for them to arrive, I wondered where the man had come from. He wasn't there earlier when Jack and I were examining the wall.
Suddenly the open gate made sense; someone had no doubt cut the chain to gain entry. It was either the dead man inside or his killer. Or killers. I suddenly realized how lucky I was not to have arrived earlier. I may well have ended up a victim myself.
It was a very scary thought.
With the wound in his back, he probably never even saw his attacker. He may well have been killed right where his body now lay. The most pertinent question for me was, why was he there in the first place? Why here?
The sound of an approaching siren shook me from my thoughts. An ambulance drove through the open gate to the site, with a dark, nondescript sedan following it.
The paramedics jumped out of the ambulance, opened the doors and grabbed their equipment. The driver walked toward me and asked, "You called about the person, assumed dead, in the basement?"
"Yes," I answered. "He's on the lowest level. The stairs are there." I pointed inside the entrance. "You'll need lights, no electricity here yet."
She nodded. "Yep, got torches. Thanks." I started to follow her as she and her partner walked toward the stairs, but a voice behind me called out. I turned to face the man walking from the unmarked police car toward me.
"Natalie Shaw?" he inquired.
"Yes?"
The man, lean with short, brown hair, looked to be in his early forties and wore a neat but cheap dark suit. His light blue eyes were piercing as he held out a hand. "Detective Mark Symonds, Metro Police. I understand you found the body?"
"Yes, that's right."
"In the lower basement car park, correct?"
"Yes."
Symonds took a small notebook and pencil from his suit pocket and started to write in it.
"A notebook and a pencil? I said. "I'm surprised you're using something so low-tech."
He smiled, his face becoming surprisingly warm. "Pencils don't run out of batteries." The smile disappeared. "Why were you here, Ms. Shaw? The site is closed for the day." He looked me up and down. "And you don't look much like a construction worker."
It was my turn to smile. "That's because I'm not. I'm the architect for the project, I work for Andersons and Andersons. I was here because I managed to lose my purse out of my handbag when I was doing an inspection in the basement this morning."
"It sounds like there is a story right there," he replied. "Speaking of the basement, shall we go take a look?" He gestured for me to go first. I realized that I still had the torch in my hand from when I had gone downstairs to retrieve my purse.
"Of course, Detective," I said.
As we walked down the stairs, I related the story of my missing purse to Symonds. He scribbled some notes in his book by the dim light from my torch in the narrow stairwell. I finished just as we reached the basement.
We walked across the empty car park. "So as far as you are aware, you and..." he checked his notebook, "Jack Myers were the last people to be down here prior to your arrival this evening?"
"Yes. There's no reason for anyone else to be in here at this stage."
"What time does the site close?"
"4 pm, The gate would normally be closed by around 4:30 pm."
"And the lock on the front gate was missing?"
"Yes. I assumed someone had forgotten to lock it again, but the chain is usually still hanging on the gate."
"So it struck you as unusual?"
"It did, but it's also not unheard of for it to be on the ground, either," I answered. "I was going to have another look for the padlock on my way out after looking for my purse."
"Fair enough," Symonds replied. He put his notebook and pencil back in his suit pocket.
In front of us, the paramedics were finalizing their inspection of the body. The woman I'd spoken to earlier saw us approach and stood up.
"I'm afraid he is definitely dead, Detective," she said. "Time of death is no more than an hour or so ago."
"Thanks," he replied. "That's consistent with what we know so far from Ms. Shaw here."
The paramedic nodded. "Apart from checking the body for vitals, we've left everything where it was, ready for the forensic team."
"Appreciate it," Symonds said.
He walked around the body, being careful not to step in the pool of blood. He bent down to take a look at the man's face.
"Ah, shit," he said. "Elliot Walthers." Symonds looked up at me. "I know him. He's a reporter. Pain in the ass, but a good kid."
Something clicked in my head. I'd heard something about a reporter recently.
"I'm sorry," I said. "Why would he be here, though?"
"Who knows?" Symonds replied. "He is... was... always nosy. Mostly dug into organized crime. Once too often, it seems."
"But that doesn't really answer why he would be HERE."
"Maybe he got dragged here by whoever killed him. Or he could have been looking for dirt on Samuel Olsen. This is one of his projects, right?"
"Yes. But Olsen just doesn't seem to be the type."
Symonds snorted. "You'd be surprised. He's taking a run at politics, right? Not that he’s saying that, but it’s the worst-kept secret in the city. Maybe Walthers found something that he didn't want found in his past."
"I've known Olsen for years, I just find that hard to believe. He's always been tough but fair."
"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think." He stood up. "I'm going to call this into forensics. I may need to talk to you again, so don't leave town."
"Ok, Detective."
"Oh, and check your purse thoroughly, something still may have been stolen."
"I will. Thanks, Detective."
"Mark. Please."
"Ok, then. Mark. And I'm just Nat."
"Nat it is. Go home. You've had a very unpleasant afternoon." We started walking back towards the stairs and outside.
"Thanks, Mark."
"Appreciate your help."
My phone buzzed just as I hopped into my car. I took it out of my handbag; there were two missed calls from Dave. I was late home and there had been no signal in the basement car park. I called his number.
"Nat! Where are you?" He sounded worried.
"Hey, babe. I'm all right, don't worry. There's been an incident at the construction site. I'm on my way home now, but I need to call Pete straight away to let him know what's happened."
"I don't understand. Why were you on-site at this time anyway?"
"It's a long story, I'll tell you all about it when I get home."
"All right, but be careful." He still sounded worried but had relaxed a little.
"I will." I paused. "What was the name of that guy you were looking for that went missing? The reporter?"
Dave was immediately concerned again. "Elliot Walthers. Why?"
"I know where he is. He was in the basement level here. Dave, he's dead."
Chapter 5
It was late by the time I got home. Pete, my boss, was naturally shocked when I told him over the phone what had happened. He refused to accept my protests that I was ok and told me to take the next day off.
“Nat. Stay home. No arguments.”
"But.."
"You've had a huge shoc
k, Nat. It might not have hit yet, but it will once your brain has had a chance to process everything. Take as long as you need to let yourself recover."
"I'm all ri..."
"Don't make me revoke your swipe pass access."
I sighed, "All right, Pete. I'll stay home tomorrow. We'll see how I feel after that."
"Good. I'll check on you tomorrow and see how you're going."
"Thanks, Pete. Night." We both hung up.
I unlocked the door to my apartment and walked inside.
Dave had obviously been pacing the room awaiting my return, and when he saw me, he embraced me in a fierce hug.
"God, are you all right, Nat?" He kissed me and held me tightly.
"I'm ok, babe, just a little shaken." I hugged him back, snuggling in close.
"I can imagine," he said, kissing the top of my head. "So what happened, why were you at the site anyway?"
I told him what had happened with my purse, then my conversation with Detective Mark Symonds.
"Don't know him," Dave said. "Must be a new guy."
Dave had been a detective at Metro Precinct some years earlier before leaving the force and setting up his own private investigative agency.
"He's a little bit older than us, might have transferred from another precinct. He seems good," I replied.
"I hope so," Dave said. "Elliott's wife deserves to know what happened to him. Given the unsavories that he is normally digging into, it was almost certainly someone involved in organized crime."
"Mark thought it might be to do with Samuel Olsen."
"Samuel Olsen?" Dave asked, surprised. "When I was on the force, we checked him out a few times but never found anything. It's possible, I guess, but more likely mob-related." He smiled. "And when did it become a first-name basis with Detective Symonds?"
I punched his arm and poked my tongue out at him. "I'm just a sucker for men in law enforcement."
"Ha. Ex-law enforcement too, I hope." He held me close again. "You need to sit this one out, Nat. That fortune cookie thing could have gone south fast."
It was my turn to be surprised. "Why do think that I would try to get involved with it? It's a police matter."
"I know you, Nat. I can hear the gears grinding in your brain. Trust me, it's going to be the mob, Elliot pissed off one person too many."
"All right. But I'm still not convinced of that. It just doesn't explain why he was in the basement of Olsen's building. I think there's more to it."
Dave started to say something else, but I cut him off. "I know, I know. I'll be good," I said.
"That's not a promise."
"What's for dinner?" I said, smiling cheekily.
"Ha. You don't fool me, Natalie Shaw!"
"What?!" I replied innocently.
Dave held me tightly. "Just be careful, ok? I don't want anything to happen to you." He kissed me hard.
I will," I said and kissed him again, this time with more intent.
"I thought you were hungry," he smiled.
"I had a late lunch."
"What about my dinner?" We kissed yet again.
"If you'd rather eat..."
"Come to think of it, I'm not that hungry..."
---
I awoke the next morning at the usual time. It took me a moment to remember that I wasn't going to work that day.
Sleep hadn't come easy. The events of the day and the image of the man lying in a pool of his own blood replayed in my mind for hours. It was the first time I had ever seen a body. I'd be happy for it to be the last time as well. I was, however, surprised at myself for how well I coped at the time, but Pete Larson was right. It took a while for the reality of what I'd seen to sink in.
Dave still lay beside me, snoring softly. I wasn't getting back to sleep again, so I slid out of the bed quietly as to not wake him and padded into the kitchen. I filled the percolator with water and fresh coffee. The kitchen soon smelled delightful.
While I waited for my coffee to brew, I took my laptop out of my bag, sat on the couch and idly checked my emails. My brain refused to switch off entirely from work, and I didn't want any nasty surprises when I did go back into the office again.
There was an email from Geoff Anderson, one of the partners of the firm, announcing that the Olsen site was closed for the morning while the police conducted their investigation at the murder scene. Samuel Olsen was going to be furious with the delay.
The coffee was ready, so I went back into the kitchen. As I took my coffee mug off the shelf, two arms wrapped around me and there was a scratchy kiss on my cheek.
"Mmm, coffee!" Dave said. "Smells good. That aroma would have woken the dead."
I grabbed his mug from the shelf as well. "The dead don't snore," I replied as I turned and kissed him.
"Ha," he smiled. "I'm starving. How about some bacon and eggs?"
"Good idea. You make the coffee while I cook breakfast." I handed him the mugs.
"You sure?" he asked. "I can cook it if you like."
"I prefer my bacon crispy and my eggs soft, not the other way around."
"Ooh, harsh. But probably a fair cop." He busied himself with making the coffee as I took out the frypan, eggs, and bacon.
"How are you feeling this morning?" he asked, putting the mugs onto the dining table.
"I'm ok, tired mostly," I replied. "Geoff said that they've closed the site down this morning while the police investigate."
"Olsen won't like that one bit."
"No. I pity the poor police officer on the other end of his wrath."
"Then it makes no sense for Olsen to be involved in Elliot's death. The last thing that he will want is delays in the construction of his mall. Must be costing a bomb."
"I saw what you did there," I smiled as I dished the steaming bacon and eggs onto our plates. "I know you want me to let it go, but I keep coming back to why Elliot's body was in the building. There HAS to be a reason."
"Not necessarily," Dave said. "The mob aren't renowned for being particularly considerate with where they dispose of bodies of people who piss them off. There really may be no connection beyond convenience."
"I guess so," I replied. "I hadn't really thought of that."
"Not really your field of expertise," he said as he ate his breakfast. "I don't know how to design a building so it doesn't fall down. You do."
"True," I smiled.
"Speaking of which, what did you find with that water seeping thing yesterday?"
"I'd forgotten all about it with everything that had happened." I took a sip of my coffee. "It doesn't appear to be surface water seeping down that far. It LOOKS like underground water, but I just can't see how. It's bedrock all around the site."
"You'll figure it out, lovely. You always do." Dave checked his phone. "And I really need to get going." He stood up and kissed me on the top of my head. "I have to go see Elliot's wife. No doubt the police have told her what happened to him by now."
"The poor woman. This is what she was praying to not have happened but knew that it was the most likely outcome." I picked up the empty plates and carried them to the kitchen. "She knows you did everything you could to find him. You know that too."
"I know. I still feel I've let her down, though."
"You said yourself that he was good at not getting found when he didn't want to be."
"Someone found him, apparently," he said as he headed towards the bathroom. "I need a shower and to get ready."
A few moments later, I heard the shower running. I sighed. Dave was holding himself at least partially to blame for Elliot Walthers' death. He wasn't being fair to himself, but it was his willingness to take responsibility that made him the man he was.
As I picked up the empty plates and washed them, I thought over our conversation. I couldn't disagree with his logic that the likelihood was that the mob had killed Walthers, and even that dumping the body in the basement was the most rational explanation.
And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling there was mor
e to it, something about Samuel Olsen. Someone had gone to the effort to break into a closed construction site just to dump a corpse in the lowest basement. There were plenty of alleys that would have done for disposing of Elliot Walthers’ body.
The wound in the back indicated that Walthers never saw the shot that killed him, or was running away from the killer. It made it feel like a crime of opportunity rather than an execution. I sighed. I was an architect, not a detective. I really had no idea how to interpret what I saw.
Dave came out of the bathroom and picked up his keys and wallet. "Ok, lovely, I need to head out." He gave me a quick kiss. "You take it easy, okay? No trying to work or solve murders."
"Ha! No promises!"
He smiled and headed out the front door.
Chapter 6
After Dave had left, I sat on the couch with my thoughts. I had no idea what to do with myself. My job always kept me so busy and with that distraction temporarily taken away, I was feeling a little lost. I switched on the TV and idly flicked channels.
There was the usual array of morning television shows, which even on a good day, I found annoying. After five minutes of watching a young woman with a perfect figure demonstrating how I "could lose inches off my butt in just six weeks," I'd had enough.
I considered binging on my favorite show on Netflix, but it was just too early in the morning for that. After scanning through the various available shows, I eventually settled on a rom-com I'd seen a half dozen times before that wouldn't overly tax my brain.
The devilishly handsome male lead had just jilted the ridiculously beautiful female lead when my eyelids started to droop. I tried to keep my eyes open, but the next thing I knew, the credits were rolling. I shook myself awake and sat up.
The events of the previous day had clearly taken more out of me than I realized, I was one of those people who never could sleep during the daytime. I checked the time; it was just after ten o’clock. I went into the kitchen to make some fresh coffee.
As I cleaned the filter in the percolator, my mind tried to make sense of everything. I really wanted to accept Dave's assertion that the reporter's death was related to organized crime, but my gut refused to agree. Why was the body left in the construction site?
The Body in the Building Page 3
