Free Fall (11 page)

“We've already contacted the rabbi,” says Judith. “The temple is making arrangements for Dad's funeral.”

“Which,” adds David, “needs to happen right away.”

“Jewish tradition,” adds Michael.

Ceepak nods. Me, too. I went through a lot of this when Joe Getzler's grandfather died a couple years ago.

“We'll be sitting shiva at our home,” says Judith. “Just makes everything easier.”

“Plus,” says David, “we need to clean this place up. Get it ready to put on the market. Can't have anyone camping out in the guest rooms. It'll slow things down. Christine has got to go.”

“Understandable,” says Ceepak. “Where is Christine now?”

“We asked her to take a walk on the beach,” says Judith. “The three of us needed to discuss some family matters. In private.”

“For instance,” says Michael, “we need to decide who gets to take home
all
of these lovely photographs of my nephew, Little Arnie.”

“Dad liked them,” says David.

“Oh, I'm sure he did.” Michael gestures toward a photograph of the blonde boy poised like a quarterback about to heave a pass. “This is my personal fave. Such the little athlete. Guess he must take after Judith's side of the family.”

Judith smiles and blinks some more.

David's eyes drop, like he needs to examine his sandal straps.

Michael grins like he's holding the hot cards in a high-stakes poker game.

Geeze-o, man.

This is one weird, freaky family.

22

F
INALLY
, J
UDITH BREAKS THE LONG
,
AWKWARD SILENCE
.

“Our emotions are little raw right now, officers,” she calmly explains.

“Understandable,” says Ceepak. “We'll wait outside for Christine.”

“Do you have some place for her to stay tonight?” asks Michael, the only one who seems the least bit concerned about the displaced help.

“We'll work something out,” I say.

Mentally, I'm already speed-dialing Becca. But it's the middle of June now. Schools are letting out. The Fourth of July and a horde of tourists are coming fast. The “NO” signs are popping up in front of the “VACANCY” lights on hotels up and down the island.

Ceepak and I head out the back door.

We walk across a weather-beaten deck filled with graying teak furniture plus a rusty Weber kettle grill with antique cobwebs glued to its legs. We're on a bit of a bluff overlooking the ocean maybe fifty feet in front of us. This is an impressive piece of property. Somebody's about to inherit an awesome beach house.

“Perhaps you should give Christine a call,” Ceepak suggests after we both scan the shoreline, looking for her.

I pull out my cell phone. “So where do we take her this time? The Mussel Beach Motel is probably booked up for the rest of the summer.”

“Roger that,” mumbles Ceepak. I can tell he's perplexed, too.

“And now she doesn't have any kind of job. No way can she pay rent, unless she goes back to the emergency room.”

“She may not be ready for a return to the ER at this juncture,” says Ceepak, who, like I said, understands Christine's PTSD better than anybody. Working in a trauma center, faced with life-and-death decisions every time the double doors swing open? That's probably not what her doctors and psychiatrists are ordering for Christine right now.

“Well,” I say, “maybe she has some savings. But this is the start of the peak tourist season. Rents will be jacked up till Labor Day. If she had any family in the area, she never would've had to spend the night in Dr. Rosen's driveway …”

“Could she stay at your apartment, Danny?”

Wow. First Ceepak's mom wants me to date Christine. Now her son wants her to move in with me?

“You, of course, could stay with Rita and me,” he continues. “T.J.'s sofa bed is still available.”

Okay, this is tough.

I mean I like Ceepak and his wife, Rita. Living with them would be okay. I guess. Unless Ceepak makes me get up every morning and run three miles before we all do military-style jumping jacks.

On the other hand, it's baseball season. I love my own plasma screen TV—even though it's only half as big as the one Michael bought for his father. I also like how close my refrigerator is to my couch. You don't even need to stand up to grab a beer.

But then I see Christine's mop of dark, curly hair bouncing up over the dunes. Soon I see her. She's not in a bathing suit or anything but she looks good.

And sad.

No, crushed is more like it.

She's probably been wandering up and down the beach wondering the same stuff Ceepak and I have been wondering about. Now that Dr. Rosen is gone, what's going to happen to her?

“Yeah,” I say. “Your place sounds like a plan.”

“Just for the time being,” says Ceepak. “We'll figure something out.”

“It's all good,” I say. Then I smile at Christine as she makes her way over the dunes.

“Hey, guys.” She sniffles back a tear. “Can you believe it? They say it was probably a heart attack. I think it was my fault …”

“What? Come on, Christine. He was ninety-four years old …”

“But the restraining order mess. Me and Shona going to court. Judith getting all upset. I think it sent his blood pressure shooting through the roof …”

“Christine?” says Ceepak, using the firm, deep voice he sometimes uses with me. “You did not kill Dr. Rosen. Old age did.”

“I don't know …”

That's when Ceepak's phone blares an obscure Springsteen song called “The Wish,” a tribute the Boss wrote about his mom. That means the caller is Ceepak's mother.

I know this because I showed him how to program in different ringtones to ID callers once his family on the island grew beyond just Rita. If he wants me to put in a ringtone for his dad, I think I'll go with Meatloaf's “Bat Out Of Hell.”

Ceepak jabs the speakerphone button.

Probably so Christine can say “thank you” to his mom in person.

“Hello, Mom. I have you on speakerphone. I'm here with Danny and Christine, the young nurse you helped so much.”

Mrs. Ceepak doesn't say anything.

“Mom?”

“Are you at Arnold Rosen's house?”

“Yes, Mom. He passed away this morning.”

“I know. One of my bingo friends just called …”

“He was ninety-four, Mother. He lived a good long life.”

Again silence.

“Mom?”

“Arnie called me late last night, John. He was worried. Told me he was ‘surrounded by assassins'! John?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Do something. Please? I feel it in my bones: One of those assassins murdered Arnold Rosen.”

23

C
HRISTINE AND
I
ARE STANDING THERE
,
STUNNED
,
STARING AT
Ceepak, who is staring at his silent cell phone.

He looks stunned, too.

“That can't be right,” says Christine. “Why would anybody want to kill Dr. Rosen?”

“Not knowing, can't say,” mumbles Ceepak, who, it seems, has slipped into his analytical automaton mode. He thumbs a speed dial number.

“What's up?” I ask.

“Calling Chief Rossi.”

The new guy. Great. The Chief of Detectives has to call the Chief of Police and tell him what his mommy just said. I don't envy Ceepak on this call.

“Roy? John Ceepak. Sorry to be bothering you on the weekend. I see. Yes, sir. Things do get busy around town in the summer. Yes, sir. It's all good. Sir, I need to call in a favor but I wanted to run it by you first. I'd like to contact Dr. Rebecca Kurth, the county medical examiner. Arnold Rosen passed away this morning. That's right. Ninety-four, sir. Well, there is some suspicion of foul play …”

Here, Ceepak takes a long pause.

“My mother talked to Dr. Rosen last night. In their conversation, Dr. Rosen expressed a fear that someone was out to kill him. Yes, sir. My mother. No, sir. She does not typically get involved in our homicide investigations. In this instance, however, she was friendly with the deceased. Bingo, sir. Yes, sir. At the Senior Center.”

Ceepak is using a thumb and finger to massage the bridge of his nose while the Chief unloads on him in his ear.

“Well, sir, we have, in the past, done favors for Dr. Kurth. I don't think this will, as you suggest, ‘ruin our relationship' with the county medical examiner's office. Yes, sir, you have my word. If Dr. Kurth, as you say, ‘laughs in my face,' I will let the matter drop. Thank you, Chief.”

Ceepak thumbs the OFF button.

“You guys are really going to investigate Dr. Rosen's death?” says Christine with a nervous titter. “He was ninety-four.”

“Indeed,” says Ceepak. “However, he was not on Hospice Care, therefore an investigation into the cause of his death may be warranted.”

“It's up to Dr. Kurth?” I say.

“Roger that.” Then he turns to Christine. “How was Dr. Rosen this morning when you came on duty?”

“Tired, I guess. He didn't want to wake up and eat breakfast or take his morning pills. Finally, after a little cajoling, I got him out of bed, escorted him to the bathroom, helped him clean up, brought him back to bed. He still wouldn't take his pills. Wanted to sleep some more.”

“So you let him?”

She nods.

“And where did you place his morning pills?”

“Back in the kitchen with the pill organizer.”

“What happened next?”

“I had to go to my room.”

“Why?”

“Around 8
A.M.,
David and Judith showed up. They're still mad at me about what happened in the courtroom with Judith's sister. So Monae agreed to cover for me.”

“When did you give Dr. Rosen his pills?”

“I guess it was around eight thirty, after David and Judith finally left. Monae knocked on my door. Told me they were gone; that I was back on duty. I finally got Dr. Rosen to drink a can of Ensure—because he needed something in his stomach before he took his medicines. I had his morning pills all set in a paper cup, but he wanted to talk first.”

“About what?”

“Family stuff.”

“Christine?” says Ceepak.

“Yes, sir?”

“Your patient is deceased. The possibility that he might've been murdered has been raised. Your obligation is to the truth now, not your patient.”

“So you're saying I'm free to discuss ‘family affairs' that came to my knowledge during the practice of my calling?”

Yep, it's code versus code.

And if I'm following the ethical logic, here, our need to learn the truth in the pursuit of justice outweighs Christine's obligation to keep mum about the dead man's family.

24

C
HRISTINE TAKES A MOMENT BUT WINDS UP ON THE SAME PAGE
as Ceepak.

“The reason Dr. Rosen was so tired this morning was because, last night, Monae drove him to The Trattoria, a restaurant on Ocean Avenue.”

The Trattoria is one of Sea Haven's swankiest dining spots. They charge so much, they only have like ten tables and a back room for “private affairs.”

“Michael Rosen had booked the restaurant's private room so he could share what he called ‘exciting news' with his father and brother. Judith and Little Arnie weren't invited. When Dr. Rosen arrived at the restaurant, Michael told Monae to ‘order anything she wanted' in the front dining room while the Rosens had their dinner.”

“Did Monae mention anything about this dinner when you relieved her this morning?”

“A little. And then, seeing how tired and upset Dr. Rosen was, I have a feeling that, whatever Michael's big news was, it didn't go over very well.”

“So, after you talked about the dinner and he drank his Ensure, you gave Dr. Rosen his pills?”

“That's right. And he drifted back to sleep.” Christine's voice catches. “He never woke up. A few minutes later, I was in the kitchen, making tea, when I heard his bed rattling. I thought maybe he was trying to get up and go to the bathroom. I looked in on him. He seemed to be resting peacefully. So, I went ahead and fixed my tea. When I was done, I went back out and …”

“He was dead,” Ceepak says, so she doesn't have to. “Thank you, Christine. I know it's difficult to relive those final moments but your recollection could prove important. Why don't you go finish packing your belongings into your car?”

“But where am I going? The motel again?”

“Afraid not,” I say, fishing my key ring out of my pocket. “Too many tourists in town. You're going to stay at my place until we come up with something better.”

Christine looks either confused or interested. One of those.

“I'm going to bunk with the Ceepaks,” I add quickly. “Do you know the Sea Village Apartment Complex?”

“Sure. It used to be a motel, right?”

Christine is correct. But the motel owners realized they wouldn't have to work so hard sanitizing toilets for people's protection if they charged by the month instead of the week.

“I'm in one-eleven. There's a parking spot right outside the door. Sorry about the bed. I forgot to make it this morning. Oh, you might want to pick up some toilet paper, too. I was running a little low.”

Christine surprises me with another hug.

“Thank you, Danny.”

She scurries off into the house.

“So,” I say, “should we call Dr. Kurth?”

“Roger that,” says Ceepak, shifting back into Robocop mode. “The rattling of his bed prior to his death adds fuel to my mother's suspicions. It could have been death throes, the sudden, violent movements those dying often make immediately prior to their passing …”

“Or?”

“It could've been a convulsion, Danny. From cyanide poisoning.”