Tall Man Down - 5. Chapter 5

Wednesday, just before one, I was in the costume shop with Pete and Josh. It was my day to watch him, taking him to my morning class, then keeping him in the playpen in my office. Normally, I would have gone to the theater after lunch, to start in the scene shop. But the first week of school, kids haven’t quite set their schedules. So I don’t follow mine.

I needed to see something in the costume shop anyway. Pete wanted to use a certain fabric – which I still dumbly called “material” – in the first show, but he thought it might blend into the set. He’d draped a few yards of the stuff over one of his dummies, and we were discussing the color when Don Burris walked in. He grinned at me.

“Sewing?” he said. “I should’ve guessed.”

“I can do straight seams and put on buttons,” I said in my deepest voice – which really wasn’t much deeper than my normal one. “And that’s it.”

“More than I can manage,” he said, grinning again.

Pete offered to give him lessons, but Don passed. Instead, he asked if I was busy. I looked at Pete, and he said he could wait.

“Take a walk?” Don asked.

“Josh go along?”

“‘Long as he can’t talk.”

So I began to unsnarl the straps on Josh’s carrying harness.

“What’s this about?” Pete asked. “Though I can probably guess.”

“Just a few questions about Steven Catlin.”

“Do you know how he died yet? Was it his heart?”

“No.” But Don said nothing more.

“You can’t hold back now,” I joked. “You do, and there’s no more free beer at our house.”

“Meaning I have to pay? Or you won’t let me in?”

“Just tell us what we want.”

He smiled, but again said nothing.

“Because you don’t know?” I pushed gently. “Or you won’t tell us?”

“A bit of both.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

He was silent.

“Come on. You want to know everything we do about Catlin. Well, what can you trade?”

Don grinned and then sighed. “We don’t really know much,” he admitted. “Not even when he died. Because the hot water he was in throws off our tests. He could’ve slipped, late Monday night. Or even six or eight hours later, on Tuesday morning. He might’ve fallen and knocked himself out. Or he could’ve passed out in the tub. Either way, he drowned – we do know that. And we know he’d been drinking at your party.”

“How horrible,” Pete said.

“In one way,” I told him. “In another, it’s just a dumb accident.”

“It’s the party I’d like to know about,” Don went on.

“Sure,” I said. “But why ask us? There are two hundred people who could tell you the same things.”

He smiled. “I know you.”

“And trust us?” Now, I was grinning. “There’s your mistake.”.

“You make this sound very complicated,” Pete went on.

“Nothing’s simple when so many people’re involved,” Don said.

“Tell us about that.”

“Actually, I can’t tell you anything. At least, not here.” He thumbed toward the open door to the hallway.

“There’s no one out there,” Pete assured him, glancing at the clock. “The girls aren’t even due for another five minutes. And they’re usually late.”

“We’re not exactly prying,” I joked. “You did come to see us.”

“But you know how careful I need to be. I can’t let rumors start.”

“They’re already going around.”

“So if you and Gil need a place to talk...” Pete offered.

“I’m not cutting you out,” Don insisted. “There’s nothing you can’t hear.”

Pete smiled, clearly wanting to know. But he wouldn’t have forced his way in.

“What do you have so far?” I asked.

Don hesitated. “Little things. Little things that’re off.”

“Like?”

He shrugged. “Stuff.”

“You’re not building this up?” I kidded. “Because you’re bored?”

“I wish.”

“Then what?”

He didn’t answer. So we waited. I was half-sitting on one of the cutting tables. Pete was perched on the high stool he often worked from. Josh watched from the costume shop playpen, a near-antique with screened-in sides that Pete had found at a flea market. It looked barbaric but was perfect for keeping Josh clear of needles and pins.

“You’ll think this crazy,” Don finally began. “It’s so small. But the whole thing really began with something Steven Catlin’s wife – estranged-wife? – I’m not sure what the relationship...”

“They’re still married,” Pete told him. “From everything Sandra’s said, there’s no thought of them getting divorced.”

“When did you see Sandra?” I asked Pete. “Other than Monday night at the party. And I didn’t think you’d talked.”

“We didn’t. But I ran into her last week.”

“I saw her yesterday,” Don interrupted. “Late morning. Fortunately, she’d already gotten the news, so I didn’t have to break it. But she was still in shock. So I only stayed for a couple of minutes.”

I knew his “couple,” so that couldn’t be trusted. Meanwhile, Don was checking his notes, working from a wallet-sized pad he’d pulled from his jacket.

“Her first reaction – when I suggested her husband had drowned, taking a bath. The very first thing she said was, ‘That’s impossible. He’s hates baths.’ She was adamant about it, insisting he never took them. ‘He’s over six-four,’ she’d gone on. ‘He hates being jammed in a tub.’”

“She was definitely in shock,” Pete suggested. But I had to laugh.

“Is that all you’re building on?” I asked Don. “I mean, I hate to shoot you down... But it really seems like you’re watching too much TV.”

“It’s not only that...”

But I must have been smirking. Even so, Don took it quietly. Maybe as payback for the grief he often gave me for quitting the New York police force after nine years. To work in what he called “Neverland.”

“I know it’s seems nothing,” I finally let him say. “And it’s one of the reasons I haven’t told anyone. But if the person who knew him best – who was married to him for over twenty years... If she immediately reacted that way... Well, what else am I supposed to think?”

He had me there. And Pete. So we were both silent.

“And as soon as you start thinking about it that way,” he went on. “Well, the whole thing doesn’t make sense. Not the way it needs to.”

“What else do you have?” I asked. Waiting just long enough to make his thoughts seem reasonable.

“Mainly more about the tub,” he continued, checking his notes. “It’s an old one... raised up on legs... so it’s over two feel high. And it’s deep... with the kind of rubber stopper you have to push down really hard on to keep in place. You know, the kind with a chain?”

Pete and I nodded.

“From that... and from Steven Catlin’s position – he was on his back, arms at his sides, legs bent at the knees... Well, it’s hard to believe he just slipped. I mean even in a modern tub, you try falling, hitting all the knobs that would both turn off the shower and let the tub fill, and then landing like you were just relaxing.”

“Quite a dance,” I had to admit. But Pete waited.

“The shower was off?” he asked.

Don nodded. “Shower was off... curtain was open... and the tub was full. When his assistant – Abby Rodelle...” He was reading from his notes again. “When she arrived, she said the water was running but not fast enough to overflow. Just how you’d leave it to keep your bath warm.”

“So he was taking a bath,” I allowed. “I know that doesn’t jibe with what Sandra said, and I guess it wasn’t normal. But what’s the problem? And what can you prove?”

Don shrugged. “I told you... nothing. I have what his wife said, and I keep coming back to that. Why was he taking a bath? If he hated them?”

He looked at us as though we had the answer. Again, we said nothing.

“And there were a couple other things,” he went on. “The bathroom lights were off... The house lights were off...”

“So he was taking a bath in the dark.”

“Why?”

“You’ve never done that?”

“I don’t take baths at all,” he said. Then he smiled. “Well, rarely.”

“Showers then? You’ve never taken one with the lights off?”

“Same reason as before,” he admitted. But didn’t explain.

“Maybe it was already morning,” Pete suggested. “You said it might be. And you don’t always turn on the lights when you get up.”

“None of the beds had been slept in,” Don said.

“So this had to happen at night.”

“Yep.” He hesitated, then asked Pete. “Do you know why he was staying at the President’s House? Did his wife happen to mention that? Their house isn’t far.”

“Sandra said he sometimes stays there when he’s writing. He works late, and it’s simply easier to go upstairs.”

“That’s what she told me... but I wasn’t sure. It’s why I thought they might be separated.”

“Well, everyone on campus knows he and Sandra have been having problems – people who care about those things, anyway.

“I didn’t,” I said.

“Well, other people did. But I don’t know where he was sleeping.”

“So we’re back to a bath in the dark.” Don summed up. “Still, there are other things.” He went back to his notes. “His watch and wedding ring were on the dining table... but his wife said he never took off his ring and always left his watch on his night stand.”

“Not if he was drunk,” I pointed out.

“Where were his clothes?” Pete asked.

Don checked his pad. “Shirt and pants were also on the table – neatly folded. Undershorts were on the living room floor, and his socks were there, too. But his shoes were tucked under the table. We never did find an undershirt – if he was wearing one. But his jacket and tie were hanging on the back of a dining room chair – phone and wallet in their appropriate pockets,”

“What did Sandra say about that?”

“That he usually hung his clothes up – jackets and pants, anyway. And ties. Everything else went into a hamper.”

“Was there one?”

“I didn’t think to check. Actually, I didn’t know at that point... and I haven’t been back to the President’s House since.” He stopped there and simply looked at us. “Something’s going on, and it’s not my imagination.”

I looked back at him for a moment and then smiled. “I’m sure it’ll all make sense if you give it time.”

He frowned.

“Do you have the medical report yet?” I went on.

“It’s coming. This only happened yesterday.”

“That may tell something.”

“It won’t explain his clothes... Or the bath he wouldn’t have taken.”

Don seemed too excited, and I needed to back him off. “Are you sure this isn’t all less than you’re making it?”

“No one wants that more than I do,” he insisted. “You’ve got to know that. But it’s bad enough that a well-known man – both here and in other places – has died. No one wants an investigation.”

“It’s already gotten attention,” Pete admitted. “There was a report on the morning news. And he did write at least one best-seller.”

“Which was made into a hit movie that millions of people saw.”

“But the news didn’t say anything about his death... not about how it happened. Just that he was a local college president.”

“Still, you know the media... If he didn’t die by accident...”

Don didn’t look happy. And he sighed. “That’s why I want this over with. Quickly.”

“Are you bringing in help?”

He clearly didn’t want to say. “We’re thinking about it.”

“You’re not exactly trained for this,” I pointed out – as gently as I could. Don could take a lot of ribbing. He was an easy-going, small-town guy. He was also amazingly stable. But you still don’t whittle away at a guy’s competence.

“I know pretty well what I can do,” he insisted. “And I know it’s never been anything like this. But just ‘cause I mostly chase down cars that have been stolen for joy rides... Or pick up teenage shoplifters... Or even follow-up the occasional break-in...”

“I’m not saying those aren’t the only things you can do... Or that you never could handle anything like this... But when you know you don’t have the experience... And when you’re trying to end things quickly...”

He didn’t let me finish.

“That’s why I need to find out,” he said. “Everything you know about Steven Catlin... Starting with the party Monday night.”

I was silent. We’d been trying to help, but I guessed it had gone the wrong way. “Have you spoken to Elise Pelletiers?” I simply asked.

Pete looked at me, as though not understanding.

“She may be the last person to see Catlin,” I explained.

“Why do you say that?”

Pete seemed defensive, which I didn’t understand. So I told him and Don what I’d seen from the parking lot two nights earlier. Pete seemed to think about that, then smiled.

“I know she was flirting... during the day and at the party. That might’ve been fun. But I didn’t see her sleeping with Steve. Not the first night...”

“She might not have ‘slept’ with him,” I offered. “Not if the beds hadn’t been used...”

“And his underwear was on the living room? Be real.”

Don looked back and forth between us, then laughed. “I should talk with Elise Pelletiers.”

“Her office is downstairs,” Pete told him. “She might be there.”

“I’ll stop on my way out.”

As Don asked us how to spell Elise’s name, Pete was clearly considering something – I knew the signs. And as Don finished writing, Pete quietly offered: “She’s very young. I’ve talked with her a bit because our offices are so close. The rest of the building is storage or art rooms.”

Don looked at Pete, not quite following. He had to ask, “What are you saying?”

“Just that... well, she’s right out of grad. school... this is her first job. And if you suddenly show up – looking official, and asking questions... You might put her off.” Pete paused for a moment, then smiled. “Then again, I wouldn’t have slept with Steve Catlin so quickly. So who knows?”

“I’m not exactly terrifying,” Don pointed out. “Guys at the station call me ‘Pops.’”

“‘Pops?’” I questioned. He was in his late forties. “You’re only – maybe – ten years older than I am.”

“They call anyone over thirty, ‘Sir.’”

“I’m making too much of this,” Pete decided.

“No, you may be right,’ Don went on. “What Elise Pelletiers knows might be important... And if I scare her off...”

“Why would she be less nervous with three people?” I asked. “Three people she barely knows?”

“She might talk more easily to me, Gil,” Pete said. “Just because we’ve begun to know each other. I would. In the same situation.”

“Can you get her?” Don asked.

Pete glanced at the clock.

“I’ll try.”

“I may not need her for long.”

“I’ll see.” He waved to Josh, then headed out the door.

“And he kids me about getting involved.” I said, while I knew Pete could still hear. Don wisely didn’t respond.

“How else can I help?” I asked.

He seemed to think for a moment, then said, “You’re doing fine.”

“You said you had questions.”

“One thing at a time.” He was adding to his notes.

“I didn’t mean to pump you before,” I nearly apologized. “You know I’m just curious.”

He nodded but didn’t look at me. After a moment, I turned to Josh. He’d been quiet for too long, and I should have known he was up to something. Despite the playpen screening, he’d gotten hold of a ball of yarn and was busy unwinding it. I quickly distracted him with a higher tech toy then slowly began unsnarling his work.

“I mainly need you to listen,” Don soon went on. “And check on what I have to say.”

“To stop you embarrassing yourself?” I joked.

“I don’t mind that,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve recovered before.”

I hesitated, then asked, “How much is riding on this?”

He shrugged again. “I could be directing traffic again.”

“I doubt that.”

“Not right off, anyhow.”

I laughed, which I think is what he intended. I didn’t envy Don’s position but also didn’t feel he was under much pressure. I was sure Steve Catlin had died by accident and figured that wouldn’t take long to prove.