Tall Man Down - 22. Chapter 22

The thing about police paperwork is it’s a pain in the neck. Don blamed his boss, Owen, but probably because he didn’t have a larger context. Nine years with New York’s Finest taught me there were so many ways to crawl into the tiniest crevice of my body that I couldn’t even begin to put numbers to them. So after dinner – which I prefaced with the good news that I could help – Don admitted that he had his laptop in his car and could rough out for me what needed double checked. Of course, Noah – as usual – had scheduled himself to work through supper, so at least he wasn’t consigned – during billable hours – to wash dishes with Pete or entertain Josh

“We don’t need to do any work now,” Don assured me, opening his computer. “We can start for a couple hours in the morning. But just so you know what’s coming.”

Having helped Don before, I already suspected, and scrolling through the forms in his ‘Catlin’ file, I could start picking out his usual holes.

“I need to back things up better,” he acknowledged. “And write them in ways they’ll make sense to Owen and the guys from Boston.”

“Will Owen read the reports first?”

“He’ll try, but you never know what’s gonna happen. One day of heavy rain and easy car wrecks, and he’s off schedule. Though he’s already glanced at what I’ve done and given me his usual scribbles.”

“Like?”

Don opened Owen’s memo, and the list highlighted points where Don was almost guessing at the things, without corroboration. After fixing the easiest of those, we started our own list.

“More in the morning,” Pete interrupted after an hour. “Josh needs to go to bed, and he usually gets us up early. And I hear this guy’s my husband.” He was talking to Don but pointing to me. “We’d like some time together.”

“Oh... sure,” Don said, practically embarrassed. Though I don’t think Pete meant what Don thought.

“I didn’t mean to chase him away,” Pete told me when we were done with Josh and his crib.

“Don?” I laughed. “It’s just as well you did. Once I started helping, he would’ve worked through the night. He hates reports.”

“I knew that.”

Then he smiled, and I took him up on the offer he may not have actually made.

Don arrived soon after 8:00. Pete wasn’t lying when he told Don we’d be up by 7:00, and I was dicing some vegetables, getting them ready to stir-fry into an omelet. I offered to feed him again.

“Thanks. I already ate.”

“What?” Pete quizzed. He was always on me for eating too lightly in the morning.

Don considered. “To tell you the truth, I can’t remember. But I know it was more than juice and coffee.”

Pete nodded at me, and I scrambled a few more eggs.

By 10:00, Don knew where the gaps in his reports were, and he also knew he could fix most of them himself. He’d stop by Sunday morning – and maybe again that evening – for us to do at least one more work through. “There’s just one thing I wouldn’t mind you doing,” he added, as he packed up his laptop. “I can do it if I have to – it should be a quick check. But since you know the Catlins so much better...”

“Pete knows them best – at least, he knows Sandra. Is this something he can ask?”

“If he wants.” He turned to Pete. “You can probably do it by phone. Though you might get a better sense of the truth if you were looking at her face.”

“What?” Pete asked.

“This is stupid, but I know I’m gonna be asked. And simply showing the Boston people your little pile of plastic...” he’d turned back to me “...isn’t gonna cut it. You know how easy it is to copy files. So they’ll want proof.”

“I thought you were finished with the files,” I said.

“I am – I absolutely believe Mrs. Catlin and Abby Rodelle. But if anything really happened to Steven Catlin – and I know you’ll ‘Swear On Josh’s Life’ that it was an accident – the Boston guys’re gonna ask why. And every logical reason points to those files. So if I can assure everyone – Owen and me, too – that we’ve no possible proof they exist anymore...”

“Do you think there’s ever a way of doing that?” Pete asked.

“Well, if you tell me Mrs. Catlin completely believes it – and Abby Rodelle does, too – I’d feel much better.”

“I don’t know Abby,” Pete said lightly. “I don’t go to the President’s office much, and she mainly stays there. She doesn’t even come to lunch in the cafeteria.”

“Why?” Don asked.

Pete shrugged. “I think she’s a vegetarian. Maybe more extreme than that.”

“Well, can you ask Mrs. Catlin then?”

Pete seemed to consider. “I’d really rather let Gil handle it. He knows more about what you’re looking for.”

“You can tell almost immediately someone’s lying,” I pointed out to him. “It’s like not trusting a dishonest actor. You’re better at it than I am.”

But Pete wouldn’t budge. So I told Don I’d go.

He thanked me and headed to the station, claiming that was quieter than his house on a Saturday. Noah’s office was right off their living room, and Noah did a lot of business on weekends.

When I got to Sandra’s, maybe a half hour later, Catlin’s Audi was parked at the head of the circular driveway in front door of the house. It was followed by several more cars, but I didn’t see Sandra’s, so I figured it was in the garage. Still, when I rang the bell, Lisa answered and seemed rightly surprised to see me.

“How’re you doing?” I asked.

“Better,” she admitted, smiling and seeming more relaxed. “A friend of mine came up from DC for a couple of days, and it’s helped to have him around.”

“Can I come in?”

“Oh, sure. We were just finishing.”

She led me into the dining room – where Ted, his friend Jenny, and Lisa’s friend – who she introduced as Yash – I think I got that right – were eating. Yash seemed around Lisa’s age, in his early twenties, and they were finishing what was probably breakfast.

“Is your mom around?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“Sorry.”

“She’s with Abby.”

“At the store?”

“Well, the office now.”

“Maybe in between.”

That came alternately from Lisa and Ted, and they filled me in on details the same way. It seemed that over the past two weeks, while the rest of us had been chasing space invaders, Abby had moved Catlin’s things out of his office and the President’s House, and Sandra had renegotiated the lease on her small design storefront for a larger, three-room office upstairs in the same building. While doing that, she’d started the process of creating a foundation for historical research and literature in her husband’s name, centered that in the same office as her design work. And she’d put Abby in charge of the foundation.

“All for one or two years?” I asked. That’s what Abby had mentioned.

“They think it’ll be longer than that now,” Lisa told me. “Turns out Dad had a lot of rough drafts and outlines.”

“Not really a surprise,” Ted added. “Dad was always looking things up and typing them out.”

“There’s notes that can be turned into books and articles.”

“And movies.”

“At least, Mom and Abby think.”

“And some of that money...”

“Especially if there are films...”

“...will support other research and historians...”

“...and people who write historical fiction...”

“So they’ll be pretty busy.”

“Neat,” I managed to get in, and everyone at the dining table agreed.

“We can work there, too,” Lisa added. “Especially summers – if we want...”

“Better than delivering pizza.”

“When would you ever deliver pizza?”

“Well, someone’s got to do it.”

“Not you. Not ever. It’s not gonna happen.”

When it looked like Ted might immediately go out and find a pizza shop that would hire him – just to prove Lisa wrong – everyone at the table cracked up.

“Sorry,” Lisa eventually managed. “We’re being rude.”

“And who started that?” Ted pushed.

“Well, I’m gonna quit it – right now. Before Mr...” She stopped and looked at me. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your last name.”

“Andrus,” I told her. “But almost everyone calls me ‘Gil.’”

Lisa shook her head. “I couldn’t do that. Even if I was dating you.”

“What!” Ted shouted. And everyone broke up again.

As I wondered how high they were – and on what – they regained control – probably too quickly for there to be drugs involved. Especially when I asked to speak with Lisa and Ted alone.

“About what?” Ted asked.

“Just a couple of things I was going to ask your mom. Mainly logistics.”

“We don’t have any secrets,” Lisa insisted. “You can talk in front of Yash and Jenny.”

“You can,” Ted seconded. “Especially after all the people we’ve had to talk to in the past three weeks.”

“Every relative we’ve ever known. They were all over us, all the time. Even after Dad’s funeral, and Ted and I went back to classes, dozen of family members and friends hung around. To make sure Mom was all right.”

“She would have been more all right if they’d left.”

“But how do you tell that to your grandparents?”

“And we really love them...”

“Mostly...”

“On some level...”

“On some very deep level that we suddenly remember every year right before our birthdays.”

Ted and Lisa stared at each other, each almost daring the other to break up. And somehow they made an unspoken pact not to start howling again. And their friends followed along. And in that moment, I dove.

“It’s about the files,” I began.

“The files?” Ted asked.

“The files?” said Lisa.

“Oh, yeah – the files you were talking about in the President’s House.”

“What files?” It was clear Ted hadn’t told Lisa.

“The files Dad kept in his office. You know. The really personal ones about all the weird people on campus.”

Lisa grinned. “Oh – those files.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Your dad kept several copies. But Abby Rodelle said they were only on some thumb drives in his office – locked in his desk. And after she reminded your mother about them, they decided to destroy them – which was absolutely your mother’s right. But Don Burris – the police detective on the investigation – you’ve met him,” I reminded Ted.

“So did I,” Lisa pointed out.

“I didn’t know that,” Ted interrupted.

“He came to the house.”

“Well, his reports gets carefully checked,” I continued. “And his supervisors would like to make sure that no other copies of those files exist. So if the police even found out they existed and asked for them, there’d be no way for a set to appear.”

“I thought your friend already knew that?” Ted said, half as a question. “I mean he was with you when we talked about them.”

“Where?” Lisa asked.

“At the President’s House. I needed to get rid of some e-mail I’d sent Dad and was checking all his computers. I told you this.”

“If you did, I forgot.”

“I did.”

“You knew his passwords?”

“They were always our names – or some version of them. You knew that, too.”

“It never mattered. I wouldn’t go snoop in his files.”

“It’s not like I go through my parents’ computers all the time,” Ted quickly told me. “I’ve got three of my own.”

“Me, too,” Lisa acknowledged. “Not even counting our phones.”

As they recounted this, I wondered if they still thought it was a good idea to be talking in front of their friends.

“Anyway, I thought the police knew this,” Ted went on. “Or don’t they all?”

“Well, not the ones it wouldn’t matter to – in the station. But these are different police – some officers from Boston. If this was just an ordinary accident, and your dad was even any other small college president, they might not be involved. But your father was fairly well known, and his death got some attention. So the Boston higher-ups want to make sure nothing’s left undone.”

After absorbing this, Lisa asked, “Are they covering themselves or Dad?” She seemed amused.

“They’re not covering anyone,” I assured her. “Any kind of death gets investigated. And one that might only seem accidental...”

I was suddenly getting sucked into Don’s way of thinking. And I didn’t want Lisa and Ted following me.

“Look,” I tried to cut through. “Detective Burris is trying to finish his reports before the Boston officers arrive next week. And I went over his reports as a friend, and there were a couple of details hanging that I thought your mother would know. And maybe Abby Rodelle. So I really should be talking with them.”

“Now, I know what files you mean,” Lisa suddenly said. “I thought you were talking about different ones.” She shook her head. “No... we never saw them – Ted and me. And I doubt Mom ever did, either. Dad used to tell funny stories about the college and people working there. And he used to do a lot of writing – you know that. And a lot of things in his writing he got from everywhere. But I don’t think he ever told us anything that could hurt someone. His stories were more about their funny quirks. And though I sometimes heard him whispering to Mom – about things that either shocked them or made them laugh – they never told those things to us.”

“And I told you at the President’s House,” Ted added, “I never saw any copies of those files.”

“What about here?” I asked.

“Mom would’ve checked.”

“And the house in Nantucket?”

“Dad was very good at keeping things private. And he never would’ve left anything as unprotected as in the Nantucket house.”

“We’re sometimes away from there for months.”

“I think he cleared the computers at the end of August.”

“Which wasn’t that long ago.”

“So if Mom says she got rid of something... How did she get rid of them?” Lisa suddenly interrupted herself.

“She smashed them with a hammer then indirectly gave the pieces to me.”

That made everyone laugh. But Lisa plowed on. “If Mom did that... and she told you that... then I’d believe her. I’m sure those were the only files she knew about.”

“And Abby doesn’t lie about things like that. And we’ve known her probably half our lives.”

“She was our babysitter when she was in grad school.”

“So Mom and Dad always trusted her.

“And you can tell that to the Boston police.”

“You can.” Then Ted hesitated. “And I’m not saying Mom never lies... Or Dad... Or even Abby... But there are some things they’d never do. Like get someone unfairly into trouble.”

“They’re very rigid that way.”

“Stupidly.”

“Sometimes very stupidly. But I don’t think Mr. Andrus wants to hear about that.”

Actually, it was a very good thing to hear, especially coming from maybe the two people who knew their parents best – and their faults. And they’d probably seen their parents undefended. I also knew Lisa didn’t always get along with her mom, so her defense was especially strong. Still, I wanted to see Sandra and Abby anyway, so I confirmed Sandra’s downtown address, though I knew where the building was.

“It’s just upstairs from her store.”

“The landlord owns the block.”

“On the second floor.”

“Mom thought an office looked more dignified for a foundation.”

“It’s one of the old mill buildings. All red brick.”

“Very impressive.”

“Mom likes that.”

I assured them I could find it. Also, I knew if I somehow got lost, I could call Pete and have him call Sandra. Loaded with all that – though already sure I had enough to tell Don – I was saying goodbye to the grinning Jenny and Yash, when Ted said he’d walk me to my car.

“There’s no reason,” I assured him. “I’m not one of your grandparents.” Though judging from my students, their grandparents might not be as old as that made them sound.

“I need to get something from Dad’s car anyway,” Ted simply replied.

It seemed like a polite lie, but I let it go. Maybe there was something he remembered that he didn’t want to say in front of Lisa.

He hadn’t, but he did have something to say. We didn’t talk about it in the fifty or so feet to the Audi. In fact, we talked about the car.

“Mom says it’s mine now if I want,” Ted began. “Lisa has a car she likes better – smaller... sporty... and it’s half-electric. And I’ve got Mom’s old Prius – which is all of maybe six year’s old. But the truth is I don’t want either of them. Mom’s is too momlike, and Dad’s is too dull. I don’t know why he drove it or why he got rid of his great MG.”

“Because they’re terrible cars – especially in the winter. Completely undependable.”

“That’s not why you drive them. Not why I would, anyhow.”

“I bet you can get a date without it,” I said, sounding like a very old man.

“That’s funny,” he replied. “You don’t know how much.”

I hadn’t planned to let him tell me. But that’s exactly what he wanted to talk about.

“I kind of lied to you,” he admitted. “And to Lisa, just now – and not for the first time. And I wouldn’t have tried to fix things... wouldn’t be telling you the truth... But if the Boston police are gonna start asking questions...”

Not the ‘Boston police,’ I wanted to distinguish. The ‘police from Boston.’ But I didn’t think he’d see the difference.

“I doubt they’ll cause trouble,” I assured him. “I don’t think it’s there to be caused. As I said, they’re just fact checking. They want to make sure nothing’s been missed. So if it’s just something private about your dad...”

“No. It isn’t about him at all – not directly. But it’s something that happened because of him.”

“Does it have anything to do with how he died?”.

“No. And I never meant you to think that.”

“Then the police don’t need to hear it.”

He nodded, kind of looking at the Audi, and I wondered if that was somehow involved. Though it seemed the car was just something to stare at.

Finally, he grinned. “This is the kind of thing Dad would have in his files – you can bet on it. And if it were about someone who worked at the college...” He stopped and then laughed. “You know, just because Lisa didn’t remember specifically what was in the files – and I really don’t – doesn’t mean we didn’t know about them. As she said, Dad was always telling stories. But even when we knew the passwords to some of his computers – or could figure them out fast enough – there were always places we knew not to go. You just didn’t. We’d get in too much trouble.”

“Even as kids?”

“Well, then, probably no. We wouldn’t even understand what we’d read. But any time since we moved here... when I was eleven and Lisa was thirteen... if I got caught – or if it was even suspected – that I was going through my parents’ personal stuff... or Lisa was... well, it wouldn’t be good. Even worse than it was this summer...”

I didn’t ask him to explain.

“Not for her,” he eventually added. “That was between her and Mom.”

He stopped again, and I waited.

“And I wasn’t causing trouble. Not that way.”

“You don’t have to tell me. If it’s not about your dad.”

“But if the police start...”

“It won’t matter to them.”

“But if they discover... If it’s something they just fall over... Well, wouldn’t it be better if someone knew ahead? If only to say, ‘Look. That’s not important. Let it go.”

I thought about that. “Yeah... in a way... That’s why Don – Detective Burris – wanted to make sure there were no other copies of those files.”

“Well, what if I was using the President’s House for something? For things I shouldn’t’ve been doing there.”

My immediate thought was drugs. Selling drugs? Ted? It didn’t fit. But it never did with drugs.

“I mean, I told you I never went on campus,” he continued. “And that was mostly true – before... It embarrassed me. So it was true for most of the time we’ve been in Waldron...”

“Did your dad know?”

“NO! At least, if he did, he never said anything.”

“And your mom?”

“No.” But less emphatic. And he looked at me.

“Lisa?”

“NO!” Heavy emphasis again.

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Even if it was drugs, it was none of my business.

“But what if someone saw us? I mean, I’m sure someone must’ve – without ever knowing what was going on. Even if they were just walking by – it’s a busy enough street. No matter how unimportant what we were doing might seem to them.”

I didn’t want to push him. I wanted to let him off. But even if he was selling drugs? How could I not ask?

I put it as gently as possible. “Were you selling pot?”

“NO!” he nearly shouted, then quickly looked back at the house and almost laughed. “Is that what you think?” he asked, grinning.

I kind of shrugged, and smiled with him.

“Sometimes adults are jerks,” I admitted, instantly realizing I’d insulted him again. “I didn’t mean you weren’t...”

“Nah, it was only sex,” he said, smiling a grin I knew far too well. “And I wasn’t selling that, either,” he added, which made me laugh.

“You’re not the first one who’s used the house for that,” I said, wondering if he knew about his dad and Elise. So I added, “Faculty and staff have been using it for years.”

“Not this summer – Dad was working there too much. A lot of things he used to do at home, he moved there. And we didn’t get to Nantucket as much because... Well, just because...”

I could imagine several reasons.

“So I’d only use the President’s House when I absolutely knew Mom and Dad were traveling.”

A careful kid.

“Not that we were there all the time.”

Though sloppy with his pronouns.

“How did you get in?” I asked.

“You’ve got to be kidding. No matter what I said to your friend about needing the keys, that place is so old – it’s got to be two-hundred years or more – that all you’ve got to do is look at the doors or windows and they just pop open. That’s why it was funny that the one door I was trying to open for you must’ve been painted shut. And I even had the keys that night...”

I let him finish. When he seemed to be, I carefully repeated, “Still, none of this has anything to do with your dad. So even if the guys from Boston somehow discover that you were using the house, it doesn’t matter. And I promise – if it even begins to comes up – I’ll tell them not to look there.”

“Can you wait till it naturally does? I mean, do you have to tell your friend first? So he can be ready?”

“I don’t have to tell him anything – don’t have to tell anyone. Because – as I keep trying to say – there’s nothing that’s important. If that was simply the easiest place you and your girlfriend...”

“Not Jenny,” he said immediately. “Not her. At least, not there.”

I had to laugh. “See, I told ya you didn’t need an MG.”

He might have started to blush. But he also seemed a bit proud.

“It wasn’t like that – it was never that kind of thing. It was more of an if/then. But if anyone found out how late I started... I think you know what I mean...”

I did, but was stupidly wondering, What kind of girl? That didn’t matter, either. And it would just make the police laugh.

“Look, I’m glad you told me,” I finally said. “And no one will know unless I need them to. And I’m sure that will never happen.”

He hesitated, then looked and me and smiled again. “Thanks.”

And we let it go at that.