Tall Man Down - 26. Chapter 26

“The guys from Boston were impressed,” Don told Pete and Noah.

We were having dinner. We were home. Josh was smiling in his highchair. I wasn’t the least bit tired, though I certainly should have been.

“Stop gloating,” Pete told me.

“I’m not.”

“You’re grinning enough,” Noah agreed.

“I’m trying not to.”

“You still need to explain some things,” Pete continued.

“Only some?”

“Now you’re leering,” Noah pointed out.

I tried to frown, but it didn’t work, and I started to laugh.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s just nice to know my brain still works.”

“Your brain’s always working,” Pete assured me. “You’re always figuring things out.”

“Well, this way...”

“Then explain,” he insisted. “Before you fall asleep.”

“Just give me a minute.”

I refilled my coffee cup and then tried to settle down.

“The whole point,” I began, “is that we kept trying to figure out what happened. And we kept looking at it from Catlin’s point of view – or even Elise Pelletiers’, since she was with him. Then, later – when college politics started to interfere – we got distracted by that. And when we came back to Catlin at all, it was, Who would hurt him? and Why? But the point was that – no matter how much conflict he happened to create – no one was trying to hurt him. There was never any reason, and that’s why I always thought his dying was an accident. In fact, if anyone was trying to hurt Catlin, it was himself. That’s what we had backwards. And this definitely was no suicide – Abby Rodelle made that clear. Catlin wasn’t close to being ready to leave this world.”

“Then what happened?”

“Someone was trying to help him – it was that simple. Elise gave us the background pretty clearly. By 12:30 Tuesday morning, Catlin could barely walk. He was leaning against the tail end of his car for support. Yet he was still drinking. He toasted her. And on his way walking back to the President’s House – or maybe even going up the porch steps – he stumbled and fell. And if he didn’t just flat out pass out and stumble, he may have knocked himself out when he hit his head.”

Pete and Noah seemed to accept all that, but Noah still had to ask, “And then what?”

And Don and I just grinned.

“That’s the part we can never prove,” Don picked up. “It’s all guess work until Abby Rodelle walks into the house at what?” He turned to me.

“I think it was like 9:30, Tuesday morning.”

“No, I already knew by then,” Pete told us. “I was in the Business office when she came in.”

“Well, the last anyone saw Catlin...” I explained to Noah, “...anyone we can identify – was around 12:30, when Elise left. Then it’s blank till almost nine hours later – probably at least till dawn, considering how dark that driveway is at night. Then someone spotted him – either knocked out and unconscious in the driveway or maybe slumped on the steps. Or maybe he was just sleeping, in either place. And it was probably somebody walking or jogging by – on the way to work or to catch the bus to Springfield. Or even walking a dog.”

“It probably wasn’t someone driving,” Don added further. “Though you never know. The shortest glance and seeing something that shouldn’t have been there could have made someone pull over.”

“Because there’s a very narrow opening in the front hedges that lets you see the maybe forty feet to the front porch. And Catlin’s car was parked just far enough off center for someone to have a line of sight from the street or sidewalk.”

“But it’s so much easier if you’re walking by. The Boston cops kept testing that.”

“Or if your dog stopped to sniff the edge of the hedges – to check someplace another dog marked.”

Pete just laughed. “So you’re crediting this to a dog now? The Hound of Waldron?”

Don and I laughed. “Yeah. If you want it that way.”

“Then what?” Noah asked.

“Well what would you do if you saw someone passed out in a driveway?”

“See if he needed his back fixed,” Don cracked.

“You’d see if they need help,” Pete corrected. “Or if they needed the police.”

“And that’s probably what happened. Though what also could have happened was that by that time, Catlin was just sleeping, and this helpful person simply woke him up.”

“And?”

“Well, that’s when we start guessing,” Don admitted. “If Catlin simply got up and said, Oh. Great. Jesus. Guess I drank too much last night. Thanks for waking me. I’ll take it from here and the other person left, then things go one way.”

“But at least we know Catlin was awake and walking at that point,” I said.

“Though he might not have been in as good shape as he thought.”

“So he could have gone into the house by himself.”

“But it makes more sense that he was still a bit unsteady, and someone was with him.”

“Where was the dog?” Pete asked, always good on details. “If there was one.”

“That’s why it might have been a jogger – or someone walking.”

“Though a dog could have been tied to the railing.”

“Or brought into the house.”

“In any case, the person could have gone inside with Catlin – to make sure he was all right. And then they discovered Catlin wasn’t quite steady enough to go upstairs to sleep for a few more hours...

“...if it was only 5:30 or so...”

“...and if that’s what Catlin wanted.”

“Abby Rodelle said his meeting wasn’t till ten, and he usually came into his office by nine.”

“So maybe the person offered to help. And you know how stubborn Catlin was, so he could have easily resisted.”

“But maybe it was past that, and the person helped anyway.”

“And there’s also a chance it was someone who knew Catlin – someone on the faculty or staff. Or even a student.”

“Someone who’d been invited to the house for dinner. You know Catlin and Sandra had parties for students, too.”

“So this person knew there was a bathroom downstairs – away from the stairs that Catlin couldn’t handle.”

“And they may have helped Catlin get there. And helped him into the shower.”

“... to sober up...”

“...if the person didn’t realize Catlin had also hit his head.”

”So the person could have helped Catlin undress, and they took off his watch and ring to keep them from getting wet.”

“That was perfectly natural.”

“And then – when the person realized Catlin was still unsteady – they simply sat Catlin down in the tub.”

“And filled it, letting the warm water run slow enough so it wouldn’t overflow.”

“Maybe even closing the bathroom door on the way out – to give Catlin privacy.”

“There would have been enough light by then from the window,” Pete reminded us. “So that’s why the light was never turned on.”

“But the person still had Catlin’s clothes – because you don’t leave good clothes in a wet room. And Catlin was still dressed from the party.”

“And they had his watch and ring.”

“But going back to the front hall, they saw Catlin’s jacket hanging on a dining room chair.”

“And they simply added everything else.”

“Neatly.”

“And they didn't stick around?” Noah asked.

“Why?” I asked. “Good deed done. Dog waiting. Or jogging to be resumed. Or simply a usual Tuesday morning to get to work.”

“And the person didn’t tell anyone?”

“Yeah, well – there’s the problem. There’s a very good chance more than one person knows.”

“A husband... or wife... Or anyone the person lived with. Especially if we’re talking about someone who had to go home before they went on with their day.”

“It’s too good a story not to share.”

“Even more if it was someone connected to the school – who knew Catlin.”

“But everything changes if you wait a few hours, and the person didn’t have a chance to talk.”

“Because as soon as word started to get around that Catlin had died, it’s suddenly not a good story.”

“It’s only one that could get you in trouble.”

“Or arrested.”

“Do you honestly think that?” Pete asked.

“Oh, yeah. In this age where everyone’s suing everyone else.”

“Or if someone didn’t want their life invaded by the media – and you know that would happen.”

“”Or maybe this was someone who never liked Catlin and was very open about it.”

“And suddenly they’ve gone from doing something good to finding themselves in court.”

“So of course they’re going to shut up.”

“There’s lots of reasons only one person would know... or that the few who did would keep it quiet...”

“But wouldn’t it be pretty easy to find out who the person was?” Noah asked. “I mean if they were connected to the college and followed the same morning routine?”

“That’s the first thing the guys from Boston said,” Don admitted. “That even if no one ever came forward, they could plant a camera and monitor it to see who passed the President’s House every morning.”

“And even if someone was scared off their normal routine for a while, eventually – when nothing happened – they’d probably go back to it.”

“And all Don would have to do was follow up.”

“And eventually, I’d find them.”

“But there was no point to that I insisted. Though it took a while to convince everyone.”

“Including Owen and me.”

“Because no good could come of it.”

Pete just laughed, understanding immediately and quickly kissing me. “You would think that.”

“Yep,” I said, probably gloating this time. That had been my big accomplishment at the station. Not offering what possibly could have happened. But persuading Don and Owen and the guys from Boston to just leave it alone.

“There’s also a chance there never was another person,” Don had to add. “That’s what convinced me to walk away. I didn’t know Steven Catlin – no matter how much I’ve learned about him in the past several weeks. But he sounded just ornery enough to try and push his way through this.”

“To wake up in the driveway, stagger to the house, try and go upstairs, fail, and decide instead to take a shower.

“Groggily leaving his clothes in the dining room.”

“Then – when he realized he couldn’t even stand in the slippery shower – and despite everything he normally felt about hating baths...”

“...he just gave in and sat down.”

“And there’s an equal chance he didn’t realize he wasn’t hung over or still a bit high...”

“...but had given himself a concussion when he fell.”

“And you both know the rest.”

“The warm water...”

“The hot room...”

“He passed out again, went limp, and slipped under the water...”

“And drowned.”

“Can you check about the concussion?” Pete wanted to know.

“Only by digging him up,” Don admitted. “And it’s just not worth it. It would only upset his family.”

“And maybe everyone else.”

“Besides, Owen and the guys from Boston agreed to accept Accidental Death – and we’re both comfortable with that.”

“It’s the best way to leave it.”

“I guess,” Pete said, after seeming to think for a while.

“I told you. No good can come of it.”

“I guess,” he said again. And Noah agreed. And then we all kind of laughed.