Tall Man Down - 3. Chapter 3

The next morning I was drafting in my office when Pete called. I’d just come from class, on that first day when kids will do anything but listen. My lumber order was stacked in the hallway, but my work-study students hadn’t arrived, and I no longer hauled wood by myself. So I sat with the set model for the year’s first show propped in front of me, adding details to my elevations.

“Have you heard?” Pete asked.

He sounded like he’d run up the steps to his office. “No, you’d’ve phoned.” He stopped, it seemed to breathe. “He’s dead, Gil. Can you believe it?”

“Who?” I had to ask, hoping for some major, malignant politician. But one of Pete’s tiny faults is, in a rush, he forgets to tell you why he’s so excited. Then he can’t figure out why you’re not.

“Steve Catlin.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Abby Rodelle found him. He was late for a meeting this morning, then missed it, and you know how he is about that. Abby called his phone, then his home, but Sandra said he must’ve decided to sleep at the President’s House. So Abby called there. But there was no answer, and no one had seen him. Finally, she went over. His car was in the driveway, but the house was locked. Abby has a key, I guess to set up for parties. She said she didn’t want to use it but felt she had to.”

“A heart attack?” I asked, realizing as I did how little I knew of Catlin’s health. He’d seemed very athletic – jogging mornings, swimming laps of the college pool, cycling, skiing, playing tennis. Maybe he’d overdone it.

“Could’ve been,” Pete said. “Abby didn’t know. She just found him in the bathroom – heard water running and knocked at the door.”

“Where was he?”

“In the tub. The room was warm, Abby said, almost too hot. Maybe he passed out and drowned.”

“A heart attack’s more likely.”

“It’s terrible.”

I agreed, though was still trying to imagine Catlin dead. “How’d you find out?” I somehow thought to ask.

“I was in the Business Office, unsnarling some P.O.’s with Donna when Abby came in. I only heard this ‘cause I was there.”

“Abby must’ve been upset.”

“They both were. Donna started to cry.”

“At least, you were there.”

“I doubt they noticed.”

“Did anyone else?”

“Not at first. But soon, I’m sure everyone in the office knew. And there must be an ambulance at the house by now... the police.”

“I’ll look.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’ll stay on the far side of the street – like I’m taking a walk.”

“The hell you will.”

“You want to know what happened?”

“I already do. Mostly. The rest’ll be all over campus by lunch.”

I thought about that, then let it go. “Are you all right?” I asked.

I guess he was thinking, too, because there was a pause. Then: “Yeah. It’s just that, god, he wasn’t much older than we are – you are, Gil. He had so much planned.”

“He’s already done a lot,” I offered. “You’ve got to give him that.”

“But there was so much more. Even if we hated half of it, other people wouldn’t’ve.”

I didn’t want to talk about that. “You sure you’re all right?” I repeated.

“Yeah. I have the girls here anyway. To talk.”

“I’ll be right over.”

“No. I’ll see you at lunch. But let’s go home. I can’t eat at school today.”

“Noon?”

“Fine.” But he didn’t hang up. “It just makes you want to quit everything,” he soon went on. “I want to walk out of here and take Josh somewhere with us. Play with him for ten years, till he’s no longer interested.”

“I’m coming over now. We’ll go home.”

“No, I’m doing things for class.”

“Then I’ll see you at noon,” I promised.

He hesitated: “All right.”

We ended our call, and I set my phone on my desk, besides my set model. I’d simplified the design twice, each time our budgets were cut. “For what you spend on scenery,” Catlin had once said, “I can buy computers. More computers, more students. And the more students, the more secure your job.”

“More tech and less imagination,” I’d wanted to say, but even I didn’t believe that. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. As many people found out, Steve Catlin did what he wanted.

I left my office and walked to the dance studio, to see if Linda knew. The theater and the dance studio shared an old church, but it was fairly small, so our other department offices were scattered on campus. Linda’s was closest to mine.

She was in the middle of a class. Maybe fifteen students were doing jazz warm-ups in front of the mirrors. I motioned Linda to the door and whispered the news. She looked shocked, then confused, then she quickly absorbed what I’d said and went back to teaching. Though she’d danced happily with him the night before, Linda really didn’t like Catlin.

I watched the dancers for a minute, then wandered back down the hall. In my office, I called people on campus I felt close to. Some were teaching. Some had already heard. Left with my thoughts, I did just what I’d promised Pete I wouldn’t – walked the block to the President’s House.

The house was an old colonial, white with dark green shutters. Tall hedges separated the lawn from the street, and I walked till I could see through the break in the front hedges. That allowed for the driveway.

Two police cars were parked behind Catlin’s grey Audi. Between the cars was an empty ambulance, its back doors wide. A pair of young officers whose names I should have known were talking on the porch. The front door of the house was open, and the screen door was pushed back on its hinges.

As I watched, two young attendants carried a collapsible gurney out of the house and down the porch steps. On the gurney, mostly covered by a sheet, was Steve Catlin’s body. I saw it. I took it all in. But I didn’t believe it.