Fall Guy (17 page)

I did, too. I'd barely spoken to my own sister in the last year. In fact, her house was five minutes from Maggie's. I could have arranged to visit her the morning I was up there, but I hadn't.

“But at the end, after my mother had asked me to call Aunt Margaret for her, well, that was good,
that they were back in touch. They talked for a long time, that day, and a few other times. But I don't know what they talked about. I don't know if my aunt mentioned Francis. My mother didn't say and I didn't ask. We all had something more pressing to think about, and anyway, that was all so long ago,” she said, “when we used to play together and I had that silly crush on him.”

The water was boiling. I asked Maggie if she wanted another cup of tea or if we should get back to work. “Both,” she said. I said I'd go out and get some boxes while she looked through Tim's books and gathered the rest of the photographs. She said that would be helpful.

“I can't remember what he looked like,” she said when I handed her the mug of hot tea.

“Francis?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, my father. Unless I'm looking at his picture, I can't remember his face.” She looked at me and took a deep breath, as if she'd just remembered why we were here and who this was about. “We all grew up too fast. Tim didn't have much of a childhood,” she said. “None of us did.”

I took Dashiell with me, glad for the chance to get out, to get away from the very stories I had encouraged Maggie to tell me. Outside, the sun was shining. There were people going about their lives—kids on skateboards, traffic passing, dog walkers walking other people's dogs, nannies with babies in strollers, pathologically skinny young women with designer shopping bags looking for a place to pick at lunch. We headed to the little deli across Washington Street, where I
picked up three smallish boxes and a couple of muffins to go with the tea, wishing I could take a long walk instead of going back inside to deal with all that grief. Standing on the corner, waiting for the chance to cross the street, I glanced downtown. I was no longer sure exactly where the Twin Towers had stood. I didn't know which of the smaller buildings that I could see now had been visible before the attack and which had been hidden by the World Trade Center. Like Maggie, I would have needed a photograph to remind me. I turned away, back toward the traffic heading our way from the meat market, waiting for the chance to cross.

Where'd you get the bone?” I whispered.

I could see a reflection of the garden in his sunglasses—the two tables pushed together, the bottles of wine, a pyramid of glasses on either side of them. I could see Jin Mei's feast, distorted on Brody's dark lenses: small dumplings and dipping sauces, tiny bite-sized egg rolls, a cold chicken salad with water chestnuts and snow peas, and little round fish cakes with swirls of red bean paste on top.

“How is Mary Margaret doing?”

Even in all this heat, he had his jacket on, an ugly print tie, maybe a Christmas present from a brother or a cousin who'd received it the year before, a blue shirt that had been washed a few dozen times too many.

“Typical,” I said.

“What?”

“You expect me to answer your questions but you never answer mine.”

“I called to tell you about Elizabeth Bowles, didn't I?”

“You did,” I said. “Now tell me something else. Confession is good for the soul.”

“That's if you confess to a priest.”

“Don't get technical,” I told him, the line my mother had used when she was caught in a mistake.

He shifted his weight and cleared his throat.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. The keys Parker claimed he lost—”

“The keys to Tim's apartment?”

He nodded. “They were there, at Ms. Bowles's place.”

“Then why did he enter by the window?”

“Probably forgot to bring them with him. If criminals were smart, we'd never close a case.”

He might have left them in the apartment when Tim caught him partying with his buddies, I thought, but I didn't share what I was thinking with Brody. Maybe after he got in through the window, he picked them up from the little table near the front door or from Tim's desk, wherever he'd dropped them after letting his friends in. Maybe he'd made a point to find them for a possible return visit.

Maggie was on the west side of the garden, talking to Jin Mei, both of them animated, as if this were a garden party instead of a memorial. I saw Maggie check her watch and frown. It was twenty minutes after four, but Dennis hadn't yet arrived and we were waiting. Netty was sitting in O'Fallon's kitchen so that someone would be there to buzz him in, but there was still no sign of him. As for the others, Irwin and his weird as
sortment of unsavories, no one knew if they were actually coming at all, so once Dennis showed up, the proceedings would begin.

“Maggie arrived when we were on the phone,” I said to Brody. “I turned my back, hoping she wouldn't hear me, and when I turned around, she was gone.”

“The bathroom?”

I nodded. “That's when I hung up on you. I figured for sure she was going to blow, that it was going to be Mount Etna at last. But it wasn't. She started to pack up the things she wants to keep, mostly family photographs and some of the books, and telling family stories.”

“That's good. You're doing a good job.”

“How so?”

“You make people comfortable. You're easy to talk to.”

“Yeah? So talk to me, Brody. Tell me about the bone.”

“Would you like a glass of wine? Something to eat?”

I shook my head. Half the people were eating, the other half waiting. Helene Castle was feeding her husband tiny egg rolls while baby Emma slept on his shoulder, her face red and crunched with concern. When I'd first come outside, Helene had introduced herself and David to me and Maggie, then asked if she could have her keys back. She said Tim had a set, in case Netty got herself locked out. Kevin, drink in hand, had introduced me to Rob and we'd talked about Tim for a minute and then about Rob's plans for fall plantings, how he
wanted to keep things blooming in the garden until it was covered with snow, and about the pergola he wanted to build next year. He was thinking he'd put in a grapevine. Jin Mei had said she knew how to make grape jelly. Kevin thought it wouldn't be too hard to make wine if they had a good crop. Rob asked if I'd found his keys, by any chance. I said I had found some keys and I'd bring them out later on.

I checked my watch, worried that Brody would have to leave before the memorial got started. He shook his head, as if he knew what I was thinking.

“Let it go. These things never start on time.”

The door opened and Irwin appeared in the doorway. I had the sudden image of him on stage, tossing back one side of a long silk cape, taking off a top hat and pulling a rabbit out, then letting it hop about the garden. I guess it was the way he stood there, not entering the garden until he had everyone's attention. But it wasn't that at all. There was a step down into the garden and that step made the garden not inaccessible but difficult for him. I watched as he held on to the doorframe, steeled himself and jumped, losing his footing for just a moment, regaining that and his dignity a moment later.

“Good to see you, doll.” He bowed from the waist, one hand behind his back, the other covering his belt. “And Sergeant Brody, good to see you as well.”

Brody smiled, excused himself and went over to talk to Maggie. I saw her look up, her brow wrinkled as he explained who he was. Then she
was nodding, taking his hand, leaning closer to say something.

I took a step closer to Irwin. “I doubt one of your friends will be attending today,” I said.

He looked up. “I read the paper, doll. He always did have poor impulse control. I tried to tell Tim that, but he wouldn't listen to me.”

“What was it, a Messiah complex?” I asked. “He had to save—”

Irwin gave me a look that made me shut my mouth. But not for long.

“What?”

“Just something he felt compelled to do. We all have our little compulsions, don't we? What would you say yours were? You can tell me anything, doll, anything at all.”

“So have you heard from him lately?”

“Who are we talking about, doll?”

“Parker.”

Irwin smiled. “You mean they don't have him under lock and key?” He began to laugh. “New York's finest,” he said. “Some joke.”

“They'll get him,” I said, not so sure of it myself. Like any other predator, Parker studied his prey. When he found someone weak, he knew just how to play it. He might already be using another name, living with another sympathetic citizen with an overpowering need to save the world one drifter at a time, or with some lonely man or woman who thought Parker was not only willing but actually capable of offering them whatever it was they so sorely needed. Of course, he'd failed to get what he wanted from me, but he hadn't selected me. He'd gotten stuck with
me, and despite the fact that I was a poor candidate, he'd given it a try. He wanted his stuff and I was the key.

I wondered about Tim again, about Tim and Parker. I still didn't know what that was all about. I wondered if I ever would.

“We'll miss Parker at the game,” Irwin said. “He was a steady loser. By the way, did you happen to find—”

“Your keys? Yeah. I'll bring them out later.”

Irwin frowned.

“It was…”

“I know. For emergencies. And who better to trust with your keys than a cop?”

He lifted one hand and I noticed again how short his arms were. Unless he used a step stool, reaching the light switches without some sort of extension stick would be impossible.

“So, did you have
his
keys?” I asked. “Was it a swap?”

But before he had the chance to answer me, I heard the buzzer that opened the front door. I wondered if I'd know Dennis when I saw him, if he'd look faded and worn, the way his brother had, or too carefully put together, like his sister. But it wasn't a stranger at the door this time. It was Ape and Bill. They'd taken Irwin seriously and come to pay their respects. Or have a drink on O'Fallon, one last time. Ricky wasn't with them. Nor was Andy. Nor Parker. But no one was expecting Parker to show.

“I see you got the mutt with you again,” Ape said to me. “He's going to say a few words about the dearly departed, too?”

“I doubt it,” I told him. “He tends to play it pretty close to the vest. It's a pit-bull thing,” I said, “not telegraphing what's on your mind.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Whatever.”

Irwin snapped his fingers and pointed toward the table. “And don't forget one for the lady.” Without another word, Bill went to get the wine. “He'll probably trip and spill the first round, that clown.”

Bill was coming toward us with three cups of wine. For a moment, when he was stepping onto the flagstone path, I thought Irwin's prediction might come true. Bill took a step that seemed too big, his hands with the cups of wine flying up, about to spill, but he quickly righted himself. He looked puzzled as he continued heading our way. But when he handed me the plastic cup he was grinning, and once I had the cup in my hand and Irwin had his, Bill, too, took a bow. I wondered if all of Irwin's friends were circus people, drifters before, perhaps, drifters again now.

“Rachel says our pal Parker is a suspected felon now,” Irwin said, gesturing toward me with his cup of wine.

“Say what?” Bill asked.

“They think he solved the New York housing shortage by offing his aunt.”

“He wouldn't do that,” Ape said, his hands awkwardly at his sides.

I could see him as the strong man, gone to seed of late. He was wearing a jacket and tie, but I noticed some food stains on his shirt, and his shoes hadn't been polished since he'd bought them. Bill just had a sweater on, red at that. Perhaps he'd
done that so that the wine he spilled on himself would be less likely to show. Had Irwin meant he'd
actually
been a clown?

“He wouldn't hurt a fly,” Ape said, glaring across the yard at Brody. “He'd say he was your best buddy while he was robbing you blind, but he wouldn't never lay a hand on you. Cops,” he said, indicating Brody with his chin, “they never think you're telling the truth, even when you are. I ain't paying respects to no cop, even if he is dead.” He turned and headed for the door.

“We'll get started now,” Jin Mei announced.

I looked at Maggie, who was looking down, not at the door. Perhaps she knew all along that Dennis wouldn't come. I went back inside and asked Netty to come out and join us, but she said she was going home, that Helene and David had said that would be okay. I thanked her, locked O'Fallon's door, glanced once more down the hall, toward the front door, before stepping back outside.

People had shifted around, everyone with a drink of wine, all facing Jin Mei. Brody was standing near the door with Dashiell at his side. I stood next to them and waited.

“We're here today because we all cared for Timothy O'Fallon,” Jin Mei began. “He suffered many hardships, but he always treated his neighbors and friends with kindness. Today, we've come together to talk about this. I'll go first. When I first moved here, Tim was already living here. If I'd been here first, I would have brought him long-cooked rice, oranges, shrimp dumplings. I would have welcomed him with
food. Tim didn't do that. He knocked on the door but he didn't come in. He said he was my next-door neighbor, that there was only a wall between us. He said if I needed anything, I could come to him and he would help me. This was a better gift than long-cooked rice, oranges, even than shrimp dumplings. He was always kind. He was a sad man, but always kind.”

When Jin Mei stopped, Kevin started, as if it had been scripted. But it wasn't. I could see that some of the mourners looked uncomfortable. Perhaps they were wondering what they could say about this man they barely knew.

“He was a stand-up guy. There was never a better listener. He was okay by me.” He swiped at his eyes and backed away, closer to Rob.

“He didn't have a lot of time, but he always supported the garden,” Rob said. “One year he said he remembered the tomatoes a neighbor of his used to grow and I bought some tomato plants. They're a lot of work, but we had a fantastic crop. Remember?” He looked at Kevin, at David and Helene, at Jin Mei. “But he never took any. I don't think he cooked.” There was some laughter then. “I saw a lot of pizza boxes in the trash.” More laughter. “But he thanked me anyway. He said just seeing the tomatoes reminded him of home.”

“We live across the hall from Tim, as most of you know.” David was bouncing Emma on his shoulder as he spoke. “Helene and I both work and we're very busy. We didn't know Tim well, but we'd see him in the hall and he always said hello, and after Emma was born, he'd always ask about her. He seemed like a very nice man.”

“He chased me out of his house a few times,” Bill said. There was an uncomfortable silence this time. “Hell, he had every right. You could never say he wasn't fair. He could've done worse.”

There were three people there I hadn't seen before. The way they'd nodded when Rob talked about the tomatoes, I assumed they lived on the upper floors of the two buildings that shared the garden. Only one of them spoke, a mousy woman in her late forties. Even when she was talking, she didn't look at anyone.

“He had my keys, in case I got locked out. I was hoping he'd use them one day. I was hoping he'd come up and visit me.” With that, her face turned the color of the clematis climbing up the back wall of the garden. “I thought he was very good-looking. Sometimes I'd sit in the garden, hoping he'd come out. But that never happened.” She covered her face with a handkerchief and began to cry.

I looked down at Dashiell and found he wasn't where I'd last seen him. When I looked around, the mousy lady was kneeling next to him, her face against his back. He stood steady for her, his tail wagging.

“I always looked up to my brother. And I loved him very much.” Maggie took a deep breath, gathering her strength. “But I'm sure I didn't tell him that nearly often enough, and I'll always regret that.”