Chris Grabenstein - Free Fall

“I know. One of my bingo friends just called …”

“He was ninety-four, Mother. He lived a good long life.”

Again silence.

“Mom?”

“Arnie called me late last night, John. He was worried. Told me he was ‘surrounded by assassins’! John?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Do something. Please? I feel it in my bones: One of those assassins murdered Arnold Rosen.”

Christine and I are standing there, stunned, staring at Ceepak, who is staring at his silent cell phone.

He looks stunned, too.

“That can’t be right,” says Christine. “Why would anybody want to kill Dr. Rosen?”

“Not knowing, can’t say,” mumbles Ceepak, who, it seems, has slipped into his analytical automaton mode. He thumbs a speed dial number.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Calling Chief Rossi.”

The new guy. Great. The Chief of Detectives has to call the Chief of Police and tell him what his mommy just said. I don’t envy Ceepak on this call.

“Roy? John Ceepak. Sorry to be bothering you on the weekend. I see. Yes, sir. Things do get busy around town in the summer. Yes, sir. It’s all good. Sir, I need to call in a favor but I wanted to run it by you first. I’d like to contact Dr. Rebecca Kurth, the county medical examiner. Arnold Rosen passed away this morning. That’s right. Ninety-four, sir. Well, there is some suspicion of foul play …”

Here, Ceepak takes a long pause.

“My mother talked to Dr. Rosen last night. In their conversation, Dr. Rosen expressed a fear that someone was out to kill him. Yes, sir. My mother. No, sir. She does not typically get involved in our homicide investigations. In this instance, however, she was friendly with the deceased. Bingo, sir. Yes, sir. At the Senior Center.”

Ceepak is using a thumb and finger to massage the bridge of his nose while the Chief unloads on him in his ear.

“Well, sir, we have, in the past, done favors for Dr. Kurth. I don’t think this will, as you suggest, ‘ruin our relationship’ with the county medical examiner’s office. Yes, sir, you have my word. If Dr. Kurth, as you say, ‘laughs in my face,’ I will let the matter drop. Thank you, Chief.”

Ceepak thumbs the OFF button.

“You guys are really going to investigate Dr. Rosen’s death?” says Christine with a nervous titter. “He was ninety-four.”

“Indeed,” says Ceepak. “However, he was not on Hospice Care, therefore an investigation into the cause of his death may be warranted.”

“It’s up to Dr. Kurth?” I say.

“Roger that.” Then he turns to Christine. “How was Dr. Rosen this morning when you came on duty?”

“Tired, I guess. He didn’t want to wake up and eat breakfast or take his morning pills. Finally, after a little cajoling, I got him out of bed, escorted him to the bathroom, helped him clean up, brought him back to bed. He still wouldn’t take his pills. Wanted to sleep some more.”

“So you let him?”

She nods.

“And where did you place his morning pills?”

“Back in the kitchen with the pill organizer.”

“What happened next?”

“I had to go to my room.”

“Why?”

“Around 8 A.M., David and Judith showed up. They’re still mad at me about what happened in the courtroom with Judith’s sister. So Monae agreed to cover for me.”

“When did you give Dr. Rosen his pills?”

“I guess it was around eight thirty, after David and Judith finally left. Monae knocked on my door. Told me they were gone; that I was back on duty. I finally got Dr. Rosen to drink a can of Ensure-because he needed something in his stomach before he took his medicines. I had his morning pills all set in a paper cup, but he wanted to talk first.”

“About what?”

“Family stuff.”

“Christine?” says Ceepak.

“Yes, sir?”

“Your patient is deceased. The possibility that he might’ve been murdered has been raised. Your obligation is to the truth now, not your patient.”

“So you’re saying I’m free to discuss ‘family affairs’ that came to my knowledge during the practice of my calling?”

Yep, it’s code versus code.

And if I’m following the ethical logic, here, our need to learn the truth in the pursuit of justice outweighs Christine’s obligation to keep mum about the dead man’s family.

Christine takes a moment but winds up on the same page as Ceepak.

“The reason Dr. Rosen was so tired this morning was because, last night, Monae drove him to The Trattoria, a restaurant on Ocean Avenue.”

The Trattoria is one of Sea Haven’s swankiest dining spots. They charge so much, they only have like ten tables and a back room for “private affairs.”

“Michael Rosen had booked the restaurant’s private room so he could share what he called ‘exciting news’ with his father and brother. Judith and Little Arnie weren’t invited. When Dr. Rosen arrived at the restaurant, Michael told Monae to ‘order anything she wanted’ in the front dining room while the Rosens had their dinner.”

“Did Monae mention anything about this dinner when you relieved her this morning?”

“A little. And then, seeing how tired and upset Dr. Rosen was, I have a feeling that, whatever Michael’s big news was, it didn’t go over very well.”

“So, after you talked about the dinner and he drank his Ensure, you gave Dr. Rosen his pills?”

“That’s right. And he drifted back to sleep.” Christine’s voice catches. “He never woke up. A few minutes later, I was in the kitchen, making tea, when I heard his bed rattling. I thought maybe he was trying to get up and go to the bathroom. I looked in on him. He seemed to be resting peacefully. So, I went ahead and fixed my tea. When I was done, I went back out and …”

“He was dead,” Ceepak says, so she doesn’t have to. “Thank you, Christine. I know it’s difficult to relive those final moments but your recollection could prove important. Why don’t you go finish packing your belongings into your car?”

“But where am I going? The motel again?”

“Afraid not,” I say, fishing my key ring out of my pocket. “Too many tourists in town. You’re going to stay at my place until we come up with something better.”

Christine looks either confused or interested. One of those.

“I’m going to bunk with the Ceepaks,” I add quickly. “Do you know the Sea Village Apartment Complex?”

“Sure. It used to be a motel, right?”

Christine is correct. But the motel owners realized they wouldn’t have to work so hard sanitizing toilets for people’s protection if they charged by the month instead of the week.

“I’m in one-eleven. There’s a parking spot right outside the door. Sorry about the bed. I forgot to make it this morning. Oh, you might want to pick up some toilet paper, too. I was running a little low.”

Christine surprises me with another hug.

“Thank you, Danny.”

She scurries off into the house.

“So,” I say, “should we call Dr. Kurth?”

“Roger that,” says Ceepak, shifting back into Robocop mode. “The rattling of his bed prior to his death adds fuel to my mother’s suspicions. It could have been death throes, the sudden, violent movements those dying often make immediately prior to their passing …”

“Or?”

“It could’ve been a convulsion, Danny. From cyanide poisoning.”

And so we call Dr. Kurth.

Ceepak has her office, home, and cell numbers.

Yes, over the past few years, we’ve kept the county medical examiner’s office kind of busy.

We finally reach her on her cell. At her daughter’s soccer game. Ceepak puts her on speakerphone.

“Sorry to disturb you, Rebecca.”