Robert Ellis - The Dead Room

“Kids,” the detective said. “She’s lucky Holmes didn’t eat her for lunch.”

Teddy’s legs felt weak, and his head started spinning. He sat down at the table, feeling something deep inside him begin tumbling forward. It was clawing at the surface, flailing at the shadows into the light.

Oscar Holmes was innocent.

Even the thought of it cut all the way down.

Innocent.

In spite of the evidence-the fingerprints, his lip prints, a strong motive and an eyewitness-there it was in his gut. The possibility, however faint, that everyone had been consumed by the details and missed the whole. The chance that somewhere along the way, someone had been distracted by the obvious and made a horrible mistake. Just the way they’d been mistaken about his own father.

Teddy looked at his hand and noticed he was trembling.

He’d been a part of it, too. Part of the rabble. Part of the mob adding it all up like it was a simple math exercise. Only it didn’t add up because everyone involved had been disgusted by the crime and either wanted something out of it, or like Teddy, needed to move on.

Jackson stepped into the doorway. “You okay, kid? You look a little pale. You’re not gonna faint on me, are ya?”

Teddy didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He pulled his cell phone out and punched in the number Barnett had given him for Nash. When he hit Nash’s service, he cleared the call, checked his watch and entered his own number at the office. It was already past seven. In spite of the hour, Jill picked up on the second ring.

“I need you to find Nash,” he whispered. “Then call me back.”

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He noted the panic in her voice. She must have picked up on his as well.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said under his breath. “I don’t care what anyone has you doing. Just find Nash and give me a call.”

“Done,” she said.

Teddy stared at the phone. After a moment, he got up, switched off the lights and closed the door. Jackson seemed pleased that the night was over, locking up the apartment and leading the way downstairs. As they reached the sidewalk, Teddy thanked the detective for coming. He heard the Cadillac start up, the muffled sound of Frank Sinatra singing through glass, and turned to watch Jackson gun it down the street like a broken-down hot-dog cop who was still pissed off. He heard his cell phone ring, felt in vibrating in his pocket. As he brought it to his ear, he heard Jill’s familiar voice in the cold night air.

“He’s at the Skyline Club,” she said excitedly. “It’s a nightclub. Nash will be there all evening.”

He could feel himself being reeled back in. She’d found him.

“I know where it is,” he said. “It’s private.”

“That’s right. What’s wrong with your voice?”

He cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

“Barnett’s looking for you,” she said. “He’s lost your cell phone number.”

“Don’t give it to him, okay? Don’t say anything.”

“I didn’t. I turned on the TV and saw the news. They found another body.”

“Yeah,” he said. “They did. Let’s talk in the morning.”

“Take care of yourself, Teddy.”

He closed the phone and turned the corner, spotting his Corolla in the middle of the block. His dizziness had passed, and he started for the car. Slowly at first, then picking up speed.

It was an exclusive club on the top floor of a high-rise building just off Rittenhouse Square, and the man at the front desk seemed adamant about not letting him in. He kept looking down at Teddy’s shoes and pants, still damp from the river. When reason didn’t work, Teddy grabbed him by the collar and shoved him aside.

Hurrying down the hall, he found the dining room and spotted Nash at a corner table by the window. He was seated with a beautiful, exotic-looking woman. Her clear skin was a deep brown, her face refined and gentle.

The light in Nash’s eyes glowed a little as Teddy approached the table. When Nash looked past him and nodded, Teddy turned and saw the man he’d just pushed straighten up his jacket and vanish down the hall with a shake of the head the way little men do.

“Have a seat,” Nash said. “We were just enjoying a little wine. Would you like a glass?”

Teddy nodded even though he didn’t want any wine. A waiter appeared with a third glass and a bottle of Williams amp; Selyem Pinot Noir. As the glass was partially filled, Nash introduced Teddy to his friend, Lynn Guzmon. She smiled warmly and offered her hand. Teddy shook it gently, noting her British accent, and was happily surprised when she excused herself to make a phone call. It was an act, of course, an elegant gesture made by someone who understood something was up without being told.

“Let’s go outside,” Nash said. “Better bring your glass.”

He followed Nash onto the terrace. Gas burners kept the space warm with benches and chairs arranged in small groupings along the entire side of the building. Nash stopped at the rail, gazing at the city. Teddy joined him, thinking that the name of the club was a perfect fit with its setting. The view from the terrace of the Skyline Club was tremendous. He could see the entire city, from the Museum of Art all the way down to the blue lights framing the Benjamin Franklin Bridge.

“It would seem you’ve had a long day,” Nash said in a quiet voice, even though they were alone.

Teddy gave him a look. “You know, don’t you. You know about the second body.”

“We were listening to the radio on the drive over. I expected you might make a return visit in the morning.”

“There’s a chance he’s innocent,” Teddy said.

Nash sipped his wine without saying anything. But Teddy could tell that he’d struck a nerve and the man’s wheels were turning.

“You know that, too, don’t you?” Teddy said. “That’s the real reason why you told me the story behind Derek Campos’s arrest and execution. That’s why you refused to help. In spite of the evidence, you knew there was a chance that Holmes might be innocent, too.”

“You’re reading meaning into things where it was never intended. I didn’t have Holmes in mind when I told you that story. I was thinking about your father. He was innocent, wasn’t he?”

Nash was staring at him now. From the look on the man’s face, it seemed as if he’d spent the afternoon in his library reading up on the subject. But Teddy wasn’t ready for the question. He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and lit one. He’d never spoken about what happened to his father with anyone and was surprised when he heard himself say yes.

“It was the accountant,” Nash said. “He’s the one who murdered your father’s partner. The three of them had been friends.”

The skyline view fell away, and Teddy found himself staring into the abyss and nodding at it. “They were working on a project,” he whispered. “A lot of money was involved. My father’s partner caught their accountant embezzling money and confronted him.”

“The accountant murdered your father’s partner and made it look like something else.”

Teddy drew on the cigarette. “It was a small police department in the suburbs. They lacked experience and made a lot of mistakes. After my father died in prison, the accountant had a nervous breakdown and came forward. A week later, he tried to deny his confession, but it was too late. He knew things only the murderer could’ve known. They had him.”

“You were just a boy at the time. How did you feel when the police took your father away?”

Teddy shook his head at the memory. “Why do we have to talk about this?”

“Because it’s important. How did you feel?”