Acrobat (11 page)

“Were you home all night?”

“No.”

“Well, then it’s big enough, Dr. Qells. It was very windy yesterday, and if he was there, say, for some time… I mean, if he climbed up while you were out and stayed quiet until after you went to bed, it’s quite possible that you never had a clue.”

There was that.

“You went out last night?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask from when to when?”

So I explained that I had been at the opera until after ten and then stopped for dessert and come home. It was easily eleven by the time I had changed, and maybe eleven fifteen by the time Michael was pounding on my door.

“We found him in the dumpster this morning.”

“Sorry?”

“The guy, Mr. Mangino, that’s where we found him.”

“Oh.” I had been talking about Michael and thinking about Dreo and had not been listening at all.

“Dr. Qells?”

“I’m sorry, did you say that he fell from my fire escape into the dumpster?”

“Yes.”

I had to wrap my brain around that. “Amazing.”

“How so?”

“No, nothing, it’s just… tidy.” I shrugged. “I mean, of all the places he could fall, right? ”

He looked at me like I was nuts.

But it was tidy, no matter how both detectives were looking at me.

I coughed. “Why do you think he fell from my fire escape?”

“The medical examiner did a quick calculation of how far he would have had to have fallen to account for his injuries.”

“But he could have just as easily fallen from the fourth floor.”

“Perhaps, but—”

“Detective Lee.”

All three of us turned and looked at the CSI tech holding a baggie with a gun that had a silencer attached to it.

“Okay, so that answers that question,” Detective Haddock said as I turned to look at him. “Unless that weapon is yours, Dr. Qells.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Didn’t think so.”

There had been a man with a gun on my fire escape. It was just so strange.

“Did he slip?” I asked because it was all I could think of.

“We believe so, yes.”

“What a crappy way to go.”

No one contradicted me.

“How did you even find him?”

“Apparently Mr. and Mrs. Grace up in 801 had some friends over last night to celebrate a promotion Mrs. Grace got at work. They had a lot of bulk trash to take out this morning that wouldn’t fit down the chute.”

“That’s horrible,” I said, thinking how God-awful it must have been to find a dead man in the trash the morning after.

“They’re both still pretty shaken.”

I bet they were.

The crime scene people were very efficient and confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that Alfred Mangino had indeed been on my fire escape the night before. Along with recovering a gun, they had footprints, several cigarette butts, like he’d been waiting awhile outside, and a partially smeared handprint on my window glass that looked, they said, like that was where he had been leaning when he lost his balance.

“How did he lose his balance and fall over the railing?”

“Your guess is as good as ours right this second, Dr. Qells. When we know more, you will too,” Detective Lee told me.

“We’ll have to check the registration on the gun to see who it belongs to, but chances are good that the trace will lead to Mangino,” Haddock chimed in.

I nodded.

“So Mr. Mangino was a stranger to you?”

I had already answered that question one or two or ten million times by then, but that was okay. He was either being thorough or hoping my story would change. “Yes.”

“Well, Dr. Qells, so that you’re aware, Mr. Mangino is in our system. That’s why we were able to ID him so quickly from prints he left behind here.”

“Who was he?”

“Mr. Mangino was a contract killer, and we believe he was here to take your life.”

“Why?”

“We were hoping you could supply the reason.”

“I can’t. I’m not interesting enough for anyone to want to kill. There has to be some mistake.”

“And yet he was on your fire escape.”

“Huh.”

“Pardon me for saying, but you don’t seem all that concerned. You should be terrified.”

“I haven’t had any coffee yet,” I said by way of explanation. “I’m barely awake, and I cannot stress enough that there really has to be another explanation because seriously”—I put my hand on my chest—“not hit man fodder. And my life is not a movie, and I haven’t received any microfilm or witnessed a mob hit or anything remotely interesting in the least. You need to be looking for something besides me.”

“Who the hell is in charge of this clusterfuck?”

My head snapped up as both detectives rose to greet the man walking into my apartment. I had recognized the voice but was waiting for him to see me. He looked good, one of Duncan’s oldest friends whom I had once upon a time spent a lot of time with. It made me sad that he didn’t even realize he was in my apartment, but why would he? Duncan and I had always gone to his and his wife Lisa’s house and not ever invited them over to mine. My ex and I were only supposed to be friends, just buddies hanging out, nothing more. And once Duncan had walked out of my life, I had never seen either Jimmy or Lisa again. It was sad, really, but understandable. Duncan had not even been able to trust his friends with the truth of his homosexuality, though I had a feeling that at least Lisa had known. As it was, I had no doubt that James O’Meara had no clue that he was standing in my apartment.

When I saw Jimmy’s eyes scan the room, I waved from where I was in the kitchen. It took him a minute to realize whom he was looking at. I was out of place, so his brain had to wrap around it, make sense of things, and take inventory before he spoke.

“Nate?” he said after a few minutes.

“Detective.” I smiled, playing it cool, not wanting to assume we were still friendly after so long.

He came forward fast but stopped himself before he took the fateful last step to hug me hello.

I smiled.

He just stared.

It was awkward.

“Detective O’Meara,” I heard Detective Lassiter ask, “you know Dr. Qells?”

A heartbeat of time passed.

“Oh shit.” Jimmy caught his breath, suddenly grabbing hold of my shoulder tight, his eyes locked on mine. “Oh God, Nate.”

He sounded so startled, having jerked like he was electrocuted. “What’s the matter?”

“Nate Qells.”

“Yeah, that’s my name,” I agreed.

His pale-blue eyes absorbed my face, and I realized how tired he looked. He was not a classically handsome man, but with the deep laugh lines, his crooked, lazy smile, and his curling dark-brown hair, he was so adorable that you just wanted to take him home and cook for him. And lots of women wanted to. And lots of women hit on him until they saw his wife. No one messed with Lisa O’Meara. For one, she was gorgeous, all long, brown hair and huge brown eyes, and for another, she was damn scary. She liked to explain that since she was Sicilian, she would cut you as soon as look at you. I had always rolled my eyes. She had pinched my cheek in return. Thinking about her made me smile. I had enjoyed getting to know her and spending time with her.

“Oh fuck me,” he groaned, letting his head fall forward.

I snorted out a laugh.

“What’s wrong, Detective?”

He let me go before lacing his fingers on the top of his head as he looked at the two younger policemen. “This is Nate Qells, and he’s a really good friend of Detective Stiel.”

Both heads swiveled to me.

“Oh shit.” Detective Lee actually trembled. “Oh fuck me.”

“Oh God,” Detective Haddock groaned, seconding his partner’s reaction. “Sir, your friend, Detective Stiel… he hates me.”

“I very much doubt that. He can just be a little intense at times,” I explained.

The look I got made me smile wide.

“You don’t understand.”

They were all standing in my living room because someone, supposedly a contract killer, had tried to kill me and only failed because he’d taken a header off my fire escape. But all that was secondary to the fear that my ex was inspiring in three grown men.

Detective Haddock was possibly going to be sick, Detective Lee as well. Jimmy was massaging the bridge of his nose, groaning. And I got it. Families and friends of policemen in the line of fire were scary for everyone but worse for these guys because of Duncan. My ex-boyfriend was frightening, and there was no nice way to put it. No one wanted to be on his bad side, and now here was Jimmy explaining to the two detectives that Duncan and I were close. They were trying not to pee themselves, and they had been so macho with me. I was trying really hard not to smile.

“I have an idea,” I suggested brightly, all three men turning to look at me. “How about we just don’t tell him about any of this.”

No one made a sound.

“It would be for the best, wouldn’t it?”

Jimmy wanted to. I could tell from the tilt of his head, the way he had his eyes all scrunched up, the soft noise that told me he was trying to work it out, rationalize what could be said if he was ever caught.

“I think it’s a phenomenal idea,” Detective Haddock chimed in. “There’s no reason he would be looking into our cases anyway since he’s in major crimes now.”

I looked at Jimmy. “Duncan moved to major crimes? Why?”

He nodded, forced a smile. “He, um—” He cleared his throat.
“—can’t do homicide if… you know…. It’s just not that easy if you don’t have… anyway, he can’t do homicide anymore.”

“Okay.” I had no idea what was going on there, but since it was really none of my business, I let it go.

“So, hey.” He brightened. “My daughter Joanna is moving home from Sydney, and we’re having a party for her on Sat—”

“Oh good for you, Jimmy,” I cut him off but smiled as I did it. “I know her being so far away has been killing you.”

He swallowed hard. “It has, but now it’s—it’s okay. But we’re having a coming home party for her, and we’d love it if you came by.”

“Well, I have a funeral to go to, so unfortunately, I’m going to have to decline, but thank you for the invitation.”

“A funeral.” His brows furrowed. “I’m sorry. Who passed, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Friend of mine, his boss and some friends. You guys probably heard about it. Vincent Romelli and some of the men who worked for him. I’m friends with Andreo Fiore.”

Beats of time—it was almost like I felt them tick off between us.

“Andreo Fiore…. We knew he lived in this building, but… you know him?”

“Yeah, I know him and his nephew. They were both over here last night, which makes this whole thing, some guy on my fire escape, a little creepier, doesn’t it?”

“It does something.” Jimmy nodded, back to rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Uhm—so are we agreed, then?” Detective Haddock interrupted softly. “We’re not gonna tell Detective Stiel about this, right?”

He got a resounding no as my front door opened and an officer leaned in.

“We’ve got a kid out here that wants to come in. Yes or no?”

Jimmy gave him a wave. A second later Michael Fiore tumbled back into my apartment, dressed, backpack slung over his shoulder, and looking terrified.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Come here.”

He was white as a sheet, and I thought maybe I understood. Policemen had probably come to tell him when his mother had died in her car accident.

When he reached me, he took hold of the hem of my T-shirt and looked into my face.

“I’m fine.” I gave his cheek a pat. “And I will feed you. Put the bag down and get out the eggs.”

He nodded, dumped the backpack on the counter, and started moving around in my kitchen loudly.

“I have to start cooking, if that’s okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Jimmy told me, offering me his hand. “We’ve got all we need. The crime scene guys’ll be out of here soon as they can, okay? The officers are just here ’cause they gotta be as long as the CSI guys are, but… we’re done.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, accepting the camaraderie for what it was, old time’s sake, fingers gripping tight as we shook. “It was nice to see you, Detec—”

“Jimmy,” he corrected, shaking my hand hard. “And it was great to see you too, Nate. I just wish the circumstances were the right ones.”

“Me too,” I agreed.

“He looked good.” Jimmy coughed softly. “When you two were hangin’ out.”

Meaning Duncan, of course—Duncan had looked good. It was a really nice thing for him to say.

He dropped my hand then and turned and yelled, and everyone stated moving around me fast, a swirl of activity. The other two detectives said they would be in touch and let me know about any new developments the second they learned about any. I thanked them for the weirdest morning in a very long time and then pulled my omelet pan from the others hanging on the rack above the island in my kitchen. People started running back and forth, trying, I was sure, to wrap up and get out of my house.

“I’ll pour you some coffee and you can tell me what the hell is going on,” Michael told me.

The coffee was the best idea he ever had.

A
T
WORK
, I ran my classes through test reviews and collected papers and heard excuses. I told Ashton what I thought of his novel thus far—I was enjoying it, so it was easy to give good feedback—and told him where I thought some of the plot holes were.

“Plot holes.” He was indignant.

“Don’t fall in love with your own words or you’ll never be able to change them,” I cautioned him.

“Yes, but, plot holes?”

I bumped him with my shoulder on the way out of my office.

In my intro classes, we were doing oral reports, and I listened and asked questions and made sure the kids were looking at me instead of the vastness of the room with its stadium seating and a sea of faces. When I was smiling at them and nodding, nerves seemed to settle.

When I had my office hours, I was surprised to see Sanderson Vaughn walk into my office, dressed as always like something out of a Harlequin romance novel, the very ideal of what English professors looked like. Corduroy elbow patches on the tweed sports coat, jeans, loafers, tie, and a blue button-down oxford. Before he could say a word, I put up my hand.