Catherine Harlow, Private Investigations has had a minor face-lift. I notice it as soon as I open the door. The pleasant, lemony smell of furniture polish hits me immediately. Armed with copies of the McElroy files I arrive back at my office around four-thirty to find that Myrtle has done a fantastic job of tidying up; as a nice touch, she has put fresh flowers in a vase on my desk as well as on her own smaller one. Even the plants have semi-revived due to her special maternal touch. It looks good; how long it will stay that way is something else entirely.
Myrtle greets me by coming out of the bathroom wearing rubber gloves and carrying a bucket and mop.
“Good, you’re back.”
“Wow, Myrtle, you are one hell of a lady.” I smile, putting down my files on a shiny, neat desk.
“More like one hell of a cleaning lady, miss,” she frowns. “I’m away for two weeks visiting my cousins and their grandbabies and this place looks as if a tornado hit it not once but twice. You should at least throw out the half-empty cartons of food. Haven’t you heard of rats? This is New York City, you know.”
Roaches would be the more likely culprits, but the owner of the building is a good guy who checks for what he calls “those in-door pest things” every two weeks. He’s from Italy and there isn’t a rat or a roach that would dare cross him. He’s that vigilant about his property.
“Yes ma’am,” I say like a chastised middle-school-er. “Thank you for cleaning up.”
That gets a smile from Mrs. Myrtle Goldberg Tuttle and an announcement.
“That nice young Detective Benigni was here. He stepped out to get something but he’ll be back in about twenty minutes.” Then she coyly adds, “Do you want to freshen up, honey?”
I size up the situation and her intention. “Myrtle,” I say, “if you are thinking that Detective Benigni is here for a romantic assignation of any kind, get it out of your head. I’m helping him on a case, that’s why he came here. I don’t need to freshen up. I’ve already had two showers today so I’m going to assume that I’m still fresh.”
“But honey, you were married and…”
“Were is the key word here, Myrtle, we were married and we were divorced over four years ago.”
Myrtle looks at me and sighs. I know she has some Jewish mother idea of my getting back together with Will and living happily ever after. That’s not going to happen. Occasional sex, yes. Friends, sure, most of the time anyway. Married? Never again.
“It’s not an option, Myrtle, not an option at all,” I say to end the conversation as I start to check my email. But Myrtle seems intent on having the last word.
“Well, you’re not getting any younger and he is familiar territory if you know what I mean.”
These are both statements I know all too well so I have no answer. Thanks Myrtle.
****
I’m re-reading the file on Joshua McElroy when Will steps through my office doorway. He’s carrying a large bag of chips and a Pepsi,which are either his snack or a late lunch on the run. Truthfully he has some bad eating habits for a guy who expected a wife to be a gourmet cook. I wonder what happened to his chicken cacciatore cooking police partner, Debbie.
“Hi Myrtle,” he says and she acknowledges him with a nod and a big, motherly smile. Like most women, she really adores him.
“Cate, have you got a few minutes?” He gets right to the point. If Myrtle had any hope of sparks flying between us she’s got to be disappointed. I’m a little bit disappointed too; no sarcastic banter, no ha-ha’s with which to regal me about dumb stuff at the precinct or on the streets. He’s just all business.
“Sure.” Putting down the file and leaning back in my chair I give Will my full professional attention and gesture him to the chair in front of my desk.
“An hour before the official M.E.'s report was sent over to my office I received a special delivery letter with the seal of the Archbishop of New York asking about the body. That was a shock since I didn’t have the report from Giles yet. Seems the bishop got some very detailed information about the dead man with the priest collar. His letter says that a sealed note was slipped under the door of his residence early this morning. Now that’s interesting, but disturbing. Who had this type of info except the officers on the scene, you, me, Giles, and the people down at the morgue, right? I’m pretty sure the info didn’t come from my people. It’s always possible but I seriously doubt it.”
“Interesting,’’ I nod. Will is good at his job.
He continues.
“Now we can eliminate the poor guy who found the body. The man just said he saw what he thought was a deer and went to see if it was still alive. When it turned out to be a naked human body he called 911. He was totally freaked by the scene and he didn’t stay near the body long enough to see any details. My officers found him throwing up outside his car. And, for want of a better phrase, there was no one else around that area to make any intimate discoveries such as noticing that the guy’s penis had been sliced off and shoved into his mouth. Neither the man who found the body nor my officers saw anyone else. My people checked the area thoroughly and they found no other person or evidence of anyone else.” He pauses. “It may have come from the M.E.'s office.”
“Giles? Are you saying Giles gave the information to the archbishop's office?"
I lean forward in surprise.
“No. Giles is a consummate professional and scrupulous in following the letter of the law. Whatever my own personal dislikes are about any relationship that may have existed between you and the M.E. have nothing to do with my respect for his integrity and his professionalism. I would never suspect him, understand?”
I do understand even though I dislike his positive assertion that I no longer have a relationship with Giles. Will Benigni is fair and a good judge of a person's integrity. I decide to let it pass.
“Well, then who?” I ask settling back in the chair again. “Who do you think supplied the detailed information about this body to the bishop?”
He looks out the double windows of my office. There are nesting turtledoves in an empty flowerpot on my fire escape. The female dove sits and warms two newly hatched chicks in the well-made nest while the male sits on a utility pole by the street keeping watch for any dangers. When I've been here in the mornings I can hear the cooing owl-like sounds they make. I always put seeds on the window ledge for them. They trust me and they know they’re safe this high up. I like having them here.
“Will? Who do you think it could be?”
“I don't know, maybe some new jerk working there who finds this case sensational and ghoulish enough to talk about it; maybe some morgue employee who’s an overzealous church-goer and feels compelled to tell what's going on. But, that seriously, doesn’t make a lot of sense because Giles picks his staff with special care. Most of them who come into contact with the bodies, and the reports on them, have been with his office for at least ten years."
“Are you going to ask Giles about it? There might be someone working there; someone we don’t really know who's looking for some sort of attention, or maybe there's a temporary assistant clerk.”
Even as I say this I know Giles would never have anyone in his office who he felt was untrustworthy. He is, as Will says, scrupulous and professional and personally chooses the people who work with him.
Will turns back to face me. “Yeah, I am going to give him a call. Who knows? I might get lucky. Then Giles can fire the ass who did it and I can charge the fired bastard with case-tampering.” He gets up. “After that call I’ll have to make another one to the archbishop’s secretary and see if I can somehow twist the story and slur the details.”
I smile at him. “You’re good at slurring details. Use your God-given charm.”
He just glances at me wondering if I’m being sarcastic or just wishing him luck. It’s a little of both on my part.
Looking at Myrtle he says his usual goodbye.
“Myrtle, sweetheart, what’s said here stays here.”
She responds as she always does. “What was said? I didn’t hear a word.”