I don't think Les's death really hit me until the next morning. I had barely known him, but he had been considerate and helpful to me. And he seemed such a dedicated employee. It would be a real loss to the co-op.
I'd taken Ben to pre-school and had come back to do some work in my home office. I had a couple of assignments to complete for two of my corporate clients. One had asked me to draft their annual report from material they had given me. The reports they had asked me to use were full of jargon and odd bureaucratic phrases that might have meant something to the staff members who wrote them, but not to anyone else. They were hard to read, but I enjoyed the challenge of trying to keep the meaning, while turning the language into something a layperson would understand. The other assignment was a bit more fun—a couple of articles for an employee newsletter.
Not exactly the investigative stories I had wanted to do when I started journalism school. But the work paid the bills and I still took satisfaction from turning a bit of jargony nonsense into prose that anyone could understand.
I hadn't completed as much as I had planned, thanks to all the disruption of moving. So I settled down to finish as much as possible before it was time to pick up Ben from pre-school.
I was so deeply into my editing work on the annual report that it took me a moment to realize someone was knocking on the apartment door. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I'd been sitting at my keyboard for over three hours. Good time for a break, I thought, heading to open the door.
I was pleased to see Mariana and even more pleased to smell the scent of warm chocolate. She was holding a plate of cookies. “I was doing some baking and thought you might like these,” she said, “or at least I thought your little boy would.”
“I think we'll all like them,” I said. “They smell wonderful.”
“Good. Are you doing all right? I know last night must have been rough.”
“It was,” I admitted. “But worse for Les. What a terrible thing to have happened. You heard he didn't make it?” She nodded. “Look,” I said, “would you like to come in? I could make some tea.”
“If you're sure I'm not interrupting. Some of us do tend to drop into each other's homes all the time, but I'm sure you have lots to do.”
“Well, I'm ready for a cup of tea, and I'd love to have your company. I really appreciated your help last night. I was pretty upset.”
“I can imagine how awful it must have been.” She followed me into the living room. “Oh, this is charming. It's funny; most of the units have the same layout, but everyone decorates them differently, so they each look different. That loveseat looks like it was made for this room.”
“Hardly. We're not in the custom furniture income bracket. But I was glad it fit so well. And the bookcase is exactly the right length for the wall. That was lucky. They're both fairly new. My mother bought them when she and my dad sold their house and moved into a townhouse. Their old furniture was too big for the new place.”
Seeing her questioning look, I said, “She died last year.” I felt tears gathering in my eyes again and quickly changed the subject. “I'll just get the tea on. And let me unwrap these lovely cookies.”
Mariana had brought the cookies over on a plate covered with a linen tea towel. I thought for a moment about the towel I had pressed to the wound on Les's head and shuddered.
“Gorgeous plate,” I said, as I removed the covering. The plate was made of delicate china and the soft pink and blue flowers looked hand-painted.
“It was my grandmother's,” she said. “I inherited her china and some of her other things.”
“Then let me put these on one of my plates and give this back to you,” I said quickly. “Ben's a good kid, and pretty careful with things. But you know a four-year-old and a kitten are just not a good fit with family heirlooms.”
As if on cue, Maui came trotting into the living room. His nose twitched at all the unfamiliar smells—Mariana's perfume, the cookies, the still-new smell of the co-op apartment.
“What a sweet kitten,” Mariana said, holding out her hand toward Maui. He backed away.
“He's pretty shy around strangers,” I said. “He usually hides when people come over. He and Ben are good buddies, though. My two babies.”
I put the tea and cups on the low coffee table in the living room and went back for the plate of cookies.
“Is Ben with his father today?” she asked casually. “Or out with your father?”
Aha, I thought, I see the reason for the cookies. Mariana was about my father's age. And my father was very good-looking, with a full head of silver hair and very dark eyes. Despite his arthritis, he was still pretty fit. Several of the women in our old townhouse complex had seemed to be interested.
“Ben goes to pre-school a couple of days a week,” I answered. “And Dad has gone to the pool at the community center. Swimming is one of the exercises he can do even when his arthritis is bad. It's nice to have a pool so close.”
“Oh, it is,” Mariana agreed. “That's one of the things I love about this neighborhood. I'm often down at the community center to use the library. I've been working out at the fitness center too. And I love the pool. I'm there a lot. Maybe I'll run into your father there sometime. I like to keep fit.”
Looking at her comfortably rounded body, I questioned her fitness level. But I was willing to bet Dad was going to run into Mariana at the community center a lot. I didn't think that he was over my mother yet. But there was no denying Mariana was a lively, fun woman. And she was pretty. Her round face had very few wrinkles, and her dark hair, though obviously dyed, was shiny and thick. Her dark eyes were warm and friendly.
The outfit she wore seemed too elegant for visiting neighbors. Today she was dressed in a slim, long cotton dress in green, with a darker cardigan. Sandals in a soft, dark-brown leather completed the look. Hardly the outfit I would have chosen to bake in, if I even owned such a pretty dress.
I wondered if the gorgeous outfit was for my father's benefit, or if she just dressed beautifully all the time.
Mariana's green sweater reminded me of Gwen's last night. I shuddered again as I remembered her wiping her bloody hands on that sweater. I was willing to bet she would never wear it again. I had thrown my own bloodstained clothes in the garbage as soon as I could strip them off. I hoped the blood hadn't transferred to Mariana's clothes when she comforted me.
I was just pouring the tea when someone else knocked on the door. Because the outside buzzer hadn't rung, I was expecting it to be Gwen or someone else from the co-op. I pulled open the door with a smile on my face.
I'd never before seen the man at my door, but he was certainly pleasant to look at. Black hair, cut well enough to show just a hint of wave. Olive skin that had spent time in the sun this summer. A strong nose that wouldn't have looked out of place on an ancient statue. Cheekbones to die for. And golden eyes like an eagle.
He was wearing a beautiful gray suit, unusual in this casual co-op. It stretched over his broad shoulders but didn't hang loose on his slim torso. I wasn't much of a judge of men's clothing but the suit looked made for him. Or maybe he was just the perfect size.
Well, if the co-op has guys that look like this, I might start dressing up too, I thought. I looked up at him.
“Rebecca Butler?” he asked. I nodded, still smiling.
That was before I noticed that the young police officer I'd met last night was standing behind him. And that the man I'd been ogling was holding police identification in front of my face.
“I'm Sergeant D'Onofrio. I just have a few questions I wanted to ask you.”
“About Les? Sure. And this is my neighbor, Mariana Cole. She was there last night too.”
“Yes, I have you on the list,” he said to her. “But I'd like to interview you separately.”
“Oh, sure,” Mariana said, standing up. “I just live next door. Come over when you're ready.”
The officers declined the tea I offered them but did sit down so they weren't towering over me.
"You and Ms. Gwendolyn Arsenault found Mr. Walter?” D'Onofrio began.
“Mr. Walter? Oh, Les. I didn't know his last name. I've just moved in to this building a little while ago. No, I found him. I went to get Gwen after I'd called 911.”
“I gather you told the emergency dispatcher that there had been an accident. You asked for an ambulance but not police. Can you tell me why you thought it was an accident?”
“Well, I just assumed. The office's been a mess every time I saw it. I just thought the boxes had fallen when Les tried to get something out of them or move them.”
“And yet, when Ms. Arsenault came into the office, she thought that there had been a break-in or that someone had been in the office. Do you know why that was?”
“Gwen did say that. I guess there had been some incidents in the past. I didn't know about them. As I said, I'm new to the building.”
“I've been told that Mr. Walter was instrumental in helping you move into the building. Yet you say you didn't know him.” D'Onofrio was frowning.
“Well, he was the person who took my application and showed me around the apartment. He seemed like a good manager who really cared about the co-op. And he was always willing to be helpful.”
“I've also been told he gave you preferential treatment for this apartment and a parking space.”
I frowned. “No. I've been on the waiting list for a year. And then my father needed a wheelchair-accessible apartment. We were lucky to get this place. But the only other family I've heard about was smaller and didn't need wheelchair access. I guess there must have been others. But I'm sure the process was fair.”
"And the parking space?” D'Onofrio asked.
“I don't know. A parking spot in the underground garage comes with the apartment. Les mentioned something about wanting it to be convenient for my father's wheelchair. I don't know if anyone else wanted that spot. I certainly didn't ask for any particular parking spot.”
“So you're saying there wasn't any particular relationship between you and Mr. Walter?” he continued.
“Yes, that's what I'm saying. I just met the man. I know he listed the office assistant as a contact in his personnel file but I don't know what their relationship is.”
He glanced at his notebook. “Did you notice if Ms. Arsenault had blood on her clothing when you went to get her?”
“When I went to get her? No, of course not. Surely you don't suspect she had anything to do with this.”
I remembered Gwen wiping her bloody hands on the sleeves of her sweater. But that had been later, after we'd been trying to help Les.
D'onofrio's golden eyes looked at me the way I imagined an eagle might look at his prey. “And Ms. Cole? Did she appear to have blood on her clothing?”
“I don't think so.” I remembered Mariana hugging me in the hall. “Well, maybe from me. I got some blood on my clothes when I tried to give Les first aid.”
“Yes, I gather, Ms. Butler, that you were completely covered in blood.”
I gulped. “There . . . there was a lot of blood. Head wounds seem to bleed a lot. Anyway, I was trying to stop the bleeding before the ambulance got there. Gwen had a tea towel. I think she was doing dishes when I went to get her. I used it to try to stop the bleeding. I don't know what happened to it.”
"We'll find it if it's still in the office. What happened to the clothes you were wearing that night?” he asked.
“I . . . I threw them out. They were covered in blood.” I could feel tears gathering in my eyes. “I never wanted to see them again. Even if I'd washed them, I'd always think about Les.”
I thought I saw a glimpse of sympathy in his eyes. But he went on. “And these clothes, you put them where?
“In the dumpster out back.” He wrote something in his notebook. “They might still be in there. I don't know when the garbage gets collected.”
He made another note in his book and looked at me again.
“Can you tell me why you were in the office so late at night?”
I could feel myself blushing. “Um, I wanted to ask Les something. And it wasn't really late. The co-op meeting had just finished.”
“Is it true that you had gone down to talk to Mr. Walter because you had just heard that the co-op members believed that you had used sexual favors to get your apartment?”
Sexual favors? That sounded oddly quaint. I might have laughed if I hadn't been so embarrassed. I could feel my face getting even redder. “I don't know what all the co-op members believe. But, yes, Naomi, my neighbor, told me she had heard that. It was nonsense, of course.”
“And I believe she told you she had heard this from Mr. Walter. And you wanted to confront him about it.”
The word “confront” caught me. “No.” I could hear my voice shaking. “I just wanted to ask him what he'd heard and to talk to him about it. I'm starting to get the impression there are problems in this co-op. I don't know how that rumor started. But I don't think it was Les. He was a nice man.”
There were tears in my eyes now. Ever since my mother died, I found I was much more emotional than usual. A symptom of grief, I suppose. And sometimes, if I started to cry, I found it hard to stop. I didn't want to lose it in front of this police officer.
The golden eyes regarded me with what looked like suspicion. “You seem very upset about someone you didn't know very well.”
“I found him. I don't know about you, but I don't see dead bodies every day.”
I wasn't sure what to think about the look he gave me. “We'll want you to come in to make a formal statement,” he said, “and we'll need to take your fingerprints so we can compare them to the others we found.”
We made arrangements for me to go to the station in the morning. I was sure the fingerprint ink would be black, not blood red, but I couldn't help feeling that, for some time to come, my hands and my memories would be stained with the effect of Les's death.