As the hydraulic lift soundlessly lowered her coffin, I thought back to a trip we’d taken to Spain. There had been a small hotel in Barcelona, just off the Ramblas. We’d strolled down the broad boulevard with all the brightly-colored flower stalls and the locals had stopped and stared at her because she was so tall and so blond. At the hotel, the concierge had told me that she was so beautiful I couldn’t deny her anything.
And now they were covering her with clods of earth.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls.
It tolls for thee.
And it tolls for me.
After the gravediggers had finished and gone, the mourners stood around and spoke in muted tones. Some birds were chirping from a nearby stand of trees. The cemetery had become very quiet. The scent of newly-mown grass mixed with the smell of freshly-dug earth. Somebody put a hand on my arm. I turned to look. It was her sister, Laura.
“Hello, Ed,” she said in a whisper. “I was hoping you would come.” Her eyes were red and she sniffled into a tissue she had wadded up in her hand.
“I wanted to see you,” I said.
She nodded and sniffled again. Then she burst out sobbing and put her arms around me. I held her and felt her body quivering. Where Alicia had been muscular and sinewy, her sister was soft and vulnerable. Two sides of the same coin.
She continued crying against my chest for a couple of minutes. Her perfume smelled like spring flowers and her hair was soft against my cheek. She was wearing a black dress with long sleeves, too warm for the day. She wasn’t as tall as Alicia but she was prettier. I suspected she wasn’t as smart.
Finally she nodded to herself and dabbed her eyes dry. She nodded again and pulled away from me.
“I’m sorry, Ed,” she managed. “Please forgive me.”
She didn’t have to ask me to forgive her.
She was four years younger than Alicia and a lot more feminine. Alicia had a hard edge about her that could turn off a man, but Laura was the wife you wanted waiting at home for you at the end of a rough day.
After she’d had a chance to regain her composure, I said, “Laura, I want you to introduce me to some of the people here.”
“Why?” she asked.
“You can figure out why.”
She pursed her lips and thought for a minute. A tiny frown line appeared on her forehead. “Do you think someone here knows something about Alicia’s death?” She obviously believed the possibility was remote, from the way she said it.
I didn’t answer her question. “Do you have the key to her apartment?”
“Yes, but why?”
“I want to take a look around.”
Her eyes widened. “But, Ed…the police have already been all over the place. What do you think you can find that they can’t?”
I snorted. If only this little innocent knew.
“I look for things in a different way.”
She shrugged. “All right, but the keys are at home. I’ll have to get them over to you.
“Never mind that. I’ll drive you home and pick up the keys. Now tell me who’s here.”
She surveyed the gathering. “Do you see that tall good-looking man in the gray suit?” She spoke in a conspiratorial tone to my shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“That’s Michael Chisolm.”
“Her boyfriend?”
She nodded.
“Who else is here?”
“That creepy-looking fellow-the one with the thinning hair.”
She indicated a man with gelled hair who stood in a hunched posture. His mother had evidently never told him to stand up straight. At first, I’d thought he was one of the undertakers.
“That’s Alicia’s boss-Stallings. He’s president of the brokerage house where she works…” She stopped and corrected herself. “Worked…”
“Introduce them to me,” I said.
She took my arm and we angled over to where Chisolm stood with two men in dark suits who looked like his subordinates.
“Michael,” Laura said. “I’d like you to meet Ed Rogan. He was…”
Chisolm cut her off. “I know who he is, Laura.”
We shook hands. His grip was firm but his skin was too smooth.
“Mr. Rogan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled without warmth. “Alicia spoke about you from time to time.”
He looked to be in his mid-fifties. He had flowing gray hair at the temples and he wore an expensively-cut Italian silk suit, probably Armani, with a red silk pocket handkerchief. His shoes were hand-made from alligator or snake or lizard or some kind of reptile that had once crawled on its belly over the face of the earth.
“Chisolm,” I said. “I need to talk to you.”
“All right,” he said with a barely-perceptible hesitation. “I was just leaving. Why don’t you walk with me back to my car?” He motioned to his men and jerked his thumb in the direction of the parking lot. “Let’s head back to the cars.”
The men nodded in acquiescence. “Sure thing, Mr. Chisolm,” one of them said.
I left Laura standing where she was and Chisolm and I ambled over a gently-sloping rise and down a gravel path to where his car was parked. He obviously wanted to show me the car. It was a Hummer. But I wasn’t very impressed because I knew only fools drive Hummers. This knowledge was imparted to me by the Edmunds. com web site where they featured a listing of the Ten Cars That Fools Drive.
When we got to his car, Chisolm stopped and turned.
“Go ahead, Mr. Rogan,” he said. “What did you want to ask me?”
I shook my head. “Not here. Not now. And in private.”
“Certainly,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you also. Here’s my card. Why don’t you come up to my office? We won’t be disturbed and we can speak privately there.”
The odds were good he was married and didn’t want to talk at home.
“Sure. That’s fine.” I pocketed his card. “I’ll give you a call.”
I headed back to where Laura was standing on the grassy rise watching us talk. There was a strange expression on her face that I couldn’t decipher.
“What do you think of Chisolm?” I asked her.
She adjusted a clip that held her hair in place. For a moment it fell loose as she swung her head back and forth. Her hair was straight and honey brown and was cut so it just touched her shoulders.
“He’s stylish and he’s certainly rich enough, but he’s not my type. Somehow I never thought he was sincere. I don’t know if he really loved Alicia.”
“Is he married?”
She nodded and looked down. “Precariously so. His wife has oodles of money and he doesn’t want to take a chance on losing it.” She rubbed the toe of her shoe on the lawn that was so even it felt like Astroturf. She said softly, “He’s had other girlfriends.”
“Including you?”
She started to giggle, then remembered where she was and checked herself. “No,” she said with a vigorous shake of her head.
“Let’s talk to Stallings,” I said.
We walked over to the man who looked like an undertaker. He was standing alone staring at the grave, somewhere deep in his own thoughts.
“Mr. Stallings,” Laura said. “This is Edward Rogan. He was Alicia’s ex-husband.”
“How do you do, Mr. Rogan,” Stallings said. He was careful not to extend his hand. “It’s a terrible tragedy. Alicia was very well respected at the firm.”
I examined his face. He wore Ben Franklin glasses on the tip of his nose, which was finely-veined with a network of red capillaries. His eyes were a watery blue. They had deep shadows under them. His voice was soft and his diction was overly precise. He wore a dark blue suit, white oxford button-down shirt, blue repp stripe tie and black wing-tips. Matter of fact, he was wearing just what I was, but I don’t think he noticed.