Free Fall

24

Christine takes a moment but winds up on the same page as Ceepak.

“The reason Dr. Rosen was so tired this morning was because, last night, Monae drove him to The Trattoria, a restaurant on Ocean Avenue.”

The Trattoria is one of Sea Haven’s swankiest dining spots. They charge so much, they only have like ten tables and a back room for “private affairs.”

“Michael Rosen had booked the restaurant’s private room so he could share what he called ‘exciting news’ with his father and brother. Judith and Little Arnie weren’t invited. When Dr. Rosen arrived at the restaurant, Michael told Monae to ‘order anything she wanted’ in the front dining room while the Rosens had their dinner.”

“Did Monae mention anything about this dinner when you relieved her this morning?”

“A little. And then, seeing how tired and upset Dr. Rosen was, I have a feeling that, whatever Michael’s big news was, it didn’t go over very well.”

“So, after you talked about the dinner and he drank his Ensure, you gave Dr. Rosen his pills?”

“That’s right. And he drifted back to sleep.” Christine’s voice catches. “He never woke up. A few minutes later, I was in the kitchen, making tea, when I heard his bed rattling. I thought maybe he was trying to get up and go to the bathroom. I looked in on him. He seemed to be resting peacefully. So, I went ahead and fixed my tea. When I was done, I went back out and …”

“He was dead,” Ceepak says, so she doesn’t have to. “Thank you, Christine. I know it’s difficult to relive those final moments but your recollection could prove important. Why don’t you go finish packing your belongings into your car?”

“But where am I going? The motel again?”

“Afraid not,” I say, fishing my key ring out of my pocket. “Too many tourists in town. You’re going to stay at my place until we come up with something better.”

Christine looks either confused or interested. One of those.

“I’m going to bunk with the Ceepaks,” I add quickly. “Do you know the Sea Village Apartment Complex?”

“Sure. It used to be a motel, right?”

Christine is correct. But the motel owners realized they wouldn’t have to work so hard sanitizing toilets for people’s protection if they charged by the month instead of the week.

“I’m in one-eleven. There’s a parking spot right outside the door. Sorry about the bed. I forgot to make it this morning. Oh, you might want to pick up some toilet paper, too. I was running a little low.”

Christine surprises me with another hug.

“Thank you, Danny.”

She scurries off into the house.

“So,” I say, “should we call Dr. Kurth?”

“Roger that,” says Ceepak, shifting back into Robocop mode. “The rattling of his bed prior to his death adds fuel to my mother’s suspicions. It could have been death throes, the sudden, violent movements those dying often make immediately prior to their passing …”

“Or?”

“It could’ve been a convulsion, Danny. From cyanide poisoning.”

And so we call Dr. Kurth.

Ceepak has her office, home, and cell numbers.

Yes, over the past few years, we’ve kept the county medical examiner’s office kind of busy.

We finally reach her on her cell. At her daughter’s soccer game. Ceepak puts her on speakerphone.

“Sorry to disturb you, Rebecca.”

“What’s up, John?”

“We need a quick autopsy.”

There is an awkward pause.

So Ceepak continues. “Arnold Rosen passed away this morning.”

“The dentist?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Wasn’t he like a hundred years old?”

“Ninety-four.”

“And you want me to do an autopsy on a ninety-four year old dentist because …?”

“Suspicions have been aroused regarding the circumstances of his death.”

So far, so good. Ceepak hasn’t had to say, “Because my mommy told me.”

“I don’t know, John …”

“You could limit the toxicology screen.”

“To what?”

“Cyanide poisoning.”

“Seriously? Who would want to poison a ninety-four-year-old man?”

“Dr. Kurth?”

“Yes, John?”

“If you find the poison, I promise you, Danny and I will move heaven and earth to find the answer to that question.”

Another pause.

Maybe a sigh.

Hard to tell on a cell phone.

“Dr. Rosen is Jewish, correct?” says Dr. Kurth.

“Roger that.”

“Okay. They’re going to want to hold his funeral ASAP. If we’re doing this, we need to do it today.”

Yet another pause. So I pipe up. “Are we doing it?”

“Yes,” says Dr. Kurth. “Where’s the body?”

Ceepak looks at me. I shrug. The hearse we saw earlier didn’t have anything like “Fred’s Funeral Home” decals plastered all over it.

“We’ll get back to you with that information,” says Ceepak.

“Hurry. My other daughter’s birthday is today. We’re doing a cookout and ball bounce.”

“Thank you, Rebecca.”

“You boys owe me one.”

“Roger that,” I say while Ceepak nods.

He thumbs off the phone.

We both look back at the beach house.

Now it’s Ceepak’s turn to sigh.

Because he knows we have to walk back inside and say, “Excuse us, where is your father’s dead body? We’d like to pump his stomach.”

Should be fun.