Free Fall

46

We hurry back to Sea Haven in Ceepak’s hot wheels detective car because it’s time to sit down with Christine and her lawyer.

“Ceepak. Boyle.” This from the pit bull Harvey Nussbaum.

“Mr. Nussbaum,” says Ceepak, extending his hand.

I’m checking out Christine. Her eyes are bugging out of her head like a Muppet’s Ping-Pong eyeballs. She is, to quote Judith, effing pissed.

I remember something else Judith said: “Be careful. That girl has an extremely short fuse. It’s only a matter of time before she hurts somebody else.”

Is it true?

Or was Judith just saying that so we’d have our doubts about helping Christine, a woman whom Judith had vowed in her drunken rant would “get hers”?

“Couple things before we do the interview,” says Nussbaum, touching the nosepiece of his designer frame glasses with his finger. “One: You should know, Detective Ceepak, your mother is, once again, providing Ms. Lemonopolous with financial assistance. She is loaning her the money to pay my fees until Dr. Rosen’s estate cuts Christine that check for fifty thousand dollars.”

“Good to know.”

“Is this going to create a problem for us?”

“I don’t see how it can,” says Ceepak. “Ms. Lemonopolous is entitled to an attorney and, if past experience is any indication, you are an excellent choice for her legal representation. I am glad that my mother has chosen to spend her money to see that justice is administered fairly, without fear or favoritism.”

Nussbaum just sort of stares at Ceepak for a second or two.

“You were a Boy Scout, am I right?”

“Yes, sir. Eagle.”

“Whatever. Item two.” He reaches into the pocket of his creased Levi’s.

And pulls out the keys to my apartment. I recognize my Mr. Mets key fob.

Nussbaum hands me my keys.

“Ms. Lemonopolous will be temporarily residing at the Mussel Beach motel until this matter reaches a satisfactory conclusion.”

“Is my mother advancing money for the lodging as well?” asks Ceepak.

“You have a problem with that aspect of our arrangements?”

“No, sir. It’s all good.”

“Groovy. Okay, where’s the interrogation room?”

“Actually,” I say, “we call it the ‘interview’ room.”

Nussbaum shrugs. “Whatever, Boyle. And remember, I get paid by the hour.” He hooks a thumb in Ceepak’s direction. “You’re costing his mother money.”

I have to go first because I was the detective in charge of calling all those families Christine used to work for.

“In cases of poisoning, when the deceased is an elderly individual,” I say, trying to remember what Ceepak told me earlier in the day, “it is wise and prudent to look into the history of all the victim’s caregivers.”

I lean on the word all so Christine knows we’re checking out Monae and Joy Kochman, too.

Well, we will be.

Eventually.

“Unfortunately,” says Ceepak, who, you remember, will not lie or even fudge, “due to the time constraints of our investigation, so far we have only been able to reach out to the families of those you used to work for.”

“May we ask why?” says Nussbaum, who, I’m guessing, is going to be Christine’s mouthpiece today.

“Certainly,” says Ceepak. “Danny?”

I hate when he does that.

“Um, Joy Kochman, and a few other individuals, suggested that your former clients died under suspicious circumstances and that you were mentioned in each of the deceased person’s wills.”

“You have any proof for these fairy tales?” asks Nussbaum.

“No, sir.”

“Good. Get back to us when you do. Unless you want us to sue you boys, the SHPD, and all of Sea Haven Township for slander.”

I wonder if Mrs. Ceepak would pay for our lawyers, too.

“What else?” says Nussbaum.

“Well,” says Ceepak, “as we are still in the early stages of our investigation, we would appreciate any details Christine might give as to what life was like inside Dr. Rosen’s home. I’m particularly interested in your impressions of Michael, David, and Judith Rosen.”

“Why?” says Nussbaum. “Are they suspects?”

“If they are,” I say, so Ceepak doesn’t have to blurt out the truth again, “that would be a good thing for your client, no?”

Nussbaum squints at me. Considers what I just said.

“Okay, Christine. Tell ’em what you can.”

“Well,” she starts. “I guess you could say neither of his two sons really looked after Dr. Rosen all that much.”

“How so?” says Ceepak.

“He used to tell me stories. How, before he broke his hip, he lived in that big house all by himself. Michael was off in Hollywood and only came home to Sea Haven maybe once a year. David and Judith lived less than five miles away, but they hardly ever stopped by just to say hello. Dr. Rosen only saw them when they needed money.”

“How did that make him feel?” says Ceepak, sounding like this police psychiatrist they sent me to after I had to shoot a man to stop him from killing Rita, back before she became Ceepak’s wife.

“Not seeing Little Arnie broke his heart. When I worked for him, Dr. Rosen was always asking me to clip out any newspaper stories about the Philadelphia Phillies. They were Little Arnie’s favorite team. Dr. Rosen hoped to give those clippings to his grandson the next time he came over. He had a whole file folder filled with those sports stories. But Little Arnie never came to the house. Not once. Not while I worked there. He was too busy at school or with little league or soccer camp.”

Christine pauses.

“What are you remembering?” asks Ceepak.

Christine scrunches up her nose and lips like she doesn’t want to cry. “How David and Little Arnie always had the time to go over to Philadelphia to watch a Phillies game in person. With tickets Dr. Rosen bought for them.”

Good thing there’s a box of Kleenex on the table. Christine grabs a tissue. Blots her eyes.

“So has anybody told you guys about the pendant?”

“No,” says Ceepak.

“You’ve seen the egg-shaped monitor Dr. Rosen wears around his neck?”

“Yes, ma’am,” says Ceepak.

“Michael, of course, paid for it.”

“And Dr. Rosen agreed to wear it?”

“Yes. But only because he agreed with what Michael said to convince him: he wanted to be around when Little Arnie graduated from high school and went on to U Penn for Dental school.”

We all smile. Come on. It’s sweet.

“Anyway, Michael picked the top-of-the-line model. He has all sorts of money.”

“Even more than your mother,” cracks Nussbaum.

We all shoot him a look.

He clears his throat. “Please continue, Christine.”

“Well, what makes this particular pendant better, and more expensive, is the fact that it has a motion sensor that can detect when you’ve taken a fall. It has something to do with your rate of descent. If you bend over to put a plate in the dishwasher, it won’t go off. But if you tumble to the floor, it’ll send a signal to the control center and they’ll contact you to make sure you’re okay.”

“Is that what happened when Dr. Rosen fell?”

“Yes. He slipped in the kitchen. Didn’t answer when the pendant people tried to contact him. But they knew he was in trouble because of that sensor, so they called nine-one-one and sent in the paramedics. Like I said, Dr. Rosen was alone in that house for long stretches of time. No one came by to visit him on a regular basis. He could’ve been there on the floor for days. He could’ve died.”

Christine looks down at her hands.

“Michael saved Dr. Rosen’s life.”

My mind drifts off to the boardwalk and that scary new ride where Mr. Ceepak works.

The Free Fall.

David and Judith got theirs; the fall that should have set them free, financially, for life. Unfortunately, brother Michael snatched away their windfall with his clever little pendant.

So maybe Judith and David decided to make Dr. Rosen take another tumble. And this time, maybe they made sure he couldn’t get back up.

Maybe this time they used cyanide.