Apartment 19
Chapter 1
Finneas lives in the apartment building across the street.
Finneas Obi washed two teacups at the sink of Apartment 19. He was a slight man with a short chin beard. San Francisco Police Inspectors Larry Leahy and Hieu Trang accepted his offer of green tea and sat at the kitchen table. Before entering Obi’s apartment building, Larry told Hieu to look at the home across the street, yes, none other than 900 Lombard, made famous in Vertigo.
Larry thought about the similarities between the movie and this latest assignment. The central event in the movie was a suicide, but doubts lingered, and doubts in this case had arisen as well. On July 11, 2020, Marlowe Hastings was discovered on the sunbathing roof of the locker room building at China Beach by a dog walker at just after eight in the morning. Larry and Hieu arrived at 8:25 that foggy morning and saw Mr. Hastings had a gunshot wound in the mouth and a suicide note stuffed in his pants. For a reason Larry could not offer, he had borne the note in his jacket pocket for the last three days. Perhaps, it had a little something to do with Larry’s firm belief, vociferously voiced to anyone who’d listen, and there were few, that the suicide theory was about as broad as it was long.
“Where are you from originally, Mr. Obi?” Larry asked, not sure he should inquire about place of origin anymore.
Flaunting a petite but muscular chest inside a shirt wide open to the sternum, Finneas spoke in a lively accent. “I’m from South Africa. My father is Nigerian, but I never knew him. My mum is Irish and crazy-wonderful. When I got a job offer from Pfizer in South San Francisco in 2015, I emigrated. Pfizer sponsored me for a green card, which I just got. I met Marlowe through Pfizer. He donated one of his color chalk drawings to the company to be displayed in the lobby, and I found his art work website, and we hooked up.”
“Congratulations on the green card, Mr. Obi,” Hieu said.
The upbeat mood is weird—Marlowe is dead, Larry thought.
Larry and Hieu had learned from Marlowe’s fraternal twin sister, Milo Hastings, that Finneas and Marlowe were boyfriends.
“How old are you, Mr. Obi?” Larry asked.
“Twenty-eight.”
“You’ve accomplished a lot so far. I’m told you hold a PhD. Is that right?”
“Yes, PhD in Immunology, University of Pretoria, with a focus on research in preventive medicine.”
“Mr. Obi, I’d like to read Marlowe’s suicide note out loud. Would you mind?” Larry asked, couching his desire to insist on reading it with pacifying words.
Larry waited while Mr. Obi’s side of San Francisco warmed the kitchen. It was half past eleven on day three of the Hastings investigation. Larry looked toward the midday 3-D light streaming through an open window as the sweet charcoal odor of barbecue began wafting into Apartment 19, and it caused him to re-savor the flavors of the 4th of July. COVID-19 had quashed San Francisco’s fireworks, so Larry and his wife and Hieu and his wife had celebrated the night at home with prime rib from Alexander’s Steakhouse.
“Sit down, Mr. Obi, while I read Marlowe’s suicide note:
I am ashamed of myself. I know God made me this way, but I’m not happy. I beg for your forgiveness, Finneas and Milo, the only people in the world who really love me. I love you.
Larry looked Mr. Obi in the eye and said, “Sound like Marlowe...Finneas?”
Marlowe’s sister had told Larry that Marlowe could not have written the note, even though the handwriting looked like his, because it did not reflect how he felt about himself. Larry waited, massaging the rosary in his pocket, which he always carried in the event of his death and for Mary’s promises to Dominic when, at the incipient moment so much could be revealed, the doorbell rang. Larry wanted to hear Obi’s answer, but Obi hopped up and ran into the hall.
“Who’s there?”
“Captain Dempsey.”
Obi opened the door.
“How do you do? I’m here to retrieve Leahy.”
Larry jumped up.
“C’mon, Leahy…and you, Trang. We have other business.”
Out on Jones Street, Dempsey said, “You’re going in the wrong direction. Treat the Hastings matter as a suicide. I read the report, the suicide note, the interview with the sister. It was a suicide. Move on.”
“But, captain…”
“That’s final. Good-day.”
Larry stepped up into the red Chevy Equinox he had parked in someone’s driveway and grabbed the steering wheel as if it were turkey throat on happy day.
The veteran, naturally disbelieving after 40 years as a police officer, thought earnestly and long.
If there were an eyewitness in every case, we wouldn’t have to consider circumstantial evidence, but we don’t have an eyewitness in every case and none here, but that doesn’t mean Marlowe committed suicide, so what does Dempsey want? And why did he show up without an invitation...not that he needed one, but it was so unusual, what must be going on his head? Or is it outside interference? But I don’t plan on getting the wrong man, and Finneas is from a foreign country and is making good... What do I do next?
Hieu spoke up, “Larry, avoid Columbus Avenue. I hear there’s going to be a demonstration in front of Saints Peter and Paul.”
“Right up there with removing the Columbus statue on Telegraph Hill. These rioters are Marxists who hate America and the Catholic Church. But don’t worry, Hieu, the Church has been on earth for 2,000 years and will be here until the end of time.”
“I know, Larry, you’ve told me that several times.”
“Oh, sorry, Hieu, but it’s upsetting watching anarchists destroy my city…and yours.”
Hieu remained quiet and looked out the window.
In his partner’s profile Larry saw the repercussions of all that was going on in the police department and around the city and especially in the lurid halls of governance.
He’s upset, too. How can you tell a police officer, who is sworn to uphold the law, not to arrest looters who are breaking the law? Morale is low, and Hieu is keeping a positive attitude. Yeah, I do love you, Hieu, and all the other officers.
They hadn’t moved an inch from the driveway of “who knows who.”
“Hieu, you have the Hastings file with you, right?”
“On the back seat.”
“Read it to me, please.”
He reached for the yellow folder and opened it.
“Body found July 9, 2020. Name: Marlowe Mark Hastings. DOB 5/5/1990. Address 712 Steiner, San Francisco, Ca. We interviewed the person who found the body, Lance Bartlett, 330 Sea Cliff Avenue, San Francisco, Ca. He said his bedroom overlooks China Beach. He got up that morning at 7:05 and took his golden retriever out for the customary morning walk. Lance said he heard nothing unusual during the night. When asked if he heard a gunshot or anyone screaming, he said no, but the pounding ocean waves would make that difficult. He was asked if he has video cameras on the exterior of his home, and he answered in the affirmative. He has a Night Owl 4K system of eight cameras with night vision, monitors in the kitchen and master bedroom, one camera over the front entrance and one camera over the rear entrance. He was asked if there is a camera on the Sea Cliff Avenue side, and he said the camera has a partial view of the street. We told him to give us video from that camera for the day the body was found and the day before. He said he would comply. Hieu...uh, I, asked, ‘What did you see?’ Answer: ‘I saw a dead body lying on the sunbathing roof of the locker room building. It was fully clothed. That’s when I called 9-1-1.’ The call came in at 8:05 AM. We judged Lance to be telling the truth.
"The medical examiner’s report lists 1) one puncture on the upper left extremity, 2) the presence of a lethal amount of Botulinum neurotoxin in the blood in the amount of 0.14 µg, 3) a single gunshot wound in the mouth, 4) one 9mm shell that penetrated the head and exited the nape, and 5) a Kimber Micro 9 Amethyst firearm found approximately three feet from the body. No fingerprints were lifted from the gun, and the serial number was scratched off. No drag marks at the scene indicates the body was carried, meaning more than one person was involved. Wallet found in a back-pocket that included CALIFORNIA DRIVER’S LICENSE NUMBER E0997589, etc. etc. Cause of death suicide.”
“Righto. We know Marlowe and Milo owned matching aqua-blue, convertible-top Porsche Boxsters. Video showed several cars going down and back up Sea Cliff Avenue. All we could see were tires, and license plates couldn’t be read.”
In the rear-view mirror, Larry thought he saw Finneas driving a…a shiny-new Jeep Grand Cherokee.
That’s right. I saw a Rolex on his wrist and a gold chain on that dark-skinned chest. How can he afford these things? He’s only been in this country five years or so? Do a google search on what scientists doing research make per year. These looters and the man following me all have malice aforethought. Maybe I should get Immigration Services involved?
“Hieu, look up green card requirements.”
Hieu was looking at his cell phone and googled it.
“Larry, Homeland Security...Immigration says, ‘You may be eligible to apply as an immigrant worker if you are a first preference immigrant worker, meaning you have extraordinary ability in the sciences, arts, education, business or athletics, or you are an outstanding professor or researcher.’ Finneas is a researcher!”
“Now look up the salary of a researcher working for a place like Pfizer.”
In under a minute, Hieu found what they needed. “Pharmaceutical scientists just starting their careers earn an average salary of $85,000. With experience and increasing responsibility, their compensation can grow significantly. They also can receive bonuses throughout the development of a new drug.”
“Look behind us. See if that’s Finneas driving a Grand Cherokee.”
Hieu did and said, “It could be.”
“All right. We’re close to Macondray, my favorite dead-end. He won’t know it’s a trap if we get him on an unfamiliar street.”
“Yeah, we need to make Finneas talk.”
“Yeah, what he needs is a high colonic at a Napa fat farm to force everything out.”
“In one ear and out the other!”
Larry gave out a horselaugh that took his Chevy in the direction of a parked car. With the Chevy nearly righted again, he said, “That’s what Dempsey does, the end of every day, in one ear and out the other.”
Hieu looked the other way, but Larry could see his smile.
“Well, Hieu, this brother following us is from another country, so it’s possible he doesn’t know, and he’s about to learn, you don’t follow a cop in America.”
From Jones above the Broadway tunnel, Larry turned right onto Bernard. There was a chance Finneas might balk at going the wrong way on a one-way street, but he didn’t. Another right, and Larry was positioned to enter Macondray. He slowed down at #126 and pulled ahead one space to allow Finneas room to park. Careful to avert their eyes from the Grand Cherokee as it slowly approached, he and Hieu walked back to the wooden gate at #126, which Larry knew would open with little more than a push, and in they slipped. There they hid behind the retaining wall holding up the street and listened for the engine to quit. Larry left the gate ajar just enough to let Obi think he could enter, but not enough that he would see them crouching, and Larry confidently knew he would hear Obi’s steps because a short man wears boots.
The squeaking gate swung against a wild fennel blasting its way out of a crack.
Larry inhaled sweet licorice and with a big smile said, “Surprise!”
Hieu jumped forward to prevent Finneas from falling down the rest of the steps, for the house hid in a cavity of the hill.
“What brings you into my world, Finneas?” Larry asked.
“This place is dope.”
“No, it’s not. It’s dirty and steep. You almost fell into the front door, or is it the back door? Explain why you were following me.”
Finneas put his hand against the retaining wall to balance himself, and Hieu stepped back.
“You didn’t get a particularly good opinion of me. I wanted to make sure I made a good impression. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Only Jesus Christ has made a good impression on me.”
“Mr. Obi, in your apartment, Inspector Leahy asked if the suicide note sounded like it was written by Marlowe.”
“I don’t want to know the vulgar details of his suicide, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Mental health experts say it’s best to talk about suicide, especially if you are a family member. Don’t you consider yourself a member of the family?” Larry asked.
“He went to the emergency room a couple of weeks ago with symptoms of the coronavirus. He was depressed about that.”
Larry said, “The autopsy showed he had it but was good. Didn't he have a follow-up with his doctor? You would know.” Larry knew that the autopsy said nothing about Marlowe being free of the virus.
Obi crossed his arms and said, “No. Symptoms can linger for more than a month. There’s that actress Anna Camp. She suffered at least that long. The virus can lead to pneumonia, respiratory failure, and septic shock, ending in death, complications having been caused by cytokine release syndrome, also known by its more colorful appellation, cytokine storm. It happens when an infection triggers your immune system to flood your bloodstream with inflammatory proteins called cytokines. They kill tissue and damage organs, and, for your information, Mar didn’t mention a follow-up visit.”
“There was a follow-up. Why wouldn’t he tell you?”
“That’s my business.”
“No. It’s my business. Marlowe is dead, and an investigation is underway.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear?”
“Your captain was talking to you outside my building.”
“You heard a conversation out on a busy street from three floors up?”
“Then why was he at my apartment, and why did he order you out?”
Larry’s thoughts were tumbling.
What now? The paramedics told me the COVID-19 symptoms: chest pain, confusion, blue lips, can’t fully wake up, cough. Haven’t seen Finneas coughing. His lips look normal for a morning in San Francisco. He’s a researcher and has to be alert. I can’t wrestle with his head. Oh...give it up. We’ll get at this another way.
“Do you have allergic asthma?”
“No, Mr. Leahy, I don’t have the virus.”
“You’ve been tested?”
“Yes, at work.”
“All right, Obi, make sure you confine yourself to home and work and don’t go anywhere else. Now take your delicate self back up those stairs and get out of here, and next time we visit, put your face mask on. Am I clear?”
“More than 100 vaccine projects are underway and remdesivir, the drug used against Ebola, is looking good. Good-bye, Inspector Trang.”
Larry turned to Hieu after Obi left and said, “You learn our business by doing the dirty work. What bit of garbage about this man will we pick up next?”
“Dempsey said to lay off.”
“I know, but you know that’s never stopped me from doing a side job.”
“Larry, I have something.”
“What?”
“When we were in Obi’s apartment, I grabbed some toothpicks. Remember, we saw toothpicks scattered around Marlowe’s body, and I bagged them. Well, when we were talking to Obi, I saw some toothpicks in a little porcelain cup on the table and grabbed some. Want me to send them to the lab?”
“Was there any DNA on the toothpicks at China Beach?”
“I’ll call the lab,” Hieu said.
“No, let me.”
Chapter 2
712 Steiner photo credit: George Horsfall
Milo Hastings looked in the mirror and, seeing her twin, brooded over him, smiled bravely, and thought about his much-admired, deeply and most widely set eyes of chartreuse green, flanking a wide, flat nose typical of Filipinos, not an English boy. The nose was bijou, making him look more elegant than she. His death was mourned by the San Francisco Police Department. Milo had tried to talk him out of becoming a police officer, but that’s what he wanted to be, and the desire never ran its course as it does for most little boys.
She loved him even more in his uniform on graduation day, all six feet and 190 pounds of superhero and superdog.
Milo drew her eyebrows and eyelashes dark and long. She had to. She had the same wide set eyes as Marlowe, but they were brown eyes and her skin a little darker than his. He always said her skin was brown as brown sugar, which meant her best clothes had to be violet. She wore high heels, even as she stood on Carrara marble floors and hung over the sink in front of the mirror, because men love high heels, he said.
Together, wherever the peregrination, they impressed people, who saw in them a rhapsody of fraternal love and admiration, the eyes of one never skipping over the other even when there was a fleeting but more beguiling sight to behold, and when they were in different places 100 miles or more distant, by prior agreement they wrote Austenian letters, which were long, descriptive, and emotional, retelling the events of the day and any funny or terrible cruelties that might have befallen them. If they were not brother and sister, those who cared would have set about preparing for them a connubial bed.
The phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Larry Leahy here. I need to talk to you again. I’m on my way. One of the painted ladies, isn’t it?”
Milo quickly checked the time, half past two.
“Um, yes, 712 Steiner. When will you be here?” she asked nervously.
“Fifteen minutes.”
Her parents, Philomena and Mark, had been in the Philippines since the beginning of the year. It was their custom to spend half a year in San Francisco and half a year on Boracay Island, where they owned a White Beach spa with residence above, and they had no plans to return soon on account of COVID-19.
She drifted through the bedroom feeling lonely and wanting to see Finneas. Inspector Leahy’s call betokened something. She debated, sighed, and argued with herself over whether to change from the lavender blouse and lavender pants into the red dress lying on the bed, but handsome purple satin slingbacks matched what she wore. A novel extolling a brother and sister peaked from under the red dress. She had reached a certain page (didn’t want to remember now) and had put it down, tears running into the ink.
Pick it up again? she asked herself.
The bell rang and she ran downstairs.
“Oh, hello, Inspector, please come in.” With a frown on her face, she steered Leahy to the sitting room, decorated according to her mother Philomena’s tastes, modern dark wood and bamboo furniture, lead chocolate, white, and mustard colors, all of which looked and smelled like it had been scooped out of a coconut shell. The room reflected the more casual, atoll-like influence of her father, Mark. A messy stack of magazines topped by The Advocate and Mark’s immutable presence were an awkward, muddled fusion of puritan-Victorian architecture, Catholic island life, and guns, so she was glad he was not there and his stentorian voice could not be heard. Suddenly, she felt tired, and it was the middle of the afternoon.
“Is that vanilla perfume, Milo?”
Milo didn’t know what to say.
Why would he ask?
Just as abruptly, she realized that loneliness was her new normal.
He took out his notepad.
Milo pouted.
I guess I can learn to adapt.
“Did you attend Catholic school like Marlowe?”
“Well, if you know he went to Catholic school, you know I did.”
“Just checking.”
Even more abruptly, she admitted, “I used to ridicule Mar for clinging to his faith. I still feel the way I do. Religion is for the weak.”
“And you’re the strong?”
“Most of the time.”
“Do you work?”
“I work from home part-time for a personal styling service. You’ve probably heard women talking about it. The coronavirus hasn’t really affected me.”
“What about that magazine I see? Did your parents approve of Marlowe’s lifestyle?”
“No. I did. It didn’t matter. He was still suicidal.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“What are your feelings toward Finneas?”
He’s writing on his notepad.
“He’s a nice man.”
“Tell me, how long was their relationship?”
“You mean how long did Mar and Fin know each other? Yes, that’s what you meant. Six months.”
“That was short. Tell me about the three of you...and be honest, young lady.”
Milo got up and headed for the dining room, turned back, and looked down at Inspector Leahy. “Mar rejected Fin. Mar said he wanted to live according to the teachings of the Church. Both of us felt Mar’s decision was due to self-hatred.”
“Were you in love with Finneas?”
“Of course not.”
“Listen, Milo, I know when boys tell lies, and most of the time I know when girls do. I noticed in the first interview and now when you say Mr. Obi’s name, you blush and wiggle and so forth. So, let’s begin again with you telling me the truth. Remember, a broken clock is right twice a day, and only twice, and I think it’s that time of day for the broken clock to be set right.”
“When I was a child, my parents stopped me from doing what I wanted to do and let Marlowe do whatever his little heart desired. It happened when we played with toys or we were in the park or on the playground or at our vacation home in the Philippines. They stopped me from dating the men I wanted to date and from picking my friends. Finneas is now free, and my parents aren’t here, and I’m going to do what I want at last.”
“Does that mean you are going to date Finneas?”
“Yes.”
“Your brother just died.”
“I don’t see that it makes any difference.”
“I thought...I thought Finneas…”
“Is gay?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, we shall see about that.”
“I’m not a counselor, but it sounds like you got the wrong end of the stick.” He shifted on the sofa. “I’d advise against it. Just a gut feeling.”
“You’re quite mistaken. Finneas is the most honorable guy I’ve ever met.”
“Is he?” Larry asked.
“Is that all?”
“So, you’re sure Marlowe killed himself?”
“Yes, and now I need to look after Finneas. Marlowe is gone, there is nothing left, and I want my own family. What more can I say to convince you that Finneas is a good man?”
Two Bichon Frize with bowling ball haircuts came running into the living room.
“Hi Tootsie, Wootsie. Give the nice policeman a kiss.”
“Do you have a diary?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get it and read what you recorded on the day your brother died?”
“Why?”
The Frize bobbed up and down and licked Larry’s shoes in between waggles.
“I want to know what Marlowe confided in you. You kept his company every day, didn’t you?”
Milo watched Larry push the dogs to the side, but they wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Mar and I were like my darling pets, but Mar was with Finneas the night before, and I went to bed before he came home.”
“I think you stayed up late until he came home. That was your habit, wasn’t it? If the dogs could speak, they would tell me the truth.”
“He didn’t come home!” she shouted at Larry, who was looking at the large photograph of her father on the mantle.
“Was your dad a hippie?”
“How’d you know? Now, he’s an insufferable ass.”
“Are you going to get that diary?”
“I suppose so. It’s upstairs.”
“Did Marlowe get along with your parents?”
“He adored them.”
“And what about your parents? Did they adore Marlowe?”
“I suppose so.”
“Were you jealous of that?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You say ‘absolutely’ a lot.”
“I’ll get the diary, Mr. Leahy.”
“Thanks...and take the dogs out to the backyard.”
Who does he think he is, ordering me about?
Milo ran upstairs and grabbed the diary from under the red dress.
Inspector Leahy stood looking out the front window at Alamo Square. “Nice view. Did you get the diary?”
She stood close to him and said, “Here.”
As she sat down, the doggies jumped into her lap.
Still at the window, Larry said, “Amazing you can balance both on your knees. Let me find the date. Here it is. ‘I’m so in love with Finneas.’ All right. I just confirmed what I had said, Miss Hastings. Marlowe knew you were in love with Finneas, didn’t he?”
“No. He asked me if I was, and I told him no I wasn’t in love with Finneas. I didn’t want to fight with my brother. I loved him.”
“I’m sure you did. Did you and Finneas conspire to kill Marlowe?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Another ‘absolutely’. What time did Marlowe come home?”
“I don’t know. I was asleep. He was found the next morning miles from here.”
“His car wasn’t in the China Beach parking lot. Where is it? Do you know?”
“No.”
“Are you hiding it?”
“Absolutely...not. You know, I thought about walking down the middle of the road, somewhere, maybe West Marin where it’s lonely and deserted, and hoping a car would hit me. You wouldn’t understand that, Mr. Leahy. You’ve probably never been depressed in your life.”
“You’d be surprised what I’ve been through. My wife suffers from depression and takes medication. So, I am not an expert or a sufferer, but I live with someone who is, young lady. Be around for more questions. Understand?”
From the modern chair she occupied, she extended her hand, drew back a sheer, and said, “There’s someone across the street looking at the house.”
“That’s Captain Dempsey. He must have something important to tell us.”
The doorbell rang.
Milo leapt up and answered. “Why didn’t you let me know?”
“We were notified of what happened and rushed home.”
Milo brought a man and woman into the sitting room. She felt disappointment.
“Well, Mom, Dad, this is Inspector Leahy. He’s been handling the case.”
“How do you do?” Larry said.
Her parents, Philomena and Mark, had a puzzled but appreciative look on their faces.
“How do you do, sir?” Mark said.
“I’ll leave you now. I’m sure you would like to be alone with your daughter. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. Thank you, Milo, for your help.”
Inspector Leahy left in a hurry.
“I told you to take that magazine off the coffee table.”
Milo answered back, “You’ve been gone for months, Mark, and that’s all you have to say? All right! I’ll take it.”
She grabbed The Advocate and ran upstairs to her room. She pushed the red dress onto the floor and pounded her pillow several times, partly disgusted with the undying decor, pink sheets, pink duvet, and pink canopy, but partly disgusted with her weak response to Mark.
I need my own life.
She jumped up, snatched Fin’s picture off the corner of the dresser mirror, and kissed it all over. She called him, waited, got voicemail, waited five minutes, called again, got voicemail a second time, and threw the phone on the bed. She lay down next to it and rolled over to send a text, “Where are you? You said you would call.”
She sat up, wondering if he was at work and what girl he was talking to.
His boss is a woman. Maybe she’s interested in him. No, she’s married. That doesn’t matter. I need to hear from him. My parents will start monitoring me again. Fin, get me out of here.
She called again, then texted, then called.
I’ll leave a message saying I want a dinner date and a kiss and nothing more. He’s so stupid he won’t ever know I’ve had other offers. Men think I’m gorgeous.
Her head went back and she stared at the pink canopy, loved for fifteen years, only to be hated for the rest of her life.
She loved him even more in his uniform on graduation day, all six feet and 190 pounds of superhero and superdog.
Milo drew her eyebrows and eyelashes dark and long. She had to. She had the same wide set eyes as Marlowe, but they were brown eyes and her skin a little darker than his. He always said her skin was brown as brown sugar, which meant her best clothes had to be violet. She wore high heels, even as she stood on Carrara marble floors and hung over the sink in front of the mirror, because men love high heels, he said.
Together, wherever the peregrination, they impressed people, who saw in them a rhapsody of fraternal love and admiration, the eyes of one never skipping over the other even when there was a fleeting but more beguiling sight to behold, and when they were in different places 100 miles or more distant, by prior agreement they wrote Austenian letters, which were long, descriptive, and emotional, retelling the events of the day and any funny or terrible cruelties that might have befallen them. If they were not brother and sister, those who cared would have set about preparing for them a connubial bed.
The phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Larry Leahy here. I need to talk to you again. I’m on my way. One of the painted ladies, isn’t it?”
Milo quickly checked the time, half past two.
“Um, yes, 712 Steiner. When will you be here?” she asked nervously.
“Fifteen minutes.”
Her parents, Philomena and Mark, had been in the Philippines since the beginning of the year. It was their custom to spend half a year in San Francisco and half a year on Boracay Island, where they owned a White Beach spa with residence above, and they had no plans to return soon on account of COVID-19.
She drifted through the bedroom feeling lonely and wanting to see Finneas. Inspector Leahy’s call betokened something. She debated, sighed, and argued with herself over whether to change from the lavender blouse and lavender pants into the red dress lying on the bed, but handsome purple satin slingbacks matched what she wore. A novel extolling a brother and sister peaked from under the red dress. She had reached a certain page (didn’t want to remember now) and had put it down, tears running into the ink.
Pick it up again? she asked herself.
The bell rang and she ran downstairs.
“Oh, hello, Inspector, please come in.” With a frown on her face, she steered Leahy to the sitting room, decorated according to her mother Philomena’s tastes, modern dark wood and bamboo furniture, lead chocolate, white, and mustard colors, all of which looked and smelled like it had been scooped out of a coconut shell. The room reflected the more casual, atoll-like influence of her father, Mark. A messy stack of magazines topped by The Advocate and Mark’s immutable presence were an awkward, muddled fusion of puritan-Victorian architecture, Catholic island life, and guns, so she was glad he was not there and his stentorian voice could not be heard. Suddenly, she felt tired, and it was the middle of the afternoon.
“Is that vanilla perfume, Milo?”
Milo didn’t know what to say.
Why would he ask?
Just as abruptly, she realized that loneliness was her new normal.
He took out his notepad.
Milo pouted.
I guess I can learn to adapt.
“Did you attend Catholic school like Marlowe?”
“Well, if you know he went to Catholic school, you know I did.”
“Just checking.”
Even more abruptly, she admitted, “I used to ridicule Mar for clinging to his faith. I still feel the way I do. Religion is for the weak.”
“And you’re the strong?”
“Most of the time.”
“Do you work?”
“I work from home part-time for a personal styling service. You’ve probably heard women talking about it. The coronavirus hasn’t really affected me.”
“What about that magazine I see? Did your parents approve of Marlowe’s lifestyle?”
“No. I did. It didn’t matter. He was still suicidal.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“What are your feelings toward Finneas?”
He’s writing on his notepad.
“He’s a nice man.”
“Tell me, how long was their relationship?”
“You mean how long did Mar and Fin know each other? Yes, that’s what you meant. Six months.”
“That was short. Tell me about the three of you...and be honest, young lady.”
Milo got up and headed for the dining room, turned back, and looked down at Inspector Leahy. “Mar rejected Fin. Mar said he wanted to live according to the teachings of the Church. Both of us felt Mar’s decision was due to self-hatred.”
“Were you in love with Finneas?”
“Of course not.”
“Listen, Milo, I know when boys tell lies, and most of the time I know when girls do. I noticed in the first interview and now when you say Mr. Obi’s name, you blush and wiggle and so forth. So, let’s begin again with you telling me the truth. Remember, a broken clock is right twice a day, and only twice, and I think it’s that time of day for the broken clock to be set right.”
“When I was a child, my parents stopped me from doing what I wanted to do and let Marlowe do whatever his little heart desired. It happened when we played with toys or we were in the park or on the playground or at our vacation home in the Philippines. They stopped me from dating the men I wanted to date and from picking my friends. Finneas is now free, and my parents aren’t here, and I’m going to do what I want at last.”
“Does that mean you are going to date Finneas?”
“Yes.”
“Your brother just died.”
“I don’t see that it makes any difference.”
“I thought...I thought Finneas…”
“Is gay?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, we shall see about that.”
“I’m not a counselor, but it sounds like you got the wrong end of the stick.” He shifted on the sofa. “I’d advise against it. Just a gut feeling.”
“You’re quite mistaken. Finneas is the most honorable guy I’ve ever met.”
“Is he?” Larry asked.
“Is that all?”
“So, you’re sure Marlowe killed himself?”
“Yes, and now I need to look after Finneas. Marlowe is gone, there is nothing left, and I want my own family. What more can I say to convince you that Finneas is a good man?”
Two Bichon Frize with bowling ball haircuts came running into the living room.
“Hi Tootsie, Wootsie. Give the nice policeman a kiss.”
“Do you have a diary?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get it and read what you recorded on the day your brother died?”
“Why?”
The Frize bobbed up and down and licked Larry’s shoes in between waggles.
“I want to know what Marlowe confided in you. You kept his company every day, didn’t you?”
Milo watched Larry push the dogs to the side, but they wouldn’t leave him alone.
“Mar and I were like my darling pets, but Mar was with Finneas the night before, and I went to bed before he came home.”
“I think you stayed up late until he came home. That was your habit, wasn’t it? If the dogs could speak, they would tell me the truth.”
“He didn’t come home!” she shouted at Larry, who was looking at the large photograph of her father on the mantle.
“Was your dad a hippie?”
“How’d you know? Now, he’s an insufferable ass.”
“Are you going to get that diary?”
“I suppose so. It’s upstairs.”
“Did Marlowe get along with your parents?”
“He adored them.”
“And what about your parents? Did they adore Marlowe?”
“I suppose so.”
“Were you jealous of that?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You say ‘absolutely’ a lot.”
“I’ll get the diary, Mr. Leahy.”
“Thanks...and take the dogs out to the backyard.”
Who does he think he is, ordering me about?
Milo ran upstairs and grabbed the diary from under the red dress.
Inspector Leahy stood looking out the front window at Alamo Square. “Nice view. Did you get the diary?”
She stood close to him and said, “Here.”
As she sat down, the doggies jumped into her lap.
Still at the window, Larry said, “Amazing you can balance both on your knees. Let me find the date. Here it is. ‘I’m so in love with Finneas.’ All right. I just confirmed what I had said, Miss Hastings. Marlowe knew you were in love with Finneas, didn’t he?”
“No. He asked me if I was, and I told him no I wasn’t in love with Finneas. I didn’t want to fight with my brother. I loved him.”
“I’m sure you did. Did you and Finneas conspire to kill Marlowe?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Another ‘absolutely’. What time did Marlowe come home?”
“I don’t know. I was asleep. He was found the next morning miles from here.”
“His car wasn’t in the China Beach parking lot. Where is it? Do you know?”
“No.”
“Are you hiding it?”
“Absolutely...not. You know, I thought about walking down the middle of the road, somewhere, maybe West Marin where it’s lonely and deserted, and hoping a car would hit me. You wouldn’t understand that, Mr. Leahy. You’ve probably never been depressed in your life.”
“You’d be surprised what I’ve been through. My wife suffers from depression and takes medication. So, I am not an expert or a sufferer, but I live with someone who is, young lady. Be around for more questions. Understand?”
From the modern chair she occupied, she extended her hand, drew back a sheer, and said, “There’s someone across the street looking at the house.”
“That’s Captain Dempsey. He must have something important to tell us.”
The doorbell rang.
Milo leapt up and answered. “Why didn’t you let me know?”
“We were notified of what happened and rushed home.”
Milo brought a man and woman into the sitting room. She felt disappointment.
“Well, Mom, Dad, this is Inspector Leahy. He’s been handling the case.”
“How do you do?” Larry said.
Her parents, Philomena and Mark, had a puzzled but appreciative look on their faces.
“How do you do, sir?” Mark said.
“I’ll leave you now. I’m sure you would like to be alone with your daughter. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. Thank you, Milo, for your help.”
Inspector Leahy left in a hurry.
“I told you to take that magazine off the coffee table.”
Milo answered back, “You’ve been gone for months, Mark, and that’s all you have to say? All right! I’ll take it.”
She grabbed The Advocate and ran upstairs to her room. She pushed the red dress onto the floor and pounded her pillow several times, partly disgusted with the undying decor, pink sheets, pink duvet, and pink canopy, but partly disgusted with her weak response to Mark.
I need my own life.
She jumped up, snatched Fin’s picture off the corner of the dresser mirror, and kissed it all over. She called him, waited, got voicemail, waited five minutes, called again, got voicemail a second time, and threw the phone on the bed. She lay down next to it and rolled over to send a text, “Where are you? You said you would call.”
She sat up, wondering if he was at work and what girl he was talking to.
His boss is a woman. Maybe she’s interested in him. No, she’s married. That doesn’t matter. I need to hear from him. My parents will start monitoring me again. Fin, get me out of here.
She called again, then texted, then called.
I’ll leave a message saying I want a dinner date and a kiss and nothing more. He’s so stupid he won’t ever know I’ve had other offers. Men think I’m gorgeous.
Her head went back and she stared at the pink canopy, loved for fifteen years, only to be hated for the rest of her life.
Chapter 3
Lombard photo credit: George Horsfall
Finneas awoke to the alarm clock. It was 5:30 AM, Tuesday, and he had to go to work. A dream had left him bereft of an item belonging to Marlowe. From the left side of the queen-size bed, he hurriedly opened the top drawer of his gray oak nightstand, which was a fairly long stretch for the elfin man, and furiously rummaged around for Marlowe’s school ring. In the nightmare he had dropped it down a sewer. He found the ring in the nightstand and was reassured that the 5-carat near-flawless oval diamond Marlowe bought to replace the faux gem was not lost.
His phone was plugged in and stopped playing Peter Tosh’s, “Legalize It”, sometime during the night. Before going to bed, he had imbibed his favorite nightcap, an Aviation, which Marlowe had always prepared for him out of the driest, best gin, maraschino liqueur, lemon juice, and violet liqueur. He had smoked a half bud and had fallen into bed stoned.
The night before was the first day of the week, weed being more than a Sunday sacrament for him, but not for Marlowe, dead or alive. The drive from 892 Lombard to Dunkin’ Donuts for a blueberry iced coffee took him a few blocks past Pfizer at 230 East Grand, a newish South San Francisco industrial park at the bay’s edge, an unreal location complicated by criss-crossing streets. The pale Vietnamese-like liquid wetted his lips and cooled the middle of his tongue.
Waiting for him as he walked through the front door at Pfizer was Larry Leahy.
Finneas put his brown leather carryall down and noticed a scuff mark on his Carven monk strap boots. He had disregarded the fact these boots didn’t give him the height he craved because men had said how spiffy they were.
The running of both hands over tight, curly black hair reinvigorated the flamboyant feeling of success he had so desired and achieved, which meant that weathering the questions of a mere policeman would be easy, and he even felt himself entering into a thrilling, jumpy state and removed his face mask with extra flair.
“Good morning. Nice to see you. I’m headed to my office. You can make an appointment to see me with the departmental secretary. I can show you the way if you like.”
“Sir, please sign in!” a security guard yelled.
“I’ll sign in for him. He’s my guest.”
I don’t want anyone to know who he is, Finneas thought.
Finneas put his face mask back on and led Inspector Leahy to the departmental office.
Inspector Leahy said, “Not here. Let’s go to your office.”
They did.
“Sit down,” Inspector Leahy said.
“I have a busy day, Inspector. What’s this all about?”
“I got a report on some toothpicks in your kitchen.”
“What...you took some of my toothpicks? You had no right to take anything of mine.”
“I do.”
“Aren’t there laws against an illegal search?”
“I didn’t search you or your apartment. They were in plain sight, and their value is negligible. Marlowe’s blood DNA is on one of the toothpicks.”
“That’s ridiculous. How could blood be on an unused toothpick in my apartment?”
“You grabbed as many toothpicks as you could after killing Marlowe and seeing them scattered about. You threw most of them away when you got home, and then thought, no, it’s not really necessary and put a few back into the holder without knowing Marlowe had used one of them. You don’t look like a miser, but toothpicks were the smallest item on which you could economize. What do you have to say?”
Finneas choked on his blueberry coffee.
“I can give a logical explanation.”
“Go ahead.”
Larry pulled out his notepad.
“Marlowe cleaned his teeth with the toothpicks all the time. He could have put one of them back into the cup without thinking about it. Sometimes I would find him sitting in a dwaal at his place or in my apartment or even a nightclub where there’s lots of noise and dancing and chatting.”
“What’s a dwaal?”
“I think you Americans say ‘absent-minded’. That’s what ‘sitting in a dwaal’ means.”
“Maybe he was thinking about the future?”
“No doubt.”
“I mean a future without you!”
“Did Milo say that? If she did, she’s a lying skirt. Mar was mixed up sometimes. He had these thoughts of needing to make up stories to explain to people the absence of a wife accompanying him wherever he went. He said sometimes when he was sitting in church, people were looking at him and wondering where his wife was. I told him he was imagining things, and he should be proud of who he is.”
“Don’t you miss your family in South Africa? You’re alone here.”
“My dad, Oba Obi, said ‘if opportunity doesn't knock, build a door.’ That’s what I did when I came to America.”
“I thought you had a job offer from Pfizer?”
“When I got here, they wanted to send me back. It turned out my background wasn’t what they wanted, but I proved to them they were headed in the wrong direction on developing a vaccine for COVID-19. They decided to keep me. I opened a door!”
“If I talked to the director here, would he confirm that?”
“I’m not comfortable with you speaking to anyone else here.”
“I think you are full of yourself and you made up that whole thing. I think Marlowe found out who you really are, full of ego, bluster, and hype, and he decided to leave you. He didn’t reject you to be chaste, as you and Milo claim. He rejected you because of the kind of man you are. I know I’m right.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Leahy.”
“I see you looking at the door, the window, your drawer. What’s in the drawer?”
There’s nothing in the drawer, asshole.
“You’re a very prejudiced man like all cops, aren’t you, Mr. Leahy?”
“Actually, we are integrated, Mr. Obi, and don’t call me a racist or a bigot again. What’s that on the wall? A microscope?”
“My most prized possession.”
“Don’t put me under one. Tell me the truth.”
“Don’t put me under one either.”
“You’re small enough to fit.”
“Get out.”
“Gladly.”
Inspector Leahy’s cell phone rang.
“Yes. But...Captain Dempsey...no...I’m just doing what I think is best...hold on a minute. Mr. Obi, step outside and let me finish the call.”
“No. This is my office. You step outside.”
“Fine.”
Finneas checked every drawer while Inspector Leahy was outside. Looking for them. Toothpicks. His hands slid up and down the dusty, inky drawer bottoms, making a tremendous noise. Fearful Leahy would hear, he slowed his hunt and started to put on his lab coat when Leahy walked in.
“Mr. Leahy, I have important work to do.”
“So do I. Be available for questioning, here or at home. Good-bye.”
I wish I could talk to that Dempsey and find out what’s going on. I could spit in Leahy’s eye.
Finneas started to think about Marlowe.
He didn’t like it when I spit in his mouth. It was a tiny amount. I tried to get him to loosen up and have some fun, but….
Finneas called for his lab assistant, and together they entered the lab, properly attired, and began the day’s work.
Not more than half an hour later, his cell phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Obi?”
It’s him again.
“What is it? I told you I have a busy schedule today.”
“Marlowe’s autopsy report revealed that Botulinum neurotoxins were present. So, I asked to see your boss. He told me you have access to the drug because you’ve been doing cancer research...NOT research on a COVID-19 vaccine. An inventory check on Botulinum neurotoxin will be completed by noon today. I’ve already retrieved video from the camera in the room where the drug is locked up. Do you want to tell me now what you did or wait for your theft to be discovered?”
“I’m right in the middle of an experiment. Can I call you back in 30 minutes? That’s all the time I need. Then I’ll talk.”
“Fine. I will be waiting in the lobby.”
Finneas hung up, ran into his office, grabbed his carrying case, flew out the door without saying a word to his assistant or removing his lab coat, ripped his black Armani suit pants on the chair trying to grab the carrying case, a long rip he didn’t see right away, headed for the rear employee-only exit, and jumped in his Grand Cherokee.
He sped on 101, exited 6th Street, raced recklessly up Taylor and then up and over the Coolbrith hummock, and made a half-wheelie turn at Lombard, and nearly all of it in one breath. Moving so quickly, he fell over the dirt bike in his apartment hallway and cursed it. The kitchen table seemed the best place to write. A pen seemed to drift out of his carrying case.
Lightheaded and depressed, he began his narrative, no tears, determined.
His phone was plugged in and stopped playing Peter Tosh’s, “Legalize It”, sometime during the night. Before going to bed, he had imbibed his favorite nightcap, an Aviation, which Marlowe had always prepared for him out of the driest, best gin, maraschino liqueur, lemon juice, and violet liqueur. He had smoked a half bud and had fallen into bed stoned.
The night before was the first day of the week, weed being more than a Sunday sacrament for him, but not for Marlowe, dead or alive. The drive from 892 Lombard to Dunkin’ Donuts for a blueberry iced coffee took him a few blocks past Pfizer at 230 East Grand, a newish South San Francisco industrial park at the bay’s edge, an unreal location complicated by criss-crossing streets. The pale Vietnamese-like liquid wetted his lips and cooled the middle of his tongue.
Waiting for him as he walked through the front door at Pfizer was Larry Leahy.
Finneas put his brown leather carryall down and noticed a scuff mark on his Carven monk strap boots. He had disregarded the fact these boots didn’t give him the height he craved because men had said how spiffy they were.
The running of both hands over tight, curly black hair reinvigorated the flamboyant feeling of success he had so desired and achieved, which meant that weathering the questions of a mere policeman would be easy, and he even felt himself entering into a thrilling, jumpy state and removed his face mask with extra flair.
“Good morning. Nice to see you. I’m headed to my office. You can make an appointment to see me with the departmental secretary. I can show you the way if you like.”
“Sir, please sign in!” a security guard yelled.
“I’ll sign in for him. He’s my guest.”
I don’t want anyone to know who he is, Finneas thought.
Finneas put his face mask back on and led Inspector Leahy to the departmental office.
Inspector Leahy said, “Not here. Let’s go to your office.”
They did.
“Sit down,” Inspector Leahy said.
“I have a busy day, Inspector. What’s this all about?”
“I got a report on some toothpicks in your kitchen.”
“What...you took some of my toothpicks? You had no right to take anything of mine.”
“I do.”
“Aren’t there laws against an illegal search?”
“I didn’t search you or your apartment. They were in plain sight, and their value is negligible. Marlowe’s blood DNA is on one of the toothpicks.”
“That’s ridiculous. How could blood be on an unused toothpick in my apartment?”
“You grabbed as many toothpicks as you could after killing Marlowe and seeing them scattered about. You threw most of them away when you got home, and then thought, no, it’s not really necessary and put a few back into the holder without knowing Marlowe had used one of them. You don’t look like a miser, but toothpicks were the smallest item on which you could economize. What do you have to say?”
Finneas choked on his blueberry coffee.
“I can give a logical explanation.”
“Go ahead.”
Larry pulled out his notepad.
“Marlowe cleaned his teeth with the toothpicks all the time. He could have put one of them back into the cup without thinking about it. Sometimes I would find him sitting in a dwaal at his place or in my apartment or even a nightclub where there’s lots of noise and dancing and chatting.”
“What’s a dwaal?”
“I think you Americans say ‘absent-minded’. That’s what ‘sitting in a dwaal’ means.”
“Maybe he was thinking about the future?”
“No doubt.”
“I mean a future without you!”
“Did Milo say that? If she did, she’s a lying skirt. Mar was mixed up sometimes. He had these thoughts of needing to make up stories to explain to people the absence of a wife accompanying him wherever he went. He said sometimes when he was sitting in church, people were looking at him and wondering where his wife was. I told him he was imagining things, and he should be proud of who he is.”
“Don’t you miss your family in South Africa? You’re alone here.”
“My dad, Oba Obi, said ‘if opportunity doesn't knock, build a door.’ That’s what I did when I came to America.”
“I thought you had a job offer from Pfizer?”
“When I got here, they wanted to send me back. It turned out my background wasn’t what they wanted, but I proved to them they were headed in the wrong direction on developing a vaccine for COVID-19. They decided to keep me. I opened a door!”
“If I talked to the director here, would he confirm that?”
“I’m not comfortable with you speaking to anyone else here.”
“I think you are full of yourself and you made up that whole thing. I think Marlowe found out who you really are, full of ego, bluster, and hype, and he decided to leave you. He didn’t reject you to be chaste, as you and Milo claim. He rejected you because of the kind of man you are. I know I’m right.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Leahy.”
“I see you looking at the door, the window, your drawer. What’s in the drawer?”
There’s nothing in the drawer, asshole.
“You’re a very prejudiced man like all cops, aren’t you, Mr. Leahy?”
“Actually, we are integrated, Mr. Obi, and don’t call me a racist or a bigot again. What’s that on the wall? A microscope?”
“My most prized possession.”
“Don’t put me under one. Tell me the truth.”
“Don’t put me under one either.”
“You’re small enough to fit.”
“Get out.”
“Gladly.”
Inspector Leahy’s cell phone rang.
“Yes. But...Captain Dempsey...no...I’m just doing what I think is best...hold on a minute. Mr. Obi, step outside and let me finish the call.”
“No. This is my office. You step outside.”
“Fine.”
Finneas checked every drawer while Inspector Leahy was outside. Looking for them. Toothpicks. His hands slid up and down the dusty, inky drawer bottoms, making a tremendous noise. Fearful Leahy would hear, he slowed his hunt and started to put on his lab coat when Leahy walked in.
“Mr. Leahy, I have important work to do.”
“So do I. Be available for questioning, here or at home. Good-bye.”
I wish I could talk to that Dempsey and find out what’s going on. I could spit in Leahy’s eye.
Finneas started to think about Marlowe.
He didn’t like it when I spit in his mouth. It was a tiny amount. I tried to get him to loosen up and have some fun, but….
Finneas called for his lab assistant, and together they entered the lab, properly attired, and began the day’s work.
Not more than half an hour later, his cell phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Obi?”
It’s him again.
“What is it? I told you I have a busy schedule today.”
“Marlowe’s autopsy report revealed that Botulinum neurotoxins were present. So, I asked to see your boss. He told me you have access to the drug because you’ve been doing cancer research...NOT research on a COVID-19 vaccine. An inventory check on Botulinum neurotoxin will be completed by noon today. I’ve already retrieved video from the camera in the room where the drug is locked up. Do you want to tell me now what you did or wait for your theft to be discovered?”
“I’m right in the middle of an experiment. Can I call you back in 30 minutes? That’s all the time I need. Then I’ll talk.”
“Fine. I will be waiting in the lobby.”
Finneas hung up, ran into his office, grabbed his carrying case, flew out the door without saying a word to his assistant or removing his lab coat, ripped his black Armani suit pants on the chair trying to grab the carrying case, a long rip he didn’t see right away, headed for the rear employee-only exit, and jumped in his Grand Cherokee.
He sped on 101, exited 6th Street, raced recklessly up Taylor and then up and over the Coolbrith hummock, and made a half-wheelie turn at Lombard, and nearly all of it in one breath. Moving so quickly, he fell over the dirt bike in his apartment hallway and cursed it. The kitchen table seemed the best place to write. A pen seemed to drift out of his carrying case.
Lightheaded and depressed, he began his narrative, no tears, determined.
Chapter 4
Lombard roof photo credit: George Horsfall
Larry was not enjoying the wait in a technocratic lobby.
He scratched his pink Irish face.
“Oh hell.”
It was an old basal cell on his forehead.
What’s taking him so long?
Ten more minutes passed.
Larry stood up, stiff from sitting too long on a hard mattress on a hard bench, hustled to Obi’s office, and opened the door to another man sitting at Obi’s desk.
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Inspector Leahy, SFPD. I was speaking to Finneas Obi. Who are you?”
“His lab assistant. Finneas left an hour ago. Sorry you missed him.”
Larry flew into a fluster and ran to his car.
He’s eluded me.
Larry called Obi’s phone, which went to voicemail.
Certain Obi would go home, he headed for Lombard, 20 minutes for the ordinary citizen, 10 for him with a happy red light flashing all the way.
Just seeing the apartment building gave Larry an unpropitious feeling, compounded by the fact Milo was standing at the front door. He hopped out of the Chevy right there, leaving his vehicle parked at an odd angle, inconveniencing foot or vehicle traffic, and touched Milo lightly on her elbow.
“Good morning, young lady. What brings you here?”
“Fin called me. Why are you here?”
Going from the Chevy to her side gave him little time to prepare an answer, but there was a readymade one, one he had given a thousand times before. “Fin eschewed me. Let’s see if he’s home.”
“I’ve been ringing, but no answer.”
Just then, a man opened the door and said he was the building manager with a package for Finneas Obi. He said he recognized her and asked if she would accept it.
“Here. UPS left it when there was no answer.”
“Thank you. We’d like to go up and see him?”
“No problem.”
Milo began opening the large envelope in a hurry.
“Are you worried, Milo?” Larry asked, as he led the way up the stairs.
Milo discarded bits of sticky cardboard as they climbed the stairs, and by the time they had reached the third floor, she was pulling out contents.
“The letter says, ‘Congratulations. Your application for transfer to Pfizer SA Sandton Republic of South Africa is approved, and you will be joining us in the important search for a COVID-19 vaccine. Materials are included for you to peruse, and various documents require your signature to get the process started.’ What is this? Fin never told me about going back to South Africa. He knows I would’ve said no. How could he do this without telling me?”
They stood in front of the apartment. Larry told Milo to be quiet, placed his ear against the door, and listened. He shook his head, signaling to Milo that he could hear nothing. He knocked, knocked again, and knocked yet again.
Nothing.
Larry took Milo down the hallway a few paces and whispered, “What brought you here?”
“Fin called me about twenty minutes ago saying he needed to see me. Why are you here?”
Larry thought quickly, decided not to give her his reasons, and asked, “Do you have a key?”
“Yes. It’s right here in the pocket of my purse.” She set down the letter and plucked out the key.
“Thanks,” Larry said. “Stay here. Let me go in first.”
“Why? I want to go.”
“No.”
With the pistol in his right hand, he turned the key with his left hand, and struggled, but heard a click, turned the handle by the key, and pushed the door open with his right knee. He let the door hit the wall behind and stood still, listening for movement or voices. Hearing none, he proceeded, turning back quickly and motioning with his free hand for Milo to stay put.
Marijuana permeated the air, an empty bottle of gin lay turned over at the edge of the coffee table, but the room was empty.
Milo pleaded, “Where is he?”
Larry passed the kitchen on the left and peered into a bathroom on the right. Several more steps down the hallway brought him slowly in front of a doorway and there he saw the body of a man half on and half off the bed, obviously Finneas, obviously dead. A syringe lay on the floor below his left arm. Larry immediately surmised suicide with the same toxin used to kill Marlowe.
Larry placed the pistol back in its holster.
Milo came running and stopped.
She turned and said, “This is what he wanted me to see? How could he do this? I hate him. I hate him,” and burst into tears and managed to say, “He knew I wanted to marry him. He knew.”
Was he deranged by intoxication or something else?
Milo started to collapse when she saw a piece of the paper on the bed.
Larry held her and backed her up enough to make sure she was where she should be and give him the space to do what was needed. He stepped forward and read as much of the note as he could without touching it.
"I killed Marlowe…."
Larry then moved Milo out of the apartment. From the hallway he called 9-1-1 and reported a dead body. He called Central Station and spoke to Captain Dempsey. After that he asked Hieu to come to the scene, and there in the quiet hallway of 892 Lombard, Larry and Milo waited for the Situation Investigation Team and the medical examiner.
Several minutes passed in silence, giving Larry time to think about what he had seen. Even from a foot away, Larry had recognized the handwriting on Fin’s suicide note as the same handwriting on the suicide note attributed to Marlowe, and now he was certain it was a homicide, as he had suspected all along. When the crime scene investigators arrived, he asked one of them to retrieve the suicide note. In this way he could keep Milo in place and ask her for more information, though he wasn’t sure what he would say.
The investigator handed the note to Larry. He looked at Milo and said, “I’m going to read the note aloud. I feel like you should hear it, but only if you are able to listen to it, or would you rather not?”
“I’m okay. Just do it, Mr. Leahy.”
"I killed Marlowe. Milo did not know. I placed the body in a travel trunk. I asked Milo to help me move it to my car. I drove to the China Beach parking lot, and we carried the trunk to the building, and I asked her to go back to the parking lot. I pulled everything out of the trunk. After that, I called her on her cell phone and asked her to help me bring the empty trunk back to the car. Milo didn’t see the body on the ground because I blocked her view. I told her there was memorabilia in the trunk and don’t want it anymore because it reminded me of my father and I hated him and I threw the memorabilia out there at China Beach."
Milo fell to the floor. Larry thought he knew women pretty well, or well enough, and bent down to give her comfort, but a female police officer had just arrived, nudged Larry out of the way, and assisted Milo. The rest of the note did not beg for forgiveness or explain why he did what he did. Yet, now, Larry could guess the reason. Jilted lover.
Hieu arrived with Captain Dempsey.
Right away Larry started explaining to Dempsey. “So, I read the suicide note and what had me confused was the absence of blood splatter at China Beach. The murder occurred in the kitchen, which is how the blood wound up inside the toothpick holder and on the toothpick. I discovered Obi was doing cancer research and had access to Botulinum neurotoxin. The drug was found in Marlowe Hastings’ body. Obi injected him with it. ”
Dempsey nodded.
Milo got up and said she would go home to her parents. “They are in a 14-day quarantine and need me.”
Finally allowing himself to be seen as a caring man, Larry said, “Thank you for helping, Milo, and I’m truly sorry for what has happened. I wish I could have helped you and me understand a little better. I had trouble figuring out how a toothpick with DNA on it could be in the kitchen.”
“Mr. Leahy, it’s simple. The three of us had drinks and hors d'oeuvres that night. Marlowe was in good spirits and seemed relaxed to be back in Fin’s apartment. There was a lot of blood in the kitchen, even on the table and the little toothpick holder, but it couldn’t be helped. It just happened.”
Larry suddenly, irrevocably realized that she was there.
“Milo, did you join in?”
“What? What are you saying?”
“How did you and Finneas do it?”
“What? What is going on?”
Larry looked sympathetically into her eyes and said, “Tell me what happened.”
Dempsey and Hieu stood absolutely still.
And there, less than three miles distant from 712 Steiner, the home where Milo and Marlowe grew up, she began to tell the rest.
“Well, you see, please understand, you must, you really must. I took offense at Mar’s rejecting Finneas a few days before, and I felt sorry for Fin, but then I realized, with Mar out of the way, I could marry Fin, and I told him and together we plotted how to get back at Mar, and we got him good and drunk. Fin injected him with that toxin, but he didn’t die right away, so he gave me his gun, that pretty purple thing, and said shoot Mar through the mouth, and I did. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“I’m very sorry, Milo Hastings, you are under arrest for the murder of Marlowe Hastings.”
Milo’s response came in a way that only a tax accountant could relish for bare honesty.
“Boyfriends fall out of love with each other all the time. I knew Mar would never kill himself. We would have done it together. Fin wanted too much from my brother. I’m the one who really loved Marlowe, in spite of what you think. I repeated the words of a song about a brother and sister and said many times, ‘As long as I am here, no one will ever hurt you.’ He said the same thing back to me. I guess I failed, but I would have tried to whisk him away and take care of him, just the two of us, and forget the rest of the world.”
What came next shocked even steady-eddy Leahy.
“Now, I’m drowning…sinking deeper with every breath. I’m scared without him...without Marlowe...Marlowe!”
The light phenomenon at 712 Steiner occurs Jan. 1 - Jan. 3 photo credit: George Horsfall