Caesar's Fall Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Also by Dorien Grey and Untreed Reads Publishing

  Caesar’s Fall

  To Norman

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author

  Caesar’s Fall

  By Dorien Grey

  Copyright 2017 by Gary Brown, Executor of Roger Margason/Dorien Grey Estate

  Cover Copyright 2017 by Untreed Reads Publishing

  Cover Design by Ginny Glass

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  Previously published in print, 2010.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Also by Dorien Grey and Untreed Reads Publishing

  A World Ago: A Navy Man’s Letters Home (1954–1956)

  Short Circuits: A Life in Blogs (Volume 1)

  The Dick Hardesty Mystery Series

  The Butcher’s Son

  The Ninth Man

  The Bar Watcher

  The Hired Man

  The Good Cop

  The Bottle Ghosts

  The Dirt Peddlers

  The Role Players

  The Popsicle Tree

  The Paper Mirror

  The Dream Ender

  The Angel Singers

  The Secret Keeper

  The Peripheral Son

  The Serpent’s Tongue

  The Elliott Smith Mystery Series

  His Name Is John

  Aaron’s Wait

  www.untreedreads.com

  Caesar’s Fall

  An Elliott Smith Mystery

  Dorien Grey

  To Norman, who was part of my life longer than my parents were, and who died February 18, 2010. I always missed him.

  Chapter 1

  “And how’s Steve?”

  Elliott rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, glad his sister couldn’t see through the phone. Suppressing a smile, he replied, “He’s fine, Sis. He’s exactly as he was yesterday when you asked.”

  “Well, he could have been hit by a bus, and you’d never volunteer the information.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Well, I really like Steve.”

  Elliott resisted an ironic Like I don’t? and said instead, “I know you do, Sis. And he likes you, but I really wish you wouldn’t be in quite such a hurry to get me married off.”

  “Elliott, you’re thirty-nine years old. I’m just worried you might lose Steve if you don’t let him know how you feel.”

  The smile became a grin. “He knows how I feel, and I know how he feels, and God’s in His heaven and all’s right with the world. Really. Neither of us has a train to catch, or a biological clock, so there’s no great rush.” Deciding it was time for a subject change, he said, “And speaking of Steve, he’s the reason I’m calling. He’s thinking of getting Brad a new tackle box for his birthday and wanted to make sure Brad hadn’t gotten one recently.”

  Brad, his sister Cessy’s police detective husband, was turning forty-five, and Cessy had planned a surprise party at one of his favorite restaurants.

  “Steve doesn’t need to get him anything. Just a card would be fine.”

  “Yeah, well, he wants to do a little more than a card. The last time he and Brad were talking about fishing, Brad showed him some flies from an old battered tackle box, and Steve thought he could use a new one.”

  “I’m sure he’d love it—he’s had that same one since before BJ was born—but Steve really doesn’t have to—”

  “I know. So, seven thirty at Monestero’s?”

  “Yes, and I really hope Brad won’t be upset with me for doing this.”

  “You know he won’t.”

  She was referring to the expense of renting a banquet room and paying for a catered buffet. She was always very conscious of Brad’s pride, and of his unspoken discomfort over his wife’s having, through her wealthy parents, far more money than he would ever earn. She’d discussed the idea of the party with Elliott, who encouraged her to go ahead with it.

  “What’s the good in having money if you don’t ever spend it?” he’d told her. “It’s not like you’re buying a closet full of mink coats. And Brad deserves something special for his birthday.”

  She’d reluctantly agreed and had arranged for the party, limiting the guest list to close friends and a few of Brad’s fellow detectives.

  “So, we’ll see you Saturday night, then,” Elliott said.

  “Yes, but I’m sure we’ll be talking before then.”

  Knowing his sister, he hadn’t a doubt in the world.

  *

  As he did nearly every time he talked to Cessy about Steve, Elliott felt a wave of guilt. He and Steve had been seeing each other for a year, and he still couldn’t bring himself to share the largest secret of his life with him.

  How could he possibly explain that he had a friend named John who just happened to be dead, and with whom he conversed frequently in his sleep? Elliott had at last reached the stage himself where he fully accepted the situation without fearing he was insane. He knew the time must come when he had to tell Steve about John, and Steve already suspected something odd was going on.

  Sighing, he realized he’d not picked up his mail on his way upstairs from the underground garage. He was expecting a bid for some tile work on his nearly completed current renovation project, so decided to go down to see if it had arrived. Checking the oven timer to verify he had enough time before his TV dinner would be done, he headed for the elevator.

  After the usual interminable wait, the elevator door whooshed open, and he stepped in to join the car’s only other occupant, a newcomer to the building. He and Steve had ridden the elevator up with the man on their way back after a night out the previous Saturday. He’d been with a very nice-looking young guy both Steve and Elliott instinctively knew was not a relative. Elliott had suspected he might be the man who had just bought the condo left vacant by the death of one of the older residents.

  Living in a large condo complex was a little like living in a small town, in that everyone tended to know everyone else, at least by sight.

  After the obligatory exchange of greetings, Elliott said, “Are you by any chance the one who bought 40J?”

  The man grinned. “Yes, I moved in about two weeks ago.”

  “Welcome to the building. I’m Elliott Smith, 35J.”

  The man extended his hand.

  “Bruno,” he said, not indicating whether that was his first or last name. “I guess we’re vertical neighbors.”

  Taking quick stock, Elliott estimated him to be between forty-five and fifty, graying short hair, ab
out five-foot-eight, stocky. He looked somehow familiar, though Elliott couldn’t immediately make a connection.

  “How do you like it so far?” he asked.

  “I love it! I’ve never lived in a building this big…or so tall. As a matter of fact, I’ve never lived above the third floor before. I really don’t like heights, but when I saw the view…”

  Elliot smiled. “I know what you mean. It was one of the main factors for me, too. I think it’s one of the best in the city. “

  “I agree,” Bruno—again, Elliott wondered if that was a first or last name—said enthusiastically. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. I hope I don’t.”

  The elevator reached the lobby.

  “After you,” Bruno said with a sweeping gesture of one hand.

  Bruno followed him through the inner lobby, where they both said hello to Marco, the doorman, then into the outer lobby, where Elliott turned left toward the mail alcove. Bruno did the same, echoing Elliott’s reaching into his pocket for his keys.

  “Forgot to get my mail earlier,” Elliott said, as they went to their respective boxes.

  “Me, too, though I haven’t really been here long enough to get any, thank God.”

  Elliott thought that a rather strange thing to say, but let it pass as he extracted his mail and went quickly through it looking for the bid. Finding it—or at least an envelope from the company making it—he put it on top and turned back toward the elevators. He was a little surprised to see Bruno still pulling mail out of what seemed to be a full box.

  Seeing Elliott’s look, Bruno grinned. “Looks like they found me.”

  Elliott had no idea what he was talking about but didn’t want to appear nosy, so said nothing.

  Bruno caught up to him in the outer lobby and waited while Marco pressed the buzzer to open the door. An elevator was waiting, and this time Elliott gestured for Bruno to get on first.

  “Was that your…partner…I saw with you Saturday?” Bruno asked.

  “We’re getting there,” Elliott said with a smile. “Not living together, though.” He deliberately avoided adding “yet” and wondered why. “And you? That was a really nice-looking guy you were with.”

  “He was, wasn’t he?” Bruno said it in a way that reminded Elliott of a proud little boy who’d just received an A on his spelling test. When he didn’t volunteer any other information as to the young man’s identity, Elliott let it go.

  When the elevator reached his floor, Elliott got out, turning to say, “It was nice to meet you…Bruno. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  “I hope so,” Bruno replied, smiling broadly as the door closed.

  *

  He’d just finished dinner and was looking over the tiling bid when the phone rang. “Elliott Smith.” He’d never cared much for “Hello.”

  “Hi, Ell, how was your day?”

  Even if he hadn’t immediately recognized the voice, Steve was the only person Elliott allowed to call him “Ell.” He didn’t consider his insistence on being called by his proper name an affectation, he simply preferred it, and made his preference known politely but firmly.

  “Coming right along. I should be ready to start looking for another project before too long.”

  “So, did you get a chance to ask Cessy about the tackle box?”

  “Yeah. She says you don’t have to get him anything, but that he’d be happy to have it.”

  “Good. I’ll stop by and pick it up on my lunch hour tomorrow. Nothing else new?”

  “I met the guy we ran into on the elevator last Saturday. The one with the hot ‘friend.’ I was right, he is the one who bought 40J. Seems like a nice guy, but there’s something a little…different?…about him.”

  “That’s cryptic. Different how?”

  “Hard to say. Sort of like he’s a kid in a candy store, somehow. He’s all excited about living here, like it’s out of his element.”

  “Well, it’s sure out of my element. You rich kids live in a different world from us working folk.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re breaking my heart. So, dinner Friday? Maybe a movie?”

  “How about I cook and you bring some DVDs?”

  “That’ll work. I’ll give you a buzz tomorrow.”

  *

  Elliott’s current project was a relatively small one, and a definite departure from his usual pattern. It was the first time since he’d gotten into the business of renovation that he was, in effect, doing a project for someone else. He had always before done everything for himself—finding and buying a property, renovating it exactly the way he wanted it with the help of his crew, then selling it.

  But when two of his friends, Jesse Lambert and Adam Burton, bought an early twentieth-century frame two-flat and asked if he would be willing to renovate it for them, he’d hesitated only briefly before agreeing.

  The building had originally been a private home but had been converted to a two-flat probably sometime after WWII, Elliott estimated. Jesse and Adam had bought it with the intention of restoring it to a single-family home. They’d originally planned to do the work themselves but quickly realized that, having no real experience in home renovation, they might be in far over their heads and called on Elliott. He and his crew had taken a look at it, recognized its potential, then reviewed and largely approved of the sketches Jesse and Adam had made of what they wanted.

  That, too, was a departure, since Elliott normally worked from his own ideas. But after pointing out a few impracticalities in their plans and receiving their assurance they wouldn’t second-guess him, he gave them an estimate, which they readily accepted. He then drew up a new set of plans with the agreed-upon changes, which they approved.

  While he couldn’t foresee doing this kind of thing on a regular basis, he’d convinced himself he was not only doing a favor for friends but would be saving both the expense of buying a property and the time, trouble, and expense of selling it when he was finished.

  The job was now about two-thirds complete, and Elliott was ready to start looking for his next project.

  Friday night, coming home from a particularly labor-intensive day and badly in need of a shower, he opted to avoid going through the lobby by walking the stairs from the garage to the second floor to catch the elevator. He was in a hurry to get home, get cleaned up and head out again for Steve’s. When the elevator doors opened, he was surprised to see Bruno and a tall, almost skeletal, redheaded man he’d never seen before. The man looked at him with mild curiosity and gave him just the hint of a beatific smile.

  Bruno indicated the man beside him. “Elliott, I’d like you to meet my sensei, Dr. Clifford Blanton. Sensei, this is my downstairs neighbor, Elliott Smith.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Elliott said, extending his hand and wondering what kind of a doctorate would be required to be a sensei. He tried not to let his curiosity show.

  “My pleasure,” Blanton responded, shaking hands.

  “We’re just going up for our session,” Bruno said, and Elliott felt his eyebrow rising.

  Noticing, Bruno grinned broadly. “Meditation,” he explained.

  “Ah,” Elliott replied, unable to think of anything better to say. “Sounds interesting.”

  “Oh, it is. I can’t tell you how much it’s changed my life. I’m sure I’d be a basket case without it.” There was only a slight pause before he added, “I’m glad I ran into you. I’m having a party tomorrow night and wondered if you and your friend would like to come.”

  “That’s really nice of you to ask, but we’re going to a surprise birthday party for my brother-in-law. A rain check, maybe?”

  Bruno smiled. “Sure. I’ll probably be having another next Saturday, too. We’ll see.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks for asking.”

  The elevator reached thirty-five, and Elliott got out after exchanging good-byes. He didn’t know quite what to make of the encounter and brief conversation. Sensei? He understood it to mean “teacher,” and associated the t
erm with kung fu films. He’d never thought of it in terms of meditation. Still, he acknowledged, there was a lot he didn’t know.

  And while it was nice of Bruno to invite him and Steve to a party, the fact he’d said he was likely having another the following week struck Elliott as perhaps a bit excessive. Two parties in two weeks?

  Well, he had said “probably,” not “definitely,” but Bruno hadn’t struck him as the party-boy type, so it did seem a bit unusual.

  *

  Elliott spent the night at Steve’s, and if he hadn’t been tired before he got there, he was totally exhausted—although very pleasantly so—by the time they finally got to sleep.

  Since Steve wanted to spend Saturday afternoon working on a painting, Elliott returned home shortly after breakfast, with the agreement Steve would pick him up and drive to Brad’s party. Elliott spent the afternoon doing cost analysis paperwork on his current project and was happy to determine he was running slightly under his projected estimates.

  As he passed through the lobby to wait for Steve, he noticed three men—one about sixty and two cover-model types in their twenties—standing at the desk as Marco picked up the house phone and said, “Mr. Thorne, Mr. Alvarez and Mr. Greenway to see you, Mr. Caesar.” He then put the receiver back in its cradle and said, “40J, gentlemen.”

  One of the should-be models gave Elliott a definite and none-too-subtle once-over as they passed.

  So, Bruno’s last name was Caesar, Elliott mused. Interesting name. And he suddenly smiled to realize why he’d thought the man looked familiar—Bruno was a dead ringer for a bust of the Roman emperor Tiberius in his father’s study in Lake Forest.

  *

  The birthday party was a big success, and Brad professed total surprise, though Elliott knew not much got by him. He was a homicide detective, after all, and chances were he’d either known about it or suspected long before they arrived. But even if he did know, he also knew Cessy had to have gone to a lot of trouble, and he played along perfectly, if for no other reason than to please her.

  There were several of Brad and Cessy’s friends, most of whom Elliott knew, and several of Brad’s friends from the force, all with their wives. The only one of the police contingent he knew was Brad’s partner, Ken Brown.