A Knight at the Opera (3 page)

"God, I hope so." She pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed her eyes. "It's
been awful!"

The hors d'oeuvres arrived and we divided them up. She took a bite of the tuna.
"Mmm, this is delicious."

He said, "So's the crab."

She twisted so that she was facing him. "Tell me, what do you think happened to
that man?"

Maurice shrugged. "I have no clue. I guess it could have been almost anything.
Besides, Adam's the one who does all the heavy thinking. Ask him."

"Okay, I will. Adam, what do you think?"

That was one of the things I wanted to talk to Maurice about. I decided there was
no harm sharing it with Robin. "There's something odd about all of this. Did you happen to
notice the angle he fell at?"

Maurice narrowed his eyes at me, as though I was a car salesman who had just
offered him a free 2013 Porsche. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. I only caught a glimpse of him before he hit the ground, but it
seemed to me that he was moving in an arc toward us. He wasn't falling straight
down."

Maurice thought about it. "You may be right. Where are you going with
this?"

I took a slow sip of scotch. "I don't know."

Robin had downed most of her drink. She touched her fingertips dramatically to
her lips. "Are you saying he jumped? Or was pushed?"

I regarded her. She might have sad eyes, but she was nobody's fool. "I'm not
saying anything. There could be half a dozen explanations for what happened. It just seems
odd that he fell the way he did. I--"

My phone rang. It was Hal Gross, the news editor of the
Clarion.
He had
appointed himself as my number one cheerleader, spreading my name across the pages of
his newspaper every chance he could. Evidently, this was going to be one of those
occasions.

"Hi, Hal."

His unmistakably New York voice came booming in my ear. "'Hi, Hal,' my fanny!
I hear you've had an eventful night at the opera."

"You could say that. How did you hear--"

"I'm a journalist, for God sakes. I hear everything. And you didn't have the
decency to call me with a scoop."

"Sorry," I said. "It didn't seem like much of a story."

"I thought I had you trained better than that, my friend. So tell me what
happened."

"You probably know more than I do. After the opera ended, a body came
crashing down from somewhere in the balcony. It was a middle-aged man in a black
pin-striped suit. He nearly landed on Maurice."

"I know all that," Hal protested. "I want to hear the part about your saving a
woman's life. I hear you were her knight in shining armor."

"Not me. That was Maurice," I noticed that Robin had flagged the waiter, and
was ordering another drink. She had downed her first one in two quick gulps. I shook my
head, to indicate that I was going to pass. To Hal, I said, "Maurice was the knight in shining
armor."

"Honest? It wasn't you?"

"No, it was my fearless legal assistant. His old football instincts," I said. "You're
going to want to interview him." That was another of those things I wanted to discuss with
Maurice--and one of the reasons I knew he was so upset by what had happened at the
opera house. Maurice's football career had ended abruptly, because he'd gotten involved,
off the field, with some very unsavory characters. It had been resolved, but not without
considerable damage to his reputation. We both felt the news media had been brutally
unfair to him. The term I'd used at the time was "piling on."

But this was a chance to do some belated rehabilitation.

Maurice mouthed, "No way!"

Hal said, "You're damn right, I'm gonna want to interview him. So he was a
knight at the opera!" He laughed heartily. "Oh, I like that. Get it? A knight at the--"

"I get it. You could have been the fifth Marx brother."

"Actually, there were already five. Groucho, Harpo, Chico, Gummo and Zeppo. I
would have been number six."

I said, in a slow, deliberate tone, "Hal, when you start thinking about this story
and its main protagonist, I know you're going to recall certain events that happened in days
gone by. Do you know what I'm referring to?"

Hal got it right away. "Maurice's sordid past?"

"Precisely. I want to remind you that it ended up in vindication, even
though--"

"I know," he said. "I take it, you can't talk freely right now, but you're telling me
not to rake him over the coals?"

I glanced over at Maurice. He was trying to listen to my conversation with Hal,
but the waiter had brought more drinks, and Robin was engaging both of them in
conversation.

Turning my attention back to the telephone, I said, "You're a wise man, Mr.
Gross. It would be a more uplifting point of view. What happened last time was completely
beyond the bounds of decency."

"I hate you," he said. "Especially when I know you're right. And just for the
record, as you lawyer types are so fond of saying, the
Clarion
tried to present both
sides of the story."

"Maybe so, but--"

"Okay, we'll go easy on him. And no oblique Marx Brothers references. So, now I
need some more information from you. What caused the man to go over the balcony?"

I thought it over. "Gravity."

"Gravity?"

"Absolutely. You know, the force that--"

"I know what gravity is, Adam. Now you're trying to be funny?"

"No. I'm trying to tell you that, to all appearances, that's all that happened. No
lights suddenly going dim, no shot ringing out in the dark. As far as I know, it was just a
man who fell over the edge of the balcony."

"Yeah? What about the mystery woman?"

That took me by surprise. "What mystery woman?"

"You don't know about her?"

"No. Tell me."

"Glad to oblige. The dead man was named Karl Markowsky. He was sitting in
what they call LBox L, Row A, Seat 301. It's one of the worst seats in the place. Actually, it's
not even a regular seat. More like a folding chair. You have to lean way over the balcony if
you want to see the left side of the stage. There was a woman sitting next to him,
apparently blonde and very attractive, although nobody seems to be able to provide any
other details. From the general description, it could have been his wife, although the word
is, she denies it. Anyway, whoever it was, she got up and left a few minutes before the end
of the last act. Nobody can say where she went or why she left. But the cops sure as hell
want to find out."

I was starting to suspect he was pulling my leg. "Hal, how could you possibly
know all this?"

"A little bird told me. A little bird named Ivory Fangenhour."

"Fangenhour? Your theater critic?"

"None other. He was in the audience, reviewing the show. One of the few perks
left in this business. You wouldn't know this, but before he became a critic, he was a staff
writer, like the rest of us dinosaurs. In the good old days, before we Tweeted and
Facebooked and blogged. So when can I interview Maurice?"

I turned to Maurice. "Hal wants to know when he can interview you."

"When hell freezes over," he muttered. Robin had signaled the waiter for a third
round of drinks, and she ordered another martini. I decided her last name must be Fish,
because she was drinking like one.

Maurice told the waiter, "No more for me. Just the check."

I had covered the phone with the palm of my hand. "Maurice, I think you should
do it. I've been talking with Hal about how the article should read. He agrees with me."

I could tell from his expression that he knew exactly what I meant. "Let me think
about it."

Uncovering the phone, I said, "He'll think about it. Why don't you call me
tomorrow?"

"Count on it," Hal said. "Meanwhile, try to generate some more news for me. It's
been a slow day. I could use something sensational."

"I'll see what I can do."

"If anybody can, it's you."

As I slipped my phone back into my pocket, Maurice and I exchanged meaningful
glances. We had another problem. Robin's blood alcohol level was undoubtedly higher than
the driving-while-impaired limit of .05. Probably closer to 1.5. Being responsible citizens,
we couldn't let her drive home.

Finishing her drink, she looked blissfully oblivious. Then it dawned on her that
we were both staring at her. "What?"

I said, "How are you going to get home?"

"I can drive." She frowned, as she heard the slurred sound of her own words.
"No, I can't. Damn it!"

"We'll get you a cab," Maurice said. "You can pick up your car in the
morning."

"I have a better idea. You can take me home in my car, and I'll drive you home in
the morning. After all, you're my knight in shining armor. I need to thank you properly."
She flashed her eyes at him. "I'll even make you breakfast."

Knowing Maurice, I figured that was exactly what he had been expecting.

But he surprised me. "Naw, that wouldn't be cool, Robin. You're drunk. The part
about me driving you home in your car is fine, but I think Adam should follow us and I'll
hitch a ride with him." He turned to me. "Is that okay?"

"Of course," I said with an approving nod.

There was hope for him, after all.

The phone on my night stand rang just before eight o'clock Sunday morning. I
was lying alone in bed, half awake, listening to the news on NPR. I reached for the receiver,
figuring it was probably Hal Gross, but the caller I.D. told me it was actually Jana
Deacon.

"Good morning, Jana."

She chuckled into the phone. "It sounds like you had an exciting evening."

"You mean the dead man?"

"Of course I mean the dead man. Or did something else happen to you at the
opera last night?"

"No. Just that. It was quite enough."

"I'll bet," she said. "I guess the opera wasn't nearly as boring as I expected. If I'd
known something interesting was going to happen, I might have gone with you."

I leaned back against the pillows. "Nobody knew a man was going to fall from
the balcony. At least, I sure didn't."

"No, probably not," she said. "Although with you, who knows?" Before I could
respond, she said, "Did Maurice really save that woman?" I knew that she wasn't
particularly fond of Maurice. Early on, she'd gotten the notion that he didn't have sufficient
respect for women and, so far, he hadn't been able to change her mind.

"He did," I said. "And possibly a few other people, as well."

"He's a real hero." I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but I let it
pass. She continued, "Are we still on for our hike?"

"We are. I'll pick you up at about nine fifteen."

"I'll be ready."

I showered, shaved, and grabbed a pair of jeans, an Orvis shirt and hiking boots.
I was just heading downstairs when the phone rang again. This time, it was Hal.

"Good morning, Counselor. Have you read todays'
Clarion
?"

"Not yet. I just got up a few minutes ago."

"Oops," he said. "Did I call too early?"

"No, not a problem. I'm meeting Jana and we're heading up to Estes Park."

"Oh? Knowing Jana, can I safely assume the two of you are scaling Long's
Peak?"

"No. Just a simple hike."

"You know, don't you," he observed, "that sooner or later that woman's going to
talk you into tackling Annapurna with her?"

He was exaggerating, of course. She was certainly gung ho about outdoor
activities, but not into extreme anything. "You're just irritated because she won't play
tennis with us."

"Not that she won't play. That, my friend, I can live with. It was her 'what a wuss
sport!' remark that cut to the quick." Hal and I had been playing tennis regularly for about
four years. My previous companion, Josie Ballentine, would sometimes join Hal, his wife
and me for mixed doubles. When he and I suggested that to Jana, her reaction had been
something akin to her response to my inviting her to see
Carmen.

I said. "You're a New Yorker. Nothing cuts you to the quick."

"True, true. But we New Yorkers still have our sensibilities. Tell me, did you talk
to Maurice about an interview?"

"I did. He balked at first, but now he's on board. Provided that you agree to take
it easy on him." The night before, after dropping the inebriated Robin off at her ritzy condo
near Washington Park, Maurice and I had talked at length about the merits of a little
positive publicity. "He'll cooperate fully."

"Good. I'll give him a call later this morning. I wouldn't want to interrupt his
beauty sleep. I was thinking maybe a feature story, as a sidebar to what otherwise appears
to be a tragic but relatively uninteresting accident. Although, in light of recent
developments, there's no telling where this thing is going."

"Recent developments? What recent developments?"

"Well, first there's the missing mystery woman. She's still a mystery. But,
second--and the cops are playing this close to the chest--apparently they found something
on the dead man's body that has them scrambling around for more information. Stone's
pressing the medical examiner's office to speed up the autopsy results. Especially the
toxicology reports."

"Interesting," I said. "Any guesses as to what they found?"

"None. Not even off the record. As I say, they're playing it very close to the
chest."

"Well, please keep me posted."

"Oh?" he said. "Are you interested?"

"Not professionally. But I am curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, my friend. For once, you have the luxury of sitting on
the sidelines and cheering for the home team. Even if Stone happens to be their
captain."

Somehow, I found that thought disconcerting.

Of course, it didn't turn out to be that simple.

* * * *

Jana lived in a two bedroom condominium in a high-rise near Evans Avenue and
Quebec. She'd inherited the unit from her father, who had used it both as his home and the
office for his detective business. Given that it was a Sunday morning, when people tended
to sleep in, I had to park my silver Audi in a space near the far end of the lot. The building
was probably fifteen years old, and had been well-maintained. I knew from my association
with Jana that the brown stucco walls had recently been patched and painted--one of the
benefits of having a homeowners association. The biggest detriment was that there was
always somebody on the board who wanted more rules, especially rules as to how
everyone else should live their lives.