At the Drop of a Hat (4 page)

My heart clenched up like a fist and it took me a forced breath to get it to loosen its grip on my chest and start beating again.

Probably Ariana had screamed because of a mouse or a large bug or some other ew-making thing. I glanced at the floor by my feet but it was mercifully rodent and insect free.

“Help me!” a cry sounded. “Someone help me!”

The plea snapped my head up. It was coming from outside the back of the building. I jogged down the short hallway that appeared to lead deeper into the office space. I passed a bathroom and two more offices and then went down a short flight of stairs into a small kitchen. At the back of the kitchen a door was ajar, leading into the small yard at the back of the house.

I opened the door wider and dashed outside. Ariana was crouched in the corner of the cobblestone patio with her hands knotted into fists in front of her mouth as if to keep in any more screams. It was partially working as she was only making whimpering noises. Her eyes were wide and looked wild as if she couldn't take in what she was seeing.

I glanced down and that's when I saw the man lying at her feet. Even from across the patio, I could see that the side of his head had been smashed in and his limbs were twisted at odd angles as if broken.

Bile splashed up against my throat as the metallic smell of blood and other pungent body odors hit my nose. I choked it down and held out a hand to Ariana, forcing myself to walk to her even as my legs wanted to buckle under me like useless noodles. I knelt beside her, grabbing her arm to steady myself.

“What happened?” I croaked. My voice was raspy with shock.

She began to rock back and forth. The distressed noises coming from her throat were becoming louder and more horrible.

“Ariana, speak to me,” I said. “What happened?”

She opened her mouth to answer but the only noise that came out was a wail of complete horror. I glanced at the body and pressed a finger to the wrist of the hand lying closest to us. There was no pulse. I hadn't really expected one.

Ariana's keening was reaching a decibel level that was going to make my ears bleed. I had to snap her out of it. I tried to haul her to her feet but she was balled up and clenched tight with the density of a rock.

I stood and yanked her into a standing position. She was still wailing, so I grabbed her by the upper arms and shook her.

“Ariana, we need to call for help,” I began but she was beyond reason.

“He . . . he . . . he . . .” she panted.

There was no help for it. I knew hysterics when I saw them.

“I'm sorry, Ariana,” I apologized.

Then I slapped her. A good open-palmed thwack against the cheek, not enough to leave a mark but definitely enough to get her needle unstuck from its groove.

“Huh.” The air went out of her in a puff and she sagged against me. “He's dead. My boss is dead. Oh, my God, how could this happen?”

“We need to call the police,” I said. “They'll get it figured out. Do you know what happened?”

“I don't,” she said. “I was making tea and then I saw him drop right past the window.” She blanched and pressed her knuckles so hard against her mouth, she was going to bruise her lip.

I glanced up at the house. None of the windows were open; he must have fallen from the roof.

“He has no pulse,” I said. “Was he like that when you found him?”

She nodded. It was then that I noticed the blood on her hand, streaks of it staining her palm and the cuff of her pale blue silk blouse. Her face crumpled and she pressed her forehead into my shoulder as she sobbed. “I can't believe he's dead.”

I studied him over her dark hair. There was no rise and fall to his chest. He looked shattered like a vase broken into too many pieces to be glued back together. The thought made my head spin.

“We'd better call an ambulance anyway,” I said.

Ariana nodded and together we wobbled our way back into the kitchen.

Sadly, it occurred to me that I had more experience with discovering a dead body than any person ought to have at the age of twenty-seven. For a second, I desperately wished my friend Andre were here with me, as he had been on the last few occasions that my timing had been this crummy. Then I felt bad for wishing such a horror on my friend. Still, a buddy would have been nice.

Ariana was sobbing into a tissue, so I pulled out my cell phone and placed the call.

“Police emergency,” a female voice answered.

“Hi,” I said. I cringed. That sounded entirely too cheerful. “Er, I'm calling to report a dead man.”

“Right, a dead man, you say?”

“Yes, he appears to have fallen off the roof of his office building,” I said.

“What is the address?”

Of course, my mind chose that moment to go completely blank. I couldn't even remember my home address, never mind this one.

“Ariana,” I said. “Where are we?”

She looked up from her tissue. Her eyes were red and swollen and her lips were trembling. Clearly, she didn't understand me.

“The address here, what is it?” I asked.

“Oh.” She sniffled. “Thirty-one Taylor Place.”

I related the address into the phone. The dispatcher was very kind and told me to wait on the line until she had verified that someone was on their way.

I paced while I waited. Ariana cried. I wished I knew what to say to comfort her, but truly I barely knew the girl, so I didn't want to say the wrong thing and make things even worse.

“I'm going to wait out front and flag them down,” I said to Ariana.

She glanced over her shoulder at the backyard and said, “I'll come with you.”

I couldn't blame her. I wouldn't want to wait with a dead man either.

We climbed the short flight of stairs back up the hallway. The furniture that had seemed lovely when I walked in now seemed overstuffed and ominous, and I decided that I would open the front door to be able to keep an eye out.

Still, it wasn't far enough away from the horror on the other side of the house, so I stepped out onto the front steps.

A siren blared and a yellow ambulance with green rectangles on it zipped up the street toward us. Ariana leapt to her feet and began waving her arms. The driver parked right in front of us.

“They're here,” I said into the phone.

“Very good then,” the dispatcher said.

“Thanks and . . . bye,” I said. I ended the call wondering if everyone she spoke to was as awkward as I was. Then I shook my head and muttered, “Focus, Scarlett, focus.”

Ariana hopped from foot to foot while the medics grabbed their gear. It took only moments and they all rushed right past me, following Ariana back into the house.

I didn't want to go back there again. It was already going to take me more pints than I could afford to erase the image of that broken body. I gagged. Maybe not pints then; more like shots of Scotch or whiskey.

A panda car stopped right behind the ambulance. This I knew belonged to the Metropolitan Police, and was named for its markings. I had heard the term “panda car” every time I visited London since I was a child, and for years I always thought they were talking about a car that looked like a panda. When I finally figured it out, I was horribly disappointed that it didn't look anything like a panda. I glanced at the car, and yes, I still was disappointed.

A constable hopped out and I waved him over. There was no help for it. I would have to show him where the body was.

“They're back here,” I said as he climbed the steps. I turned and hurried through the house. When we stepped outside, it was to see the medical personnel gently pulling a cloth over the man's body. I turned away from the sight of it, but the constable marched over to talk to them.

Ariana was standing pressed up against the back wall, looking lost and frightened. I crossed the cobblestones and took her hand in mine.

“Come on,” I said. “We can wait inside.”

The constable glanced over his shoulder at us and I gestured that we'd be inside. His eyes were compassionate and he gave me a brisk nod.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked as Ariana sat on the edge of a small black leather love seat in the reception room.

“No, thank you,” she said. “Oh, I suppose I should be asking if I can get you anything. I'm all a muddle.”

I sat on the armchair beside her. “That's understandable. Is he . . . er . . . he was your boss?”

Ariana looked up at me with red-rimmed, horror-filled eyes and nodded.

“Do you know what happened?” I asked.

“I was making tea,” she said. I nodded encouragingly. We had covered that before. She waved her hands in the air. “Sorry, I know I said that before.”

She sounded like she was going to cry again. I didn't want to be the one to cause her more upset, so I reached over and took one of her hands in mine.

“It's all right,” I said. “We don't have to talk about it.”

“No, it's not that, it's just I can't believe it, I don't understand how he could have fallen or from where . . .” Her voice trailed off and I got the impression that Ariana knew as much about what had happened as I did, which was a whole lot of nothing.

“Scarlett, did you come looking for me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I have the estimates for your wedding hat, but we haven't been able to reach you by phone so I thought I'd pop over since it's, well, it was a nice day out.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding. We could hear someone coming into the house and she glanced down the hallway. “I lost my phone. Sorry, I should have called you from here and let you know.”

“It's all right,” I lied. Sheesh, I was beginning to sound as proper as Viv and Fee, saying things were fine when they clearly were not. I'd give fifty pounds to be anywhere but here, but since I was polite and all, I didn't say it.

The constable arrived back in the room. He'd removed his large hat and was kneading the brim like a cat trying to plump a cushion. He looked supremely uncomfortable and I couldn't blame him.

“Excuse me, Miss?” he asked. “I'll need to ask you both a few questions.”

“Certainly.” Ariana nodded.

“Of course,” I said.

“Because of the nature of the situation, there will be some more investigators coming to determine the cause of the man's fall,” he said. “You have identified the man as Mr. Anthony Russo, the solicitor whose office this is.”

“Yes, sir,” Ariana said. “He was my boss. I am his assistant, Ariana Jackson.”

The constable paused to look at me. He didn't have to ask if I worked here as well; I could see the question on his face. I shook my head.

“No, I'm Scarlett Parker,” I said. “I work at a millinery shop over on Portobello Road.” How that was relevant, I had no idea, but I felt it took me out of the situation entirely, which was pretty much what I was going for.

“Miss Parker, we meet again.” A man in a tweed jacket and dark trousers came through the front door and paused beside my chair.

I craned my neck up and got an eyeful of mustache and jowls and the recognition was immediate.

“Detective Inspector Franks,” I said. “Good to see you again. No, that isn't right, is it?”

He smoothed his mustache as if considering. “Your meaning is clear but the circumstances do indicate otherwise.”

“How do you do, Miss Parker?” Another man entered the room after Inspector Franks and I glanced past Franks at his partner.

“Inspector Simms,” I said. The younger of the two with a bit of a unibrow issue, Simms was big and burly, and I'd previously seen him put away his body weight in tea and crackers. For all that, I liked him. I liked them both. They made me feel safe in a world that suddenly felt very tremulous.

I noticed Ariana and the constable were looking back and forth at us and I hastily added, “This is Ariana Jackson, she works here, and no doubt you know Constable . . .”