The Shallows--A Nils Shapiro Novel Page 6

  I wedged a proper pillow under her head and covered her with a light blanket then put myself to sleep, leaving a nightlight on in the bathroom in case she needed to find her way.

  I woke before Robin and decided to go out for coffee so the Nespresso machine didn’t wake her. I descended the sweaty loading dock steps and twisted the service door knob. It turned, but the door wouldn’t open. I pushed hard, but it didn’t budge, as if the door had somehow been nailed shut. Old building. Old door. Something could have broken. But I had no idea what. I peered out the small, chicken-wired window within the door. Nothing appeared to be blocking it. It didn’t make sense.

  I no longer cared if I woke Robin. I walked into the garage part of the dock and pressed the button mounted on the wall to open the bay door. The motor jolted and hummed, but the bay door didn’t budge. I hit the button again to stop the motor, then manually released the door from the drivetrain and tried to lift the door. I could not. Weird.

  There were no other exits. I was locked inside my own home.

  10

  “What’s going on?” I walked up the loading dock stairs to see Robin Rabinowitz, sleepy-eyed, wearing only bra and panties. She had no goddamn tan lines and no goddamn shame. Either she was born that way or Christmas Lake was more exciting than I thought.

  I said, “I think we’re locked in.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the doors won’t open. They’re not locked. They just won’t open.”

  “What about a window?”

  “They don’t start until twelve feet up. I could climb up to one, slip out, hang and fall. But I’d land on concrete. I hope I’ve established how delicate I am and … Hold on.” I called Ellegaard. “Ellie, it’s me. I’m locked in the coat factory … No, locked in. The doorknob turns, but the door won’t budge and neither will the bay door. Wondering if you and Molly can swing by and look at the doors from the outside … No, it’s a twelve-foot drop … That’s fine. Thanks.” I hung up and turned on the coffee machine. “They have to run the girls to activities and won’t be here for forty-five minutes. Coffee?”

  “Please,” said Robin. “Is it going to look bad I’m here?”

  “Yep.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. A day-old widow almost naked in her private detective’s house after having spent the night, empty wine bottles scattered like bowling pins. It doesn’t look great. You might want to hide in the bedroom.”

  “You’re probably right. Especially if Molly is coming over. Shit.”

  She got up and walked down the loading dock steps, leaving the blanket behind. She looked out the thin strip of chicken-wired glass in the service door. “Oh, fuck.”

  “What?”

  “I was worried Molly would see my car. It’s a red Audi SUV. Kind of a giveaway. But either someone stole it or it got towed.”

  “You parked on the street?”

  “That was bad?”

  “Depends on how much money you put in the meter. They’re enforced until midnight.”

  “What?! I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Welcome to the city. And at least we know where your car is.”

  Robin slugged back up the stairs like a kid who just lost her dog. I made a couple of coffees by pushing a couple of buttons. I cooked scrambled eggs with scallions and blistered cherry tomatoes with ginger and garlic and toasted four slices of rye. We drank coffee and ate and talked. Robin didn’t put on her clothes. She was comfortable with her near nudity like a teenager in a bikini, which made me uncomfortable. She said, “What’s with you and Irish stuff? Your whiskey. Your butter. I was looking at some of your vinyl last night. So much Van Morrison and The Pogues and Chieftans. I thought you were Jewish.”

  “I am. It’s weird, I know.”

  She chewed a few seconds then started to cry. That made two meals in a row with a crying woman. She said, “Todd must have suffered so much. I used to be in love with him. I didn’t want to be married to him anymore but I did care about him. Such a violent death. He was only fifty years old. He never got to have grandchildren. He’d talk about how much he looked forward to that. To seeing life continue…” She broke down and wailed like a child, either out of grief or guilt or both. I was pretty sure Robin Rabinowitz didn’t physically kill Todd. But if she had him killed, perhaps it happened in a way she didn’t expect. In a more violent and ugly way.

  I let her cry for a couple minutes, but when my plate was empty, I got bored. I said, “Maybe Arndt Kjellgren isn’t the gentle artist you think he is.”

  She shook her head. “Arndt’s sensitive. He wouldn’t kill someone. Arndt wanted me to leave Todd even if I didn’t end up with Arndt. That’s what he said. He wanted me to leave for my sake, not his.”

  “Those are easy words to say.”

  “You think he was lying?”

  “I don’t know, but I think Arndt Kjellgren welded us in here.”

  “What?” She said it while chewing with her mouth open. I didn’t care for that.

  “It’s just a guess. I can’t see outside, but the doorknob turns. Both the service door and bay door are just stuck. They’re metal doors with metal frames. Well within a welder’s wheelhouse. Did you tell him you were coming over here?”

  She thought for a moment. “No. I don’t think so. Besides, how would he know you live here?”

  “The internet. He wasn’t too pleased with me when I left so maybe he came by to finish the conversation. But he saw your red SUV parked outside. Then he came back later, saw your car was still here, freaked out, and welded us in here. Or maybe he just wedged shims between the doors and frames. Something. I don’t know.” Robin Rabinowitz looked sick. She stood and carried her plate to the sink. I got a text from Ellegaard. I said, “You should probably go hide now. The Ellegaards will be here in a minute.”

  Robin rinsed her plate, put it and her fork in the dishwasher, then said, “Thank you, Nils. I feel safe here. I couldn’t have stayed by myself last night.”

  “Ask a friend to stay with you tonight.”

  She looked hurt, turned and walked into the living room. She grabbed her purse, clothes, sandals, pillow, and blanket then disappeared into the bedroom.

  My phone rang a few minutes later. “Hey, Ellie.”

  “We’re standing outside. Someone taped you in.”

  “Taped?”

  “There’s a metallic tape going around your service door and the same tape running along the bottom and up the sides of your bay door.”

  “So peel it off.”

  “I tried. It doesn’t move.”

  Molly said in the background, “Tell him my key can’t even scratch it.”

  “Molly tried—”

  “I heard.”

  Ellegaard said, “The tape is made of metal. It looks like aluminum or steel. I’ll have to call someone to cut you out.”

  I walked down the loading dock steps and saw Ellie through the narrow window in the service door. He waved. I walked back up the steps and to the bedroom, where I gave Robin an update on our confinement.

  Forty-five minutes later, Ellegaard called again. He’d found a guy who said he could cut the tape with an acetylene torch. I asked if there were any other options. Apparently not. I said cut away and hoped the owner of the building planned on replacing the ground-level doors, because my meager security deposit wouldn’t cover what was about to happen.

  I heard the hiss of the torch and smelled burning metal. A few minutes later, Ellegaard and The Guy opened the door and entered. The Guy was large, wearing Gumby green coveralls and work boots. His long beard seemed like a bad idea for someone who worked with an open flame, but any portrayed lack of intelligence was counteracted by his ice-blue horn-rimmed eyeglasses. Ellegaard introduced him as Jim. I asked Jim what the hell was with the tape.

  “Oh yeah well sure,” said Jim, in a thick northern Minnesota accent, “it’s metal-on-metal tape. Stuff’s almost as strong as a weld or rivets. You see it
on some buildings there. You know, like on the art gallery at the U, the one done by that big shot architect who makes buildings out of shiny metal, you know, what’s his name?”

  “Frank Geary,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s him. This tape is the real deal. 3M makes it. It’s good stuff.” Jim stroked his beard, a clear sign he was thinking. “Kind of sucks some a-hole taped you in though. Kind of a dirty trick if you ask me.”

  Ellegaard said, “So who uses this tape, other than Frank Geary?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, lots of folks. Mostly industrial. It’s a lot faster for bonding metal than rivets or welding. It comes in different kinds. You got your one-sided aluminum-looking stuff like on your doors and you got the double-sided kind. That’d be good for building something out of metal to make sure it’s right before you start welding. ’Cause you know, a day of welding then cutting up your mistakes, heck that’s no good. But a little spot of double-sided tape between two big pieces. You can break those apart okay if you have to, especially if your pieces aren’t totally face-to-face and you got some leverage.”

  I said, “So maybe someone who makes large sculptures out of metal would be familiar with this tape?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Jim. “The tape would sure work great for that.”

  Ellegaard said, “I guess that makes cutting you out of here a Stone Arch expense.” He handed Jim the company credit card.

  Jim inserted a white plastic square into his phone then swiped the credit card. I tipped him a twenty. After Jim the welder left, Ellegaard said, “So who’s hiding in the bedroom?”

  I shook my head and said, “Dammit. Detectives are annoying.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “A woman spent the night, but on the couch. I slept in my room. Nothing more happened.”

  “You’re not mixing business and pleasure, are you, buddy?”

  “There was nothing pleasurable about it. I promise.”

  “All right, then,” said Ellie. “Meet us for breakfast in half an hour? Molly’s already there catching up on emails.”

  “Give me an hour.”

  Ellegaard gave me a look his daughter Emma must have seen a thousand times. He nodded then left. I showered then got in the Volvo with Robin and headed to the impound lot. On the drive I said, “So, Mrs. Rabinowitz, it appears your boyfriend knows you spent the night. So does Ellegaard. And I bet the police showed up at shivah and saw you weren’t there. Your behavior has been nothing but suspicious.”

  Robin looked out her side window. My phone rang. Micaela’s name popped up on the Volvo’s touch screen. Even if Robin hadn’t been in the car, I had no desire to talk to my ex-wife. My curiosity about her non-trip to New York had morphed into resentment just as our relationship had morphed into dysfunction. I had become an alcoholic except instead of alcohol being my poison, it was Micaela Stahl. For me, no amount of her was healthy. One drop could lead to something lethal. I had tried to quit her then fell off the wagon. I had to try again. Maybe I could find some kind of twelve-step program. There is nothing I hate more than joining a group that meets on a regular basis with crappy snacks, but apparently, I needed help. Step one is admitting you have a problem. So far, so good. I touched the image of the red phone to decline Micaela’s call.

  Robin said, “Sorry I’m cramping your phone call time.”

  “It’s not a problem.”

  She turned toward me and said, “Do you really think the police suspect me of killing Todd?”

  “They do if they’re good at their job.”

  She thought about that for a minute then said, “You know I had nothing to do with it, right?”

  I looked right at her and said, “I am definitely good at my job.”

  11

  At breakfast, I gave Molly and Ellegaard a report on my dinner with Emma, then Ellie and I headed to the office.

  Six months ago, Stone Arch Investigations moved from our expensive, ugly offices to an old building on SE Main Street, just across the Mississippi River from downtown. It was on a cobblestone street, had old high-gloss wooden floors, and rough-hewn stone walls. I convinced Ellegaard to have Stone Arch Investigations stenciled in gold paint on our glass door in honor of the private detectives of the 1930s and ’40s. I then pressed him for a receptionist with Veronica Lake hair who had to use an old rotary phone and intercom boxes. He said sure, as long as we wore suits to work every day, so I dropped it.

  We met in the conference room. It had four walls made of glass, a conference table, and six chairs. The constant push of cool air through the exposed ductwork created a whispery hum of deadness. It was the only thing I didn’t like about the place. The conference room cone-of-silenced us from an empty office. Our receptionist had ditched us for law school. We were looking for a new one but had yet to fill the vacancy.

  Ellegaard was getting jittery about us working the same murder investigation for different clients. He said, “We’re walking a tightrope on this one. We have to be careful.”

  “Well,” said Annika. She took a breath. When she had felt like an underling, she knew her role. But Ellegaard and I had been giving her more responsibility, and it sometimes made her nervous. “Yesterday I met with Ian Halferin and a few of the other partners, including Silver.”

  I said, “What’s he like? I haven’t met him.”

  “He’s a her,” said Annika.

  The air conditioning whispered disparaging remarks in my direction. I said, “Sorry. I heard the firm was an old boys’ club.”

  “It is,” said Annika, “except for Susan Silver. She’s in her fifties. Pleasant and tough. She and Halferin told me all about Todd, his business, and asked me to start by reading partially redacted summaries of his current and recent cases to see if I thought anything or anyone looked suspicious. So, one of the assistants set me up in a small conference room with a stack of files. Her name is Celeste.”

  I said, “Did she have ripped arms and smell like soap?”

  “Yes,” said Annika. “How’d you know?”

  “She wore a sleeveless dress and smelled soapy when I was there yesterday. Blond?”

  “That’s her,” said Annika.

  “So do you think the soapy smell comes from actual soap or does she use soapy-smelling perfume?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Ellegaard, “she smells like soap. I get it. What about her, Annika?”

  “I was going through the files. Celeste brought me a cup of coffee I didn’t ask for, closed the conference room door, and sat down. She said she was glad the firm hired me. Their other investigators were crusty old men who ate them out of bagels.”

  The air conditioner turned off and our glass room of silence grew even more quiet.

  Annika said, “Then she just sat there, so I asked if she’d brought me all the files or if she was going to bring in more. She said I had all of them and that she and I should grab coffee or a drink sometime.”

  I said, “She hit on you?”

  “No. It didn’t have that vibe.”

  Ellegaard said, “What’d you say?”

  “I said yes. Told her I could use a break and it sounded fun.”

  I said, “Hey, our little investigator is growing up. Nice job, Annika. When are you going to see her?”

  “Tonight. We’re going to happy hour at Keegan’s.”

  “Good. See if she talks when she gets a few in her. Shouldn’t take much. She can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.”

  Ellegaard said, “Did Celeste seem nervous or upset?”

  Annika tilted her head. “I wouldn’t say nervous, upset, or scared. To me she seemed more frustrated. Like she’d had it with whatever is going on and needed to vent.”

  I said, “When you go to happy hour, give the server your credit card the moment you sit down. Tell Celeste you insist on paying. Even though you’re working for Halferin Silver, you’ll write off drinks as a Stone Arch Investigations expense. Order food. Say we can afford it and badmouth us. We work you too hard. Don’t
pay you enough. We’re an old boys’ club and won’t give you a seat at the table. Maybe she can relate and you two will bond and she’ll be more willing to share.”

  Annika said, “Seriously?”

  Ellegaard said, “Yeah. Shap’s right. Make us the bad guy. That could help with the camaraderie.”

  Annika’s phone rang. She looked at the screen and said, “It’s Halferin.”

  I said, “Put it on speaker.”

  She answered her phone. “Hello.”

  “Annika?”

  “Yes. Mr. Halferin?”

  “I wonder if you could come in today. I just received an unpleasant phone call from a man named Arndt Kjellgren.”

  “What was unpleasant about it?”

  “Well, for one thing, he sounded unhinged. I know he’s an artist. We have one of his sculptures in our reception area. But all artists aren’t crazy, right? He flat-out accused us of killing Todd Rabinowitz. Said he had proof and all sorts of nutjob things.”

  “What does he have to do with Todd Rabinowitz?” said Annika, even though she knew exactly how Arndt Kjellgren tied to Todd Rabinowitz.

  “No idea,” said Ian Halferin. “That’s the extra crazy part. I don’t know if he knew Todd or just saw Todd died on the news and is high on drugs or something. Because Arndt Kjellgren is a somewhat famous person in the area, I’d like to nip this before he jumps on social media or goes to the press and rumors get started.”

  “Of course. What time would you like me to come in?”

  “As soon as possible. I’m here all day.”

  “I’ll head over shortly.”

  “Thank you. And one more thing. I know it’s unlikely, but I thought I’d just ask if Nils Shapiro can join us today.”

  Annika looked at me. I held up a finger. Annika said, “Let me try to find him. Hold on.…” Annika muted her phone and said, “What do you want to do?”