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Authors: Sheryl J. Anderson
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it with my finger, but the stain didn’t lift. The circle was so perfect, it had to have been the same glass, night after night. A ritual.
There were also four scratches marking the corners of a rectangle on the table. The scratches were brighter than the ring. Newer. An ashtray? No, something bigger. But I didn’t want to get distracted, I needed to get the story out of Olivia. “Your father drank.”
Her nostrils flared in irritation. “I never said he didn’t. I said he didn’t do pills.”
“Okay. Did he drink heavily?”
“Not so much anymore. Said he was getting too old for the hangovers. But every once in a while …” She shrugged. “Don’t we all?”
“What happened to make you think this was different?”
“His breathing started to sound funny. I tried to wake him up, but I couldn’t. So I called.”
“Nine-one-one.”
“No. Adam.”
“Adam Crowley?”
She bobbed her head in agitated assent. “He’s my … This is going to sound stupid, but he’s like my brother.”
“Has he ever been anything else to you?” I asked, remembering Claire’s slam about “screwing the boys.”
Her head snapped up, and she looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Claire’s a bitch, and you can’t believe half of what she says.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, we’ve never been anything else.”
I couldn’t tell if the anger in her voice was specific to that statement or about the whole situation, but I decided to press on. “Okay, so what happened when you called him?”
“He was finishing up rehearsal for this play. He told me he’d be right over, but he was coming from the Upper East Side.”
“He didn’t tell you to call 911?”
“You don’t understand, I didn’t want anyone to see my dad that way.”
“Unconscious?”
“Messed up.”
I started to express my objection to that line of thinking, but she cut me off. “Anyway, while I was waiting, Dad’s breathing got more distressed and I got scared, so I called 911 anyway.”
“But they didn’t get here in time?”
She swayed a little as she searched for the proper description. “Barely. They did their thing and rushed him in the ambulance, but he stopped breathing once on the way, and by the time he was in the ER …” She shuddered at the memory. “They asked me if he’d taken anything, and I said of course not. I didn’t know …” She made a shooing gesture, but I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or the memories.
“But now you’re sure. Why?”
“Because I’m an idiot. Claire came over when she heard the paramedics, but I told her she didn’t need to come with us. So she was in here with all kinds of time to clean up and hide evidence and do anything else she needed to do.”
I rubbed the circle on the brass table again. “Did she say she cleaned up?”
“Of course not. She claims she went back to her apartment and waited by the phone.”
By the phone. I looked at the suggestion of a rectangle on the brass table again. “Where did you go to call Adam?”
Her breath clicked in her throat in irritation at my change in focus. “I didn’t go anywhere. I had my cell in my purse.”
“What happened to this phone?”
Olivia looked down at where my finger was tapping the brass table and blinked slowly, then looked around the room. “It’s …” She looked back at the table, perplexed. “I don’t know.”
“Was it there that night?”
She gazed at the table for a long beat, as though replaying the scene in her mind frame by frame. “No,” she replied slowly. “His glass and his headphones. That’s all. It didn’t even register … That’s so odd.”
If someone had indeed laced Russell’s nightly cocktail with a pharmaceutical kicker, it would be logical to remove the phone so he couldn’t call for help. But had it been removed before or after Russell called Olivia?
“What did your dad say when he called you?”
She waved her hands dismissively. “He was drunk.”
“In vino
There were also four scratches marking the corners of a rectangle on the table. The scratches were brighter than the ring. Newer. An ashtray? No, something bigger. But I didn’t want to get distracted, I needed to get the story out of Olivia. “Your father drank.”
Her nostrils flared in irritation. “I never said he didn’t. I said he didn’t do pills.”
“Okay. Did he drink heavily?”
“Not so much anymore. Said he was getting too old for the hangovers. But every once in a while …” She shrugged. “Don’t we all?”
“What happened to make you think this was different?”
“His breathing started to sound funny. I tried to wake him up, but I couldn’t. So I called.”
“Nine-one-one.”
“No. Adam.”
“Adam Crowley?”
She bobbed her head in agitated assent. “He’s my … This is going to sound stupid, but he’s like my brother.”
“Has he ever been anything else to you?” I asked, remembering Claire’s slam about “screwing the boys.”
Her head snapped up, and she looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Claire’s a bitch, and you can’t believe half of what she says.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, we’ve never been anything else.”
I couldn’t tell if the anger in her voice was specific to that statement or about the whole situation, but I decided to press on. “Okay, so what happened when you called him?”
“He was finishing up rehearsal for this play. He told me he’d be right over, but he was coming from the Upper East Side.”
“He didn’t tell you to call 911?”
“You don’t understand, I didn’t want anyone to see my dad that way.”
“Unconscious?”
“Messed up.”
I started to express my objection to that line of thinking, but she cut me off. “Anyway, while I was waiting, Dad’s breathing got more distressed and I got scared, so I called 911 anyway.”
“But they didn’t get here in time?”
She swayed a little as she searched for the proper description. “Barely. They did their thing and rushed him in the ambulance, but he stopped breathing once on the way, and by the time he was in the ER …” She shuddered at the memory. “They asked me if he’d taken anything, and I said of course not. I didn’t know …” She made a shooing gesture, but I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or the memories.
“But now you’re sure. Why?”
“Because I’m an idiot. Claire came over when she heard the paramedics, but I told her she didn’t need to come with us. So she was in here with all kinds of time to clean up and hide evidence and do anything else she needed to do.”
I rubbed the circle on the brass table again. “Did she say she cleaned up?”
“Of course not. She claims she went back to her apartment and waited by the phone.”
By the phone. I looked at the suggestion of a rectangle on the brass table again. “Where did you go to call Adam?”
Her breath clicked in her throat in irritation at my change in focus. “I didn’t go anywhere. I had my cell in my purse.”
“What happened to this phone?”
Olivia looked down at where my finger was tapping the brass table and blinked slowly, then looked around the room. “It’s …” She looked back at the table, perplexed. “I don’t know.”
“Was it there that night?”
She gazed at the table for a long beat, as though replaying the scene in her mind frame by frame. “No,” she replied slowly. “His glass and his headphones. That’s all. It didn’t even register … That’s so odd.”
If someone had indeed laced Russell’s nightly cocktail with a pharmaceutical kicker, it would be logical to remove the phone so he couldn’t call for help. But had it been removed before or after Russell called Olivia?
“What did your dad say when he called you?”
She waved her hands dismissively. “He was drunk.”
“In vino
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