Fall Guy

to a sister. But I wasn't anxious to use up any more of her money than I had to.
    I picked up an old checkbook and leafed through the register. The car wouldn't have been towed. O'Fallon kept it in an outdoor lot two blocks from here on West and Jane.
    Behind the car folder, there was a folder with photographs. I pulled that out and opened it on top of the desk. Same kids, same happy faces, same ages. Then, behind the pictures, a small white envelope with initials on it—RKA. My initials. I opened it and pulled out what was in it, another newspaper article. Dashiell appeared while I was reading and dropped his cement-block head onto my lap. I was about to read it a second time when the phone started ringing again. This time, though, it wasn't O'Fallon's phone. It was my cell.
    „Alexander.“
    „Rachel? Is it you?“
    „Maggie? Yes. I'm so glad you called.“
    „Well, I was thinking. I ought to come into the city, help you with Tim's apartment. You shouldn't have to do all that hard work by yourself. The truth is, I still don't understand why you have to do it at all.“
    „That makes two of us, but I sure would love the help, if you don't mind.“ I picked up the keys that were on the side of the desk and flipped them into the palm of my hand. „When can you come?“
    „Well, I was thinking Saturday. I can come early, spend the day.“
    „Are you working every day before that?“
    „I am,“ she said.
    „Night shift?“
    „Evening. Four to midnight.“
    I opened my hand and looked at the keys. „What about before that? I mean, suppose I came ' to talk to you tomorrow. I have so many questions.“ I looked at the envelope, at my initials, RKA, on it. „Would that be okay? And then you ' can come in on Saturday and we can go over your brother's things, see what you'd like to have.“
    There was silence on the line.
    „Maggie?“
    „Tomorrow would be fine. Come for lunch.“
    „You don't have to bother with lunch. I just...“
    „It's no bother at all.“
    „Okay. And, Maggie? Just so it won't come as a shock when I arrive, I'm going to be driving your brother's car.“
    „You have the address?“
    „Yes. I have Tim's address book. I'll see you about twelve. Is that okay?“
    „At twelve, then.“
    „Oh, I nearly forgot to ask. Did you speak to Dennis? I assumed you would and I didn't call him back. And now I'm—“
    „Yes. I told Dennis.“
    „Will he want to come in as well?“
    Maggie didn't answer but the line was still open.
    „It doesn't matter. We can talk about that later.“
    „He's a very busy man, Rachel. He runs a business that's open seven days a week. I'll pick some things for him myself, some remembrances. I'm sure he'd appreciate that.“
    How odd, I thought afterward, that Dennis hadn't called about his brother, that he had no questions, no concerns. I looked down at the article again, well, the obituary. Maybe not so odd after all. Maybe Dennis O'Fallon had closed up shop years ago.

    COLIN O’FALLON, NEW YORK CITY DETECTIVE, DEAD AT 44

    Detective Colin O’Fallon, 44, died of an accidentally self-inflicted gunshot wound two nights ago in his home in Piermont. Local police reported that Detective O’Fallon was found dead at 7:05 p.m. when his wife Kathleen came homefrom her rosary group. His cleaning kit was on the kitchen table in front of where he had been sitting. He had apparently been cleaning his service revolver when it discharged, a source at the local precinct reported.
    The O’Fallon family had been particularly hard hit during the last year. Detective O’Fallon’s youngest son, Joseph, was killed in a diving accident nine months earlier. Seven months after that, his nephew, Liam Connor, 16, who had witnessed the accident, committed suicide.
    Detective O’Fallon is survived by his wife, two sons, Timothy and Dennis, and a daughter, Mary Margaret. The family plans a private service and has requested that, in lieu of flowers, donations be sent to Our Mother of Redemption Church in Sparkill.
    I got up and walked over to the bathroom, standing outside the closed door for a moment before reaching for the knob. Dashiell pushed his way in front of me. No way was he not getting in there first. I turned the knob, pushed the door open, reached in and turned on the light. Dashiell lifted his head and pulled in the scents.
    In yet another surprise, the bathroom where Timothy O'Fallon had accidentally discharged his service revolver while cleaning it, fatally wounding