Fall Guy

garden.
    I decided to do a round of tai chi, to see if that would clear my mind. As soon as I took the first stance, Dashiell came to stand near me to bask in my increased energy. By the time I'd finished the form, I felt clearer. I went inside to read the mail.
    There were only a couple of items on O'Fallon's death certificate that I was interested in, but I read every word. It seemed, somehow, disrespectful not to. The single sheet had been issued by the Department of Health, and after the identifying information, O'Fallon's full name, age and last-known address, there was a box that said, „Date and hour of death or found dead.“ The date he died was there. The time his body was discovered was there as well. There would be no exact time of death. There had been no witness, no broken watch, no one claiming to have heard the shot. Eventually the ME would record an approximate time of death, a period of several hours during which evidence reveals he might have died. Because Jin Mei had heard him crying early in the morning and Parker had called 911 around noon, the time of death would probably be recorded as between eight and twelve that morning.
    I didn't know if any more specific information would be coming my way, unless I could pry it out of Brody. I imagined that because O'Fallon had been fully submerged in hot soapy water, the ME might make a narrower assessment of the time he'd died, that the particular deterioration caused by or prevented by the water would help him to pinpoint a tighter time frame.
    After „Death was caused by ...“ there was a caution. It read, „Enter only one cause per line.“ But only the first line remained, the other two having been crossed out so thoroughly that even holding the form under the light, I was unable to read what had been deleted. What was left was, „Immediate cause.“ And typed alongside that, in capital letters, PENDING FURTHER STUDIES. It said the same thing, all in caps, farther down the page, after „Manner of Death.“ None of the other choices—homicide, natural, suicide, undetermined—had been checked.
    Near the bottom of the page were my name and address, as executor, and the name of the funeral home designated in O'Fallon's will, Redden's on Fourteenth Street. After that, there was a statement certifying that all the foregoing information was a true copy of the record on file at the Department of Health. It also said the Department of Health did not certify the truth of the statements, that they had accepted the facts as stated but had not verified them. And even though, with this statement, they had neatly passed the buck for any sort of responsibility, their seal was affixed in the lower right-hand comer.
    I had the feeling that Brody would tell me that „pending further studies“ simply meant the tox screens weren't completed yet. I slipped the death certificate back into the envelope, pulling out and reading the preliminary letters of testamentary next. It was this document, issued by the Surrogate Court of the County of New York, which allowed me legal authority over Timothy O'Fallon's estate. The note from Melanie said that the checking account had been opened and that I could stop by my local branch of Chase to sign the signature cards. After I had done so, her office would begin to pay O'Fallon's bills, sending me the checks to approve and sign.
    The mail included a postcard from my Aunt Ceil, who was on vacation in Denmark, a phone bill, a letter from my congressman and a check for $80 from AT&T. If I cashed it, they would automatically become my long-distance carrier. I tore it up, dropped it in the garbage and picked up the phone.
    I called Maria Sanchez, figuring if I told her the sad news sooner rather than later, she might be able to fill O'Fallon's time and not suffer the loss of income.
    „You need cleaning?“ she asked.
    I told her no, I didn't.
    „I'll give you a good price.“
    I told her no again.
    „You want the key back?“
    I told her not to bother, that the lock had been changed.
    There was a silence on the line, and then she said, „Because of me?“
    „No,“ I said, „not because of you. I did it before I knew about you.“
    „Then because of Mr. Parker?“
    „Yes,“ I told her, „that's right.“ It wasn't the whole story. But it would do.
    „He was a pig,“ she said.
    „Pardon?“
    „Mr. Parker. Always dishes in the sink, a dirty bathroom. He never let me vacuum the couch he slept on. A real slob.“
    Jin