Before I begin, let me just say that this was done during NanoWriMo, and it's unedited. There shouldn't be any spelling or grammar issues, but there might be occasional repetition or awkwardness. I'm not looking for advice on the technical aspects (though please tell me if I just plain suck), but rather about whether the subject and characters are interesting. Basically, is this something you'd want to read?
Warning: Strong language.
Murder, Mayhem and That Sort of Thing
- Chapter 1-
Spoiler
This story should begin on a dark night. The kind of night where the moon is barely peeking behind the clouds, giving each shadow a menacing quality. The sounds would echo across the quiet city, turning even the most innocent noise into an ominous clatter. Western wind would pick up the decaying leaves and scatter them around the corpse of a young woman, taken in her prime. The detective (clad in a trench coat and a fedora) should slowly walk to the scene, his steps thundering against the paved stones. He should take one look at the young victim and swear to take down the scum that dared touch her. His observant eye would catch an errant strand of hair, and he would use his extraordinary powers of deduction to make good on his promise. The murderer would get the death sentence and the world would have one less lowlife polluting the gene pool.
Alas, our story actually begins on the perfect day of summer in a small town of Muck. Thanks to the efforts of the mayor, Muck was currently THE top vacation spot in California. Well, maybe not the top one, as that title would go to San Francisco or Los Angeles, but nonetheless, one of THE vacation spots this year. Now that I think about it, there are probably several other towns that would be a better vacation spot than Muck. Any town with a casino, resort or a parking lot that could hold more than 6 cars would be a better vacation spot. Technically, if we were to really compose a list of all the vacation places in the sunny state of California, Muck would be lucky to even get a nomination. In fact, the town officials had to write 16 letters to get someone to put Muck correctly on the current US maps. The first letter the officials sent was handled by Freddie. Of course, this meant that the letter left slightly stained by a jelly donut and a cup of coffee, and thus for 4 years Muck was known as “Muct”. The other fifteen letters could be summarized as “Muck, with a K!” in varying degrees of politeness.
Where was I … Oh, yes, the perfect summer day. It was absolutely beautiful. Enunciate with me be-you-tee-full. The skies shined a brilliant blue, with a few wispy clouds dotting the edges of the horizon like dollops of whipped cream. The temperature had crept into the 90s, but a playful breeze and Mr. Beaker's ice cream kept things cool. It was a day where everyone felt happy to be alive. Everyone except the occupant of room 18 at the Philistine, that is, who couldn't feel much of anything on the account of being rather dead.
Detective Rob Little arrived to the Philistine late. His town-issued AMC Pacer stalled about 4 blocks away from the crime scene and he was forced to walk up the steep hill on top of which the hotel was perched. As he crossed the parking lot, Rob unbuttoned the sleeves of his pale blue shirt and rolled them up. He could feel the sweat drip down his body, undoubtedly leaving sweat circles under his arms and across his back. If he were the sort of man who drops swear words like they were flaming hot jalapenos, he would think of a dozen offensive things to say at this very moment. As it was, the only thing Rob could think of is “Oh, bother.”
The responding officer at the scene was Charlie Tucker. He was standing near the door to room 18, staring vacantly at the horizon. Approaching, the detective could hear Charlie humming a tuneless song under his breath. Rob stopped in front of the door and cleared his throat.
“Oh, hey Little. Car stalled again?” - Charlie asked, reaching to turn on the radio he carried on his shoulder. Rob nodded and knelt in front of the box at Charlie's feet. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and paper slippers to cover his feet. He waited for Charlie to finish calling dispatch and then the towing company.
“What are we looking at, in there?” - Rob asked, hoping he sounded casual and aloof.
“One DB, bathroom, no apparent motive” - Charlie replied, stifling a yawn. Rob nodded and ducked under the yellow caution tape. “Oh, and the AC broke last week. Watch out for the smell.”
As he tried to prepare for the sights and smells he might encounter inside the crime scene, Rob was taken aback by the normalcy of room 18. Its 10x12 square feet housed a double bed, wicker chair and a nightstand. A dark brown strip of wood separated the bare ocher walls from the equally ocher carpet. A pair of jeans and a t-shirt were neatly folded across the seat of the chair. With its beige bedspread tucked neatly under the mattress and the pillows centered in the middle, the bed didn't look like it had been slept in. Rob made a mental note to ask which maid was on duty and whether she'd been to one to discover the body.
Four steps carried him across the room and into the tiny bathroom. Rob buried his nose into the crook of his elbow and scanned the scene. An obese man was sitting naked on the toilet, his back digging into the tank. Despite his loud internal protests, Rob found himself staring at the dead man's crotch.
“Geez, Little, I didn't know you swung that way.” - said a loud voice, jerking Rob from his thoughts.
“Oh, doctor Carlisle! I wasn't … I mean, it's not ...” - Rob stumbled with his words, blushing.
“Relax, Rob. I was just kidding, you know.” - said the doctor as he put down a slim suitcase. He unlatched the sides and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. Rob stepped outside while the doctor performed his medical examiner duties. With the door still open, he could hear Carlisle's slightly muffled voice describing the scene.
“Heart attack.” - concluded doctor Carlisle as he joined Rob and Charlie outside. “Of course, we'll still perform an autopsy, but I don't expect to find anything outside heart disease brought on by a lifelong diet of cheap cheeseburgers and fries.” With Rob at his heels, Carlisle went back inside for his suitcase. He took one last cursory look at the room and turned to Rob. This, dear readers, is where a famed detective would say something personal to the doctor and establish a strong working relationship. Or perhaps he would make a pertinent observation about an insignificant detail that would later blow the case wide open. Instead, detective Little stared blankly at the doctor until Charlie popped his head inside the room and said that the body transportation was pulling into the parking lot.
Two EMTs whose names Rob couldn't remember drove a stretcher into room 18 and emerged a couple minutes later with the large man's body inside a black body bag. Doctor Carlisle got into his Bentley and peeled out of the parking lot. The ambulance exited the lot a little slower, with Charlie's new Ford Cruiser following closely. After they reached the bottom of the hill, a hush crept over the hotel. Feeling like there was something he kept forgetting, Rob rubbed the back of his head and returned to the crime scene.
The simple room showed him nothing new. The clothes still sat on the seat of the wicker chair and the bed was perfectly made. In the quiet of the lazy afternoon, Rob could hear a soft plink coming from the bathroom. The rusty shower head was dripping large drops of water. Rob stared at the toiled where the deceased man was sitting and tried to focus on what he was forgetting. Only after an hour did he remember that Charlie towed his AMC Pacer and that he had no ride home. He patted his pockets, knowing in advance that his cellphone was back in the car. He would have to head over to the check-in and see if anyone could give him a ride home.
* * *
Head bent, Rob walked to the small office at the Western edge of the Philistine. He was already mentally rehearsing what he was going to say to Sandy Farr, the police secretary. Unlike some of his coworkers, he didn't have an imposing and intimidating presence and his attempts at being charming only led to the sort of puzzled look ladies would give to a three-legged cat attempting to ride a tricycle. He'd already settled on his usual self-defeatist and slightly apologetic tone when the door opened . A girl tripped over the threshold and nearly fell into his arms.
“Jeez! You'd think that after working here for 3 years, I'd remember that goddamn step!” - she said, angrily brushing her hair away from her face.
“Oh, hi Annie...” - Rob managed to reply, bending down to grab the keys she'd dropped.
“You've got some work ethic, Robbie. Everyone else left an hour ago, and here you are, still checking things out.” - Annie said as she took the keys from him and started locking up. “Unless …” - she paused, turning to face Rob. “Please don't tell me you found another body! Phyllis was so worked up about the stiff in room 18 that she had to go lie down. Twice!”
“No, I just … wanted to make a call.” - Rob replied.
“Oh, thank God. I finally managed to calm her down enough to take over the register until tomorrow. Any more news and I'd be stuck here working all night.” Annie narrowed her eyes slightly before continuing.
“Did you say you needed to call someone?”
“Yeah, I ran into some car trouble on the way here and I need a ride.” - the words slid easily from Rob's tongue.
“Oh, is that all? Here, why don't you come with me. I have to stop at the office anyway and drop off Shawn's spare uniform.”
Annie was a careful driver. She buckled up, turned on her headlights and slowly backed out of her parking space. Rob sunk back into the passenger seat and stared out the window. Annie took each turn of the winding road with ease, driving 5 miles per hour under the speed limit.
“I found him, you know.” - she broke the silence, not taking her eyes of the road.
“You did?” - asked Rob, slightly startled by the casual tone of her voice.
“Yeah. It was my turn to play the maid. There was no sign on the doorknob, so I knocked and went in.” - she paused to switch her blinker on and turned left at the intersection.
“I should have realized something was wrong from the smell. But we get all kinds of people at the hotel lately, and I really didn't want to complain to Jerome again. He was already on my case about not giving the lady in room 24 extra shampoo. I swear, that old biddy gets a year's worth of free shampoo from the hotel every year.”
Rob let out a noncommittal grunt and kept staring through the window.
“Anyway, I made the bed, vacuumed the floors and moved to mop the bathroom when I found him.” - she said as she made another left turn onto the highway.
“It's really funny, you know. My first reaction was to laugh.”
Rob couldn't think of anything to say to that. Over his six years as a police officer, and another three as a detective, he'd come across a lot of people who had discovered a dead body or ten. Most of the time, their feelings were ones of terror or confusion. In some cases, this translated into a visceral reaction and the person would vomit somewhere on the scene. He was just pondering whether laughter is a normal reaction, given that a person can get quite hysterical in a stressful situation and start laughing inappropriately when he noticed that Annie was quiet.
“Err, it's not that weird of a reaction.” - he muttered.
“Took you just a little too long to come up with that answer, buster.” - she was grinning as she said this and Rob relaxed against the seat again.
“It's just that he was naked, you know. I mean, yeah, it was a stiff and he was deader than a doornail. But he was naked. On the toilet. With his wiener sticking out like a number 2 pencil.”
Rob was horrified as a small s escaped his lips. Startled, Annie took her eyes of the road and looked at him. He couldn't help it. He started laughing and she quickly joined in.
“Pull … over!” - Rob managed to say between fits of laughter. She slowed and swerved onto the highway shoulder. It took a few minutes for the giggling fits to stop entirely. Annie rummaged through her purse for a tissue. She dried the tears from the corner of her eyes and sighed. Rob shook his head, unbuckling his belt. “I need some fresh air.” he told Annie with a hoarse voice. He stepped out of the car and stretched his arms above his head before sticking them in his pockets. He walked a bit along the shoulder, kicking pieces of loose rock into the grass. He turned and saw Annie getting out of the car and making her way over to where he was standing. He was wondering if the moment of laughter had created a level of comfort between them when he noticed a shine in the grass a few yards away. Curious, he took a couple of steps toward it before his brain registered what he was seeing. Among the tufts of dried high grass laid a female leg that still wore hosiery and a black stiletto with a rhinestone broach.
Alas, our story actually begins on the perfect day of summer in a small town of Muck. Thanks to the efforts of the mayor, Muck was currently THE top vacation spot in California. Well, maybe not the top one, as that title would go to San Francisco or Los Angeles, but nonetheless, one of THE vacation spots this year. Now that I think about it, there are probably several other towns that would be a better vacation spot than Muck. Any town with a casino, resort or a parking lot that could hold more than 6 cars would be a better vacation spot. Technically, if we were to really compose a list of all the vacation places in the sunny state of California, Muck would be lucky to even get a nomination. In fact, the town officials had to write 16 letters to get someone to put Muck correctly on the current US maps. The first letter the officials sent was handled by Freddie. Of course, this meant that the letter left slightly stained by a jelly donut and a cup of coffee, and thus for 4 years Muck was known as “Muct”. The other fifteen letters could be summarized as “Muck, with a K!” in varying degrees of politeness.
Where was I … Oh, yes, the perfect summer day. It was absolutely beautiful. Enunciate with me be-you-tee-full. The skies shined a brilliant blue, with a few wispy clouds dotting the edges of the horizon like dollops of whipped cream. The temperature had crept into the 90s, but a playful breeze and Mr. Beaker's ice cream kept things cool. It was a day where everyone felt happy to be alive. Everyone except the occupant of room 18 at the Philistine, that is, who couldn't feel much of anything on the account of being rather dead.
Detective Rob Little arrived to the Philistine late. His town-issued AMC Pacer stalled about 4 blocks away from the crime scene and he was forced to walk up the steep hill on top of which the hotel was perched. As he crossed the parking lot, Rob unbuttoned the sleeves of his pale blue shirt and rolled them up. He could feel the sweat drip down his body, undoubtedly leaving sweat circles under his arms and across his back. If he were the sort of man who drops swear words like they were flaming hot jalapenos, he would think of a dozen offensive things to say at this very moment. As it was, the only thing Rob could think of is “Oh, bother.”
The responding officer at the scene was Charlie Tucker. He was standing near the door to room 18, staring vacantly at the horizon. Approaching, the detective could hear Charlie humming a tuneless song under his breath. Rob stopped in front of the door and cleared his throat.
“Oh, hey Little. Car stalled again?” - Charlie asked, reaching to turn on the radio he carried on his shoulder. Rob nodded and knelt in front of the box at Charlie's feet. He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and paper slippers to cover his feet. He waited for Charlie to finish calling dispatch and then the towing company.
“What are we looking at, in there?” - Rob asked, hoping he sounded casual and aloof.
“One DB, bathroom, no apparent motive” - Charlie replied, stifling a yawn. Rob nodded and ducked under the yellow caution tape. “Oh, and the AC broke last week. Watch out for the smell.”
As he tried to prepare for the sights and smells he might encounter inside the crime scene, Rob was taken aback by the normalcy of room 18. Its 10x12 square feet housed a double bed, wicker chair and a nightstand. A dark brown strip of wood separated the bare ocher walls from the equally ocher carpet. A pair of jeans and a t-shirt were neatly folded across the seat of the chair. With its beige bedspread tucked neatly under the mattress and the pillows centered in the middle, the bed didn't look like it had been slept in. Rob made a mental note to ask which maid was on duty and whether she'd been to one to discover the body.
Four steps carried him across the room and into the tiny bathroom. Rob buried his nose into the crook of his elbow and scanned the scene. An obese man was sitting naked on the toilet, his back digging into the tank. Despite his loud internal protests, Rob found himself staring at the dead man's crotch.
“Geez, Little, I didn't know you swung that way.” - said a loud voice, jerking Rob from his thoughts.
“Oh, doctor Carlisle! I wasn't … I mean, it's not ...” - Rob stumbled with his words, blushing.
“Relax, Rob. I was just kidding, you know.” - said the doctor as he put down a slim suitcase. He unlatched the sides and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. Rob stepped outside while the doctor performed his medical examiner duties. With the door still open, he could hear Carlisle's slightly muffled voice describing the scene.
“Heart attack.” - concluded doctor Carlisle as he joined Rob and Charlie outside. “Of course, we'll still perform an autopsy, but I don't expect to find anything outside heart disease brought on by a lifelong diet of cheap cheeseburgers and fries.” With Rob at his heels, Carlisle went back inside for his suitcase. He took one last cursory look at the room and turned to Rob. This, dear readers, is where a famed detective would say something personal to the doctor and establish a strong working relationship. Or perhaps he would make a pertinent observation about an insignificant detail that would later blow the case wide open. Instead, detective Little stared blankly at the doctor until Charlie popped his head inside the room and said that the body transportation was pulling into the parking lot.
Two EMTs whose names Rob couldn't remember drove a stretcher into room 18 and emerged a couple minutes later with the large man's body inside a black body bag. Doctor Carlisle got into his Bentley and peeled out of the parking lot. The ambulance exited the lot a little slower, with Charlie's new Ford Cruiser following closely. After they reached the bottom of the hill, a hush crept over the hotel. Feeling like there was something he kept forgetting, Rob rubbed the back of his head and returned to the crime scene.
The simple room showed him nothing new. The clothes still sat on the seat of the wicker chair and the bed was perfectly made. In the quiet of the lazy afternoon, Rob could hear a soft plink coming from the bathroom. The rusty shower head was dripping large drops of water. Rob stared at the toiled where the deceased man was sitting and tried to focus on what he was forgetting. Only after an hour did he remember that Charlie towed his AMC Pacer and that he had no ride home. He patted his pockets, knowing in advance that his cellphone was back in the car. He would have to head over to the check-in and see if anyone could give him a ride home.
* * *
Head bent, Rob walked to the small office at the Western edge of the Philistine. He was already mentally rehearsing what he was going to say to Sandy Farr, the police secretary. Unlike some of his coworkers, he didn't have an imposing and intimidating presence and his attempts at being charming only led to the sort of puzzled look ladies would give to a three-legged cat attempting to ride a tricycle. He'd already settled on his usual self-defeatist and slightly apologetic tone when the door opened . A girl tripped over the threshold and nearly fell into his arms.
“Jeez! You'd think that after working here for 3 years, I'd remember that goddamn step!” - she said, angrily brushing her hair away from her face.
“Oh, hi Annie...” - Rob managed to reply, bending down to grab the keys she'd dropped.
“You've got some work ethic, Robbie. Everyone else left an hour ago, and here you are, still checking things out.” - Annie said as she took the keys from him and started locking up. “Unless …” - she paused, turning to face Rob. “Please don't tell me you found another body! Phyllis was so worked up about the stiff in room 18 that she had to go lie down. Twice!”
“No, I just … wanted to make a call.” - Rob replied.
“Oh, thank God. I finally managed to calm her down enough to take over the register until tomorrow. Any more news and I'd be stuck here working all night.” Annie narrowed her eyes slightly before continuing.
“Did you say you needed to call someone?”
“Yeah, I ran into some car trouble on the way here and I need a ride.” - the words slid easily from Rob's tongue.
“Oh, is that all? Here, why don't you come with me. I have to stop at the office anyway and drop off Shawn's spare uniform.”
Annie was a careful driver. She buckled up, turned on her headlights and slowly backed out of her parking space. Rob sunk back into the passenger seat and stared out the window. Annie took each turn of the winding road with ease, driving 5 miles per hour under the speed limit.
“I found him, you know.” - she broke the silence, not taking her eyes of the road.
“You did?” - asked Rob, slightly startled by the casual tone of her voice.
“Yeah. It was my turn to play the maid. There was no sign on the doorknob, so I knocked and went in.” - she paused to switch her blinker on and turned left at the intersection.
“I should have realized something was wrong from the smell. But we get all kinds of people at the hotel lately, and I really didn't want to complain to Jerome again. He was already on my case about not giving the lady in room 24 extra shampoo. I swear, that old biddy gets a year's worth of free shampoo from the hotel every year.”
Rob let out a noncommittal grunt and kept staring through the window.
“Anyway, I made the bed, vacuumed the floors and moved to mop the bathroom when I found him.” - she said as she made another left turn onto the highway.
“It's really funny, you know. My first reaction was to laugh.”
Rob couldn't think of anything to say to that. Over his six years as a police officer, and another three as a detective, he'd come across a lot of people who had discovered a dead body or ten. Most of the time, their feelings were ones of terror or confusion. In some cases, this translated into a visceral reaction and the person would vomit somewhere on the scene. He was just pondering whether laughter is a normal reaction, given that a person can get quite hysterical in a stressful situation and start laughing inappropriately when he noticed that Annie was quiet.
“Err, it's not that weird of a reaction.” - he muttered.
“Took you just a little too long to come up with that answer, buster.” - she was grinning as she said this and Rob relaxed against the seat again.
“It's just that he was naked, you know. I mean, yeah, it was a stiff and he was deader than a doornail. But he was naked. On the toilet. With his wiener sticking out like a number 2 pencil.”
Rob was horrified as a small s escaped his lips. Startled, Annie took her eyes of the road and looked at him. He couldn't help it. He started laughing and she quickly joined in.
“Pull … over!” - Rob managed to say between fits of laughter. She slowed and swerved onto the highway shoulder. It took a few minutes for the giggling fits to stop entirely. Annie rummaged through her purse for a tissue. She dried the tears from the corner of her eyes and sighed. Rob shook his head, unbuckling his belt. “I need some fresh air.” he told Annie with a hoarse voice. He stepped out of the car and stretched his arms above his head before sticking them in his pockets. He walked a bit along the shoulder, kicking pieces of loose rock into the grass. He turned and saw Annie getting out of the car and making her way over to where he was standing. He was wondering if the moment of laughter had created a level of comfort between them when he noticed a shine in the grass a few yards away. Curious, he took a couple of steps toward it before his brain registered what he was seeing. Among the tufts of dried high grass laid a female leg that still wore hosiery and a black stiletto with a rhinestone broach.
Spoiler
Police have a protocol to follow when they discover a body. They secure the scene, detain the witnesses and do everything in their power to preserve the chain of evidence, even those invisible things that only forensic analysts get excited about. You don't move more than you have to, you touch nothing and you make sure you write down everything as you've seen, smelled or felt it.“Stop, Annie. Stay where you are and call Shawn. Tell him we have another body over here.” - Rob yelled over his shoulder. He took two careful steps toward the body and crouched.
The woman was in her late 30s. In the dying light of the sunset, her golden hair shimmered and rippled against the breeze. She was dressed conservatively: a navy sweater dress, clinched at the waist by a belt with a simple silver buckle. Her left fingers still clutched a folded cardigan that was now caked with dirt. A dozen ugly purple bruises broke the pale skin of her arms and chest. Gashes on her open right palm suggested she had tried to fight off her assailant, or at the very least tried to break her fall as she was being struck. As the sirens and flashing lights finally broke the quiet of the afternoon, Rob rose to his feet. He took one last look at her vacant face. It was the only part of her body that was clear of bruises and cuts.
* * *
Several hours later, Rob walked through the front door of his small apartment. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and pressed a button on the blinking answering machine. The first message was from his mother, reminding him that it was her turn to cook dinner and asking if he could pick up a nice bottle of Chianti on his way over this Saturday. Next two messages were hang-ups, probably from telemarketers that wanted to sell him a sweet ass piece of real estate on the moon. The last message was from Annie. With a lot of hesitance, she asked if he could meet her at the corner diner for a cup of coffee.
After a shave and a shower, Rob left to meet Annie at the diner. He found her sitting alone in a corner. She had changed out of her work uniform, but her hair was still pulled back in a high ponytail. She smiled when she saw him and gestured to a chair across from hers. A waitress came by with a pitcher, poured hot coffee for both of them and left. Cradling the hot cup in her hands, Annie sighed. Rob stayed silent and, for once, this proved to be the right thing to do.
“It's probably out of the blue, me calling you like this. But I have no one else to talk to. And I worry … that ...” - Annie began.
“And you worry that unless you talk about it, it will become one of those things that just eat at you from the inside” - Rob finished. She stared at him, startled.
“Yeah.” - she nodded, eventually. She added some cream to her coffee and they both watched with fascination as it made contrasting bulbous shapes inside the cup.
“Shawn thinks it's stupid, you know. Daughter to a police office and married to a police officer too … I should be used to death. And I am, in a way. I don't flinch when Shawn describes crimes anymore. It used to keep me up at night, once upon a time. I used to cry myself to sleep over the horrible things people do to each other. But not anymore. Nowadays, the crimes have become a passing topic in our dinner conversations.”
She sighed and pushed the coffee away.
“So, I can't talk to him about it. And I sure as hell can't talk to any friends, either. They'd get scared, or they'd start thinkin' differently around me. I don't want anyone to walk on eggshells just 'cause I'm having a rough day. You know?”
Rob was quiet for a minute. He poured a packet of sugar in his coffee, swirling it around with the spoon until it dissolved.
“I'm not very good at comforting.” - he began, apologetically. She smiled at him sadly.
“No matter how many bodies I see, my first thoughts are always the same. What if this is someone I know? What if this is someone I love? What if this is someone who, in a way, died by my hand? Or someone who died because of my failings? Could I have stopped this?”
“Robbie ...”
“No, let me finish ...”
“My first thoughts are that. I don't stand there wondering who did it or how. That part comes later. No, at first I just stand still, with ache in my heart. Even when it's someone I've never met, my heart aches for them. I'm not a sentimental fool. I don't think about what all they'll be missing in life. I don't know them in that moment, you see. That part comes later, too. But in that first minute, I hurt for them. Because they're still a person. And they deserve one more minute of being a part of this world.”
Without him noticing, Annie had put her hand over his. He gently squeezed her fingers.
“You're not upset because you saw an empty shell or a vague concept from a second-hand story. You're upset because you saw a person. And if you should feel at all sorry for anyone, feel sorry for those who have lost the ability to be touched on a personal level by the pain or violence someone else went through.”
She managed to nod her head. Her eyes were glittering with tears.
“I .. gotta run now, Robbie. Thanks for the talk.” - she muttered as she got up from her chair. She paid for the coffee and walked out the door. Rob sat in the diner chair for another 15 minutes, rehashing the conversation in his head. He wasn't entirely sure that he had meant to tell Annie something so personal. In fact, as the words were leaving his mouth, Rob felt surprised at their eloquence. He, who stumbled around like a drunk failing a sobriety test, had managed to deliver some sort of speech. He said something significant and deep.
The longer he thought about it, the less he could remember what he'd actually said. He knew two things for sure: one, that Annie was easy to talk to, and two, that the twenty minutes he'd spent at the coffee house were the closest he could get to a date in the past four years. He left a tip at the table and walked back home. A blinking message on his answering machine was from the department. There was new Intel about the first victim. With a sigh, Rob emptied the rest of his beer into the sink. He grabbed a jacket from the hall closet and walked out, locking the door behind him.
* * *
By the time detective Little got to the office, Carl Wicker and Michael Korbo were the only two officers still working. Both gave him a courteous nod as he passed them on his way to his desk. He turned on his desk lamp and sat down in his squeaky chair.
“Hey, sugar.” - said a throaty voice. Rob looked up to see Sandy Farr, department's secretary.
“Hey, Sandy. There was a message on my machine about new Intel?”
“Oh, yeah. Carlisle was here 'bout 20 minutes wanting to talk to you about somethin'. He mentioned having rounds. Pro'lly went back to the hospital.”
Rob sighed and rubbed his temples.
“I'll pay him a visit in a bit, then.”
“Oh, I almost forgot!” - Sandy turned and handed him a set of car keys.
“Mechanic said it'll take a couple weeks to fix your Pacer. Chief said you can use the backup van in the meantime.”
“Err … Thanks” - muttered Rob, pocketing the keys. The backup van was probably the only vehicle in existence that looked worse than his AMC Pacer. Originally a shag-wagon, the van had been painted an unobtrusive white. But the years of being exposed to the rain and salty California air have faded the paint, resulting in a faint “Welcome to the Shaggin' Wagon, Baby!” to become visible on the side of the van. It was an interesting scientific phenomenon that brought occasional science major to the town of Muck. Each of these students concluded that no unnatural phenomenon was in play, and that the fading paint was probably caused by overzealous cleaning on the behalf of the department janitor, Jesus Nelson. However, word around the office was that it was more likely that Stewie from Muck Mechanics used cheap, thinning paint because the mayor stiffed him on the bill. Rob's theory was that the paint started thinning because the Universe knew that one day, detective Rob Little would need a new ride and it just wouldn't do to set him up with anything that would pass for normal, let alone cool.
Rob busied himself with paperwork for an hour before phoning the hospital. Yes, doctor Carlisle was on duty tonight, but they'd just gotten hit with a major accident off of highway 15. Could his inquiry wait? Rob decided to pay a visit to the doctor in the morning, instead. After saying goodnight to Sandy, he climbed into the Shag-wag and drove home.
There were no new messages on his answering machine. Rob popped a Hungry Man frozen dinner in the microwave and cracked open another beer. He ate his dinner in his lay-z-boy chair, with the TV turned to mindless slapstick comedy. There was something nagging at the back of his mind. Some small, probably insignificant detail.
The woman was in her late 30s. In the dying light of the sunset, her golden hair shimmered and rippled against the breeze. She was dressed conservatively: a navy sweater dress, clinched at the waist by a belt with a simple silver buckle. Her left fingers still clutched a folded cardigan that was now caked with dirt. A dozen ugly purple bruises broke the pale skin of her arms and chest. Gashes on her open right palm suggested she had tried to fight off her assailant, or at the very least tried to break her fall as she was being struck. As the sirens and flashing lights finally broke the quiet of the afternoon, Rob rose to his feet. He took one last look at her vacant face. It was the only part of her body that was clear of bruises and cuts.
* * *
Several hours later, Rob walked through the front door of his small apartment. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and pressed a button on the blinking answering machine. The first message was from his mother, reminding him that it was her turn to cook dinner and asking if he could pick up a nice bottle of Chianti on his way over this Saturday. Next two messages were hang-ups, probably from telemarketers that wanted to sell him a sweet ass piece of real estate on the moon. The last message was from Annie. With a lot of hesitance, she asked if he could meet her at the corner diner for a cup of coffee.
After a shave and a shower, Rob left to meet Annie at the diner. He found her sitting alone in a corner. She had changed out of her work uniform, but her hair was still pulled back in a high ponytail. She smiled when she saw him and gestured to a chair across from hers. A waitress came by with a pitcher, poured hot coffee for both of them and left. Cradling the hot cup in her hands, Annie sighed. Rob stayed silent and, for once, this proved to be the right thing to do.
“It's probably out of the blue, me calling you like this. But I have no one else to talk to. And I worry … that ...” - Annie began.
“And you worry that unless you talk about it, it will become one of those things that just eat at you from the inside” - Rob finished. She stared at him, startled.
“Yeah.” - she nodded, eventually. She added some cream to her coffee and they both watched with fascination as it made contrasting bulbous shapes inside the cup.
“Shawn thinks it's stupid, you know. Daughter to a police office and married to a police officer too … I should be used to death. And I am, in a way. I don't flinch when Shawn describes crimes anymore. It used to keep me up at night, once upon a time. I used to cry myself to sleep over the horrible things people do to each other. But not anymore. Nowadays, the crimes have become a passing topic in our dinner conversations.”
She sighed and pushed the coffee away.
“So, I can't talk to him about it. And I sure as hell can't talk to any friends, either. They'd get scared, or they'd start thinkin' differently around me. I don't want anyone to walk on eggshells just 'cause I'm having a rough day. You know?”
Rob was quiet for a minute. He poured a packet of sugar in his coffee, swirling it around with the spoon until it dissolved.
“I'm not very good at comforting.” - he began, apologetically. She smiled at him sadly.
“No matter how many bodies I see, my first thoughts are always the same. What if this is someone I know? What if this is someone I love? What if this is someone who, in a way, died by my hand? Or someone who died because of my failings? Could I have stopped this?”
“Robbie ...”
“No, let me finish ...”
“My first thoughts are that. I don't stand there wondering who did it or how. That part comes later. No, at first I just stand still, with ache in my heart. Even when it's someone I've never met, my heart aches for them. I'm not a sentimental fool. I don't think about what all they'll be missing in life. I don't know them in that moment, you see. That part comes later, too. But in that first minute, I hurt for them. Because they're still a person. And they deserve one more minute of being a part of this world.”
Without him noticing, Annie had put her hand over his. He gently squeezed her fingers.
“You're not upset because you saw an empty shell or a vague concept from a second-hand story. You're upset because you saw a person. And if you should feel at all sorry for anyone, feel sorry for those who have lost the ability to be touched on a personal level by the pain or violence someone else went through.”
She managed to nod her head. Her eyes were glittering with tears.
“I .. gotta run now, Robbie. Thanks for the talk.” - she muttered as she got up from her chair. She paid for the coffee and walked out the door. Rob sat in the diner chair for another 15 minutes, rehashing the conversation in his head. He wasn't entirely sure that he had meant to tell Annie something so personal. In fact, as the words were leaving his mouth, Rob felt surprised at their eloquence. He, who stumbled around like a drunk failing a sobriety test, had managed to deliver some sort of speech. He said something significant and deep.
The longer he thought about it, the less he could remember what he'd actually said. He knew two things for sure: one, that Annie was easy to talk to, and two, that the twenty minutes he'd spent at the coffee house were the closest he could get to a date in the past four years. He left a tip at the table and walked back home. A blinking message on his answering machine was from the department. There was new Intel about the first victim. With a sigh, Rob emptied the rest of his beer into the sink. He grabbed a jacket from the hall closet and walked out, locking the door behind him.
* * *
By the time detective Little got to the office, Carl Wicker and Michael Korbo were the only two officers still working. Both gave him a courteous nod as he passed them on his way to his desk. He turned on his desk lamp and sat down in his squeaky chair.
“Hey, sugar.” - said a throaty voice. Rob looked up to see Sandy Farr, department's secretary.
“Hey, Sandy. There was a message on my machine about new Intel?”
“Oh, yeah. Carlisle was here 'bout 20 minutes wanting to talk to you about somethin'. He mentioned having rounds. Pro'lly went back to the hospital.”
Rob sighed and rubbed his temples.
“I'll pay him a visit in a bit, then.”
“Oh, I almost forgot!” - Sandy turned and handed him a set of car keys.
“Mechanic said it'll take a couple weeks to fix your Pacer. Chief said you can use the backup van in the meantime.”
“Err … Thanks” - muttered Rob, pocketing the keys. The backup van was probably the only vehicle in existence that looked worse than his AMC Pacer. Originally a shag-wagon, the van had been painted an unobtrusive white. But the years of being exposed to the rain and salty California air have faded the paint, resulting in a faint “Welcome to the Shaggin' Wagon, Baby!” to become visible on the side of the van. It was an interesting scientific phenomenon that brought occasional science major to the town of Muck. Each of these students concluded that no unnatural phenomenon was in play, and that the fading paint was probably caused by overzealous cleaning on the behalf of the department janitor, Jesus Nelson. However, word around the office was that it was more likely that Stewie from Muck Mechanics used cheap, thinning paint because the mayor stiffed him on the bill. Rob's theory was that the paint started thinning because the Universe knew that one day, detective Rob Little would need a new ride and it just wouldn't do to set him up with anything that would pass for normal, let alone cool.
Rob busied himself with paperwork for an hour before phoning the hospital. Yes, doctor Carlisle was on duty tonight, but they'd just gotten hit with a major accident off of highway 15. Could his inquiry wait? Rob decided to pay a visit to the doctor in the morning, instead. After saying goodnight to Sandy, he climbed into the Shag-wag and drove home.
There were no new messages on his answering machine. Rob popped a Hungry Man frozen dinner in the microwave and cracked open another beer. He ate his dinner in his lay-z-boy chair, with the TV turned to mindless slapstick comedy. There was something nagging at the back of his mind. Some small, probably insignificant detail.