by Matt Rogers
Chapter 7
They arrived at the police department for they needed information and no longer trusted their phones. Technology had been a blessing for many things but trust in authority was not one of them. Not only did the civilian population no longer believe the authorities were not listening and spying on their every activity but the authorities no longer trusted the government didn’t do the same to them.
The substation they were visiting was located in a strip-mall which consisted of a pizza-delivery shop, a dollar-store containing nothing under two dollars, a nail salon and four abandoned places-of-business advertising they were for rent to a public which had absolutely no way to pay for them.
They entered and found exactly what they were looking for.
“Smith! Wesson! How are you two doing?”
Officer Bob Roberts, Bubba to his friends, was a twenty-year veteran of the Dallas Police Department. He’d passed up many more lucrative positions in other departments because he was from the old-school line of thought and was there to protect and serve not take and abuse. He was honest, trustworthy and sympathetic to the plight of others. He was, sadly, a rarity.
“How you doing, Bubba?” Smith asked.
“Can’t complain…” he began and Wesson smiled in anticipation.
“… but I’ve got to say this growing old stuff is for the birds. Why, just this morning I woke up and do you know what happened?”
“What?” Smith said.
“I’d sprained my foot! Can you believe that? I hurt myself in my sleep! How can you sprain your foot in your sleep?”
Both Smith and Wesson smiled in polite sympathy but inwardly they knew better. Bubba was a hulk of a man. He weighed well over two-fifty and ate like a seventeen-year-old. It didn’t help he was stationed in a location where a pizza place also stood and thus had access to food he definitely did not need which could be topped with ingredients off-limits to people of Bubba’s persuasion. Bubba had gout. Everyone knew it but no one said anything because Bubba also had denial. He refused to consider his own body was rebelling and every so often after eating his meat-pie would wake up to find one of his ankles swollen grapefruit size due to the uric acid accumulation his body was unable to rid.
“You know what? I gave myself a bloody nose once” Wesson replied.
“Really?”
“Yep, I was in college and we were living in this dorm which had bunk beds. I’d never slept on top before and thought I’d try it. So I hop up, go to sleep and the next thing I know ‘Bam!’ I’m on the floor face down where I landed after I rolled over and found no more bed. Seriously, I rolled into the air. Don’t you think subconsciously I would’ve felt for a little more bed before rolling over?”
“You know what? One time I was in this hotel room…”
Smith decided he could be absent while the two middle-aged males regaled each other with bedtime stories and made his way to the back room where he found what he was looking for; the sub-station’s computer.
They’d decided on the sub-station for two reasons. It had a direct connection to the main-frame in the central station and was manned with a limited number of officers. They were still working for the LeTorque but had a queasy feeling something wasn’t kosher. They needed information on the dead man in Johnny Johnson’s apartment but would rather not involve the authorities directly. Oh, they could’ve called one of their contacts and had them check on the crime but were reluctant to do so for one very good reason; unlimited funds. If what they feared was true and Mister Johnson was involved in the death of a man found in his closet then they would be honor-bound to involve the cops. But life was usually grey, not black and white. What if they found out Johnny wasn’t wanted for a crime but was instead wanted as a witness? The cops would want to know everything they could about their case and the contract with the LeTorque would be voided due to authority involvement. No, it was better if they found the information out first and only after, if they were directly asked, would they involve the police.
“Hey, Bubba!” Smith yelled down the hallway dividing the rooms.
“Yeah?”
“What’s your security code? I want to look something up!”
Bubba was a man in denial but he wasn’t a fool. When Smith and Wesson entered he knew they would want information on something and since he was one of their contacts he would’ve happily gotten it for them. When he saw Smith leave while he and Wesson were talking he put two and two together, decided they would rather get the information in private and did the math. He was already at retirement age. He could leave whenever the job no longer held any interest for him and move on to the next phase in his life as a detective with Craft and Sons.
“Six-six-two-five-four-two!” he answered.
Smith keyed the numbers and was in the system. He typed in ‘homicide’ and the address to Mister Johnson’s apartment.
ACCESS DENIED
OPEN INVESTIGATION
DETECTIVE NAT HALLOWED; LEAD INVESTIGATOR
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Smith said in astonishment.
Both Bubba and Wesson heard him so they quit pretending to tell stories and joined him in the back room.
“What’s that?” Bubba asked.
“It involves a case we’re on and, apparently, your access is denied.”
“My access?” Bubbas asked in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“Let me get in there” he said and Smith stood.
Both Smith and Wesson were standing in amazement while Bubba kept trying over and over to access the information and receiving the same reply. The second line which kept popping up held their gaze.
DETECTIVE NAT HALLOWED; LEAD INVESTIGATOR
“Can it possibly be him?” Wesson asked.
“This is getting weirder and weirder” Smith responded.
Bubba had finally given up and made a phone call.
“Hello, Sergeant? Yes, it’s Bubba down here at the northwest sub-station. Uh-huh. I need a little help accessing some information on my computer.”
The two detectives of Craft and Sons watched as a twenty-year veteran on one end of the line and a thirty-year veteran on the other pulled their hair out trying to understand how it was possible the two of them combined could not receive clearance to an open investigation of a homicide in their district.
“This is impossible! Who the heck is this Nat Hallowed?”
“You don’t know him?” Wesson asked.
“No, and I know everybody” Bubba responded.
Smith looked down at his cellphone and actually prayed he was wrong.
“Hello, may I speak with Nat, please” he said after dialing.
“Hello, Detective, how may I be of service?” the well-connected butler responded.
“Um, okay look, I’m not really sure what’s going on but we’re working on your case and we came across some information which may be pertinent.”
“What is that, Detective?”
“Well, we believe we tracked your Mister Johnson down to an apartment complex…”
“Did you find him?”
The question was asked so quickly Smith was taken aback for a second.
“No, we didn’t find him but we did learn he may be connected to an ongoing investigation and, well, once again we’re having difficulty accessing the information because a strange coincidence has occurred and…”
“You may now access the file, Detective.”
He was actually struck speechless for a second. The next second he spoke.
“Okay, what the heck is going…?”
He glanced at his phone another time with utter disgust.
“He hung up on me again.”
Wesson looked at his partner and mouthed the words Smith was having a difficult time comprehending.
“Bubba, try accessing it one more time.”
The case file popped up immediately. The victim turned out to be a Bob Simpson who was found in the closet of Mister Johnson’s apartment when
the manager made entry after ascertaining enough back rent was due for eviction proceedings. What she’d discovered was strange. The gentleman was trussed up with tape so his extremities couldn’t move, There was a dent the size of the man’s torso in the back wall of the closet as though he tried to run through it and one more thing which seemed illogical; the man’s head was indeed twisted around as though his neck was broken but when the medical examiner looked closer he could find no spinal damage. It was if the man had grown his head on backwards.
