4
An hour later, Detective Foster sat in his car next to a half-dozen cigarette stubs on the asphalt of English Avenue looking at three different houses that fit the unidentified caller’s description. Which would it be he wondered? I can’t just walk up to the house and ask if anyone is dead inside, he thought to himself.
That’s when he noticed the tree in front of one house was a willow tree and not an Oak eliminating one. No other houses in the neighbourhood had grey stone. It had to be one of these.
Suddenly out of one house walked a lady dressed in skin tight yoga pants and a pink long sleeve slim fitting hoodie. She had an iPod or something strapped to her arm with ear buds in her ears. She walked up to the edge of her driveway, did a bit of stretching, fiddle with her watch, probably setting a timer or something he thought and down the road she started jogging.
“Stupid people joggers are,” he said out loud even though no one would hear him.
Via process of elimination, that left one house. He started to reach for the door of his car to get out when he noticed the garage door start to open. Just then he saw a silver Chevrolet Equinox come up the street and pull into that very same driveway he was looking at. The car slowly drove into the garage and stopped. From the garage exited a tall clean looking man in a business suit with briefcase in hand.
Foster started his car and pulled up behind the Equinox blocking his exit.
Getting out of his car, Foster spoke. “Excuse me, Mark Holbrook?” he said inquisitively.
“Yes?” replied Mark. “Who are you?” he said with an air of arrogance.
“My name is Detective Grady Foster. Can I take a minute of your time?”
A look of shock came over Holbrook’s face for a moment. He quickly flung the briefcase at the Detective in a panic and bolted across the lawn.
Foster barely flinched as the briefcase hit him in the chest and bounced on the ground before him. Just at that moment he heard his cell phone ring and quickly pulled it from its holster.
“Detective Foster here. What’s the problem?” he said putting the flip-phone to his ear while watching Mark disappears down the street.
“Foster, it’s Martin. It took some convincing but they caved and told me a Mark Holbrook bought 2 tickets to Mexico this afternoon.”
“I figured as much. Listen, I already found his house and he just ran down English Avenue. Send a squad car to find him and tell them he is the only jogger wearing a business suit. I gotta check out the house. There’s no victim yet so the guy’s not even a suspect at the moment. I’ll call you back in a minute,” said Foster then closing his old flip-phone.
It only took a minute for the Detective to locate the spare key in the fake rock. It stood out like a sore thumb in the small pile of rocks under the cedar bush in the flower bed near the door.
“Hello,” he said loudly as he walked into the house. Foster made his way into the living room and found Mrs. Holbrook lying under a blood soaked blanket on the living room floor.
He quickly called it in announcing that Holbrook was now officially a suspect in a murder investigation. As he put his phone away he couldn’t help but wonder to himself who this tipster was. How did he know about this? What did he mean when he said, that’s not how it works? Not how what works Detective Foster wondered.
5
Three days later, Mark Holbrook had been arrested for the murder of his wife. He had made no attempt to hide evidence as he had intended on leaving the country with his mistress before anyone would know she was dead.
Detective Grady Foster couldn’t stop thinking about the caller that tipped him off about the murder. After a while he remembered what the man had said to him just three days past. Holbrook had bought tickets at the Going-Going-Gone Travel Agency. How did he know this? He was in the area and saw him leaving the place recalled Foster. Perhaps the caller frequented the area. It was worth a try as he needed to know who the mysterious tipster was.
Not long after, Foster stood under a small column of smoke near the agency, looking around the neighbourhood, a lit cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Watching the people mill about he wondered how the tipster would have known this. That’s when he heard a familiar voice from up the street.
“Excuse me, Mista. Can ya spare some ch-ch-change, huh?”
Could it be, Foster wondered? No way, he thought. It couldn’t be this scraggly dirty looking homeless man. How could he possibly have known about Holbrook killing his wife in a suburb across town?
“Oh, thank you, miss. FUCK!” said Delroy as a lady gave him some change. “So-so-sorry, lady. I got’s Tourettes you know.”
A feeling of guilt came over the Detective about how he had been angry that the man hadn’t given him his return phone number or address. His heart sunk a bit at the thought. He dropped what was left of his cigarette, butting it out with his foot while pulling out another and placing it in his mouth. While digging in his pockets for his Zippo he wondered what type of questions he would ask the man. If it was him in the first place. That voice; it sounded right he thought as he walked towards him nonchalantly.
“Hey, Mista. Can you spare some change so’s I could eat?” said the dirty homeless man standing in front of the B-Cups Café.
Pretending he was walking past the homeless man, Foster reached out and grasped the man’s wrist and placed a twenty dollar bill in his palm. Using both his hand he closed Delroy’s hand over the bill and for a brief second they locked eyes. The homeless man’s eyes seamed to roll back in his head briefly. Foster began walking away as if nothing happen. He glanced back at the homeless man who was just standing there. Like he was in shock or something with his arms draped down his side still oblivious to the twenty clenched in the palm of his hand.
Delroy saw flashes of the past day of the life of Detective Foster. He saw him smoking a cigarette while sitting on the side of his bed and another on the way to work. He saw countless cigarettes while driving to the station. He saw the Detective trying desperately to urinate while in lots of pain. He saw him taking pain killers afterwards. Mostly mundane flashes but in the last flash he saw a busy street with a homeless man asking a passer-by for change. He saw himself standing under the B-Cups Café sign asking a man for change. Delroy awoke from his trance-like state and turned his head to see Foster looking towards him in a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“You b-b-better see a doc about those kidney stones, Mista. They’s hurt like a som-bitch,” said the homeless man.
Foster paused and looked back at the man in stunned silence. How did he know this thought Foster as he turned to walk away again. The pain had only started two days ago and he hadn’t told anybody yet.
Speechless
1
“Hey, retard,” called out nine-year-old Garner Boucher during recess. He was standing amongst his mischievous friends, Quentin Monroe and Peter Willet. The school yard was crowded with kids playing. Some girls were playing hopscotch while another was skipping rope. Some boys were trading cards they had recently acquired from the local comic shop. Most were too busy to notice that at this moment not a teacher was in sight except the kids that were up to no good. Garner being one of them saw his chance to try and antagonize Devin Butler without getting caught.
“Say something will ya,” said Garner as Devin sat in the dirt blissfully unaware of his presence. Devin usually sat alone, playing with simple things, and today was no exception. The boy sat with a large flat rock in both hands as he jabbed it into the dirt in front of him digging a hole in the damp, hard soil.
“Watch this,” said Quentin as he drew change from his pocket. It was a combination of coins including twenty-two pennies, two dimes, a nickel and a quarter as well as some pocket lint now in the palm of his hand. Quentin flung the change in the dirt in front of the boy knowing full well how he would react. Devin dropped the rock and scampered on his hands and knees headin
g for the pile of change, picking it out of the dirt while the threesome of bullies laughed at him.
“Look at the retard,” said the pointing Peter trying to get other kids to watch as Devin gathered up the last of the change he wanted. As he stood up he looked at the handful of coins and put the change in the pocket of his dirty pants. He looked around as if he was unaware that the other kids were laughing at him. As usual he was content in his own little world and had just picked the dirt clean of all the pennies. The dimes, nickel, and quarter still lay half buried in the loose dirt he had recently dug up.
At that moment Jeffrey, Devin’s older brother burst through a pack of laughing kids to witness his little brother being ridiculed again. Having heard the names he knew they were picking on him.
“Stop laughing at him,” he screamed at the crowd of his peers. “It’s not his fault he can’t talk.”
“He’s a retard,” shouted Garner.
“He’s autistic, NOT retarded,” said Raylene McPhee as she made her way between the kids just as the bell rang indicating recess was over. She was not much taller than the kids were so she made her way through to see what was going on, knowing full well what she would find. Screaming boys and girls began running in all directions at first and then all funnelled into the one doorway back into the hallway of Carlton Elementary.
“I just stopped watching him for a minute,” said the older sibling as tears welled up in the nine-year-old’s eyes.
“It’s ok, Jeffery. Devin’s ok.”
Jeffrey’s younger brother stood smiling slightly while he fondled the pennies in his pocket making them jingle. Raylene reached out her hand to the boy as she bent a little trying to make eye contact. When she caught his attention Devin straightened and took her hand then reached for his brother’s hand too. Before taking hold of Devin’s hand Jeffery made sure no one was watching. Unintentionally stepping on the quarter, a content Devin was completely oblivious to its existence as he walked on. The same quarter he had completely ignored while he picked up pennies all around the other shiny coins.
The bus ride home was quiet that day as usual. Garner and his cohorts sitting in the back of the bus thinking they were cool. Poking fun at kids on the bus and being mean to others. Jeffrey and his brother always sat right behind old cranky Harold the bus driver who ran a tight ship. The older boy didn’t like the smell of the cigars which the driver reeked of but this always kept other kids from bothering his little brother. Especially since Harold kept a close eye on little Devin.
2
“Garner and Quentin were making fun of Devin again today,” said Jeffrey as he picked at his peas with a fork showing very little zeal. A high pitched whine came from under the table just before a few peas fell on the floor as Muffet, the forty pound mutt quickly cleaned the floor of anything and everything that happened to accidentally fall off a child’s plate.
“Where were you Jeffrey when this happened?’ asked his mother coldly as she sat her glass of water down next to her now half empty plate.
The boy’s father shot her a glance. “Don’t blame the boy for other kids being cruel to Devin.”
Sitting motionless staring out the dining room window, Devin was already done eating his dinner, having left nothing but a few peas and half a string bean. Geraldine had barely begun speaking the words when the youngest of her sons got up and ran to the back door.
“It’s ok, Devin. You can go play now.”
He pulled on his shoes and ran out the back door of the country home letting the wooden screen door shut loudly behind him.
“Don’t go far,” screamed his mother as she walked to the back door watching him disappear into the thicket behind the house just past the shed. She pushed the door open and let the whiny Muffet out to chase after the boy. She heard the dog bark twice as he plunged into the brush at the exact same place as the boy had, just a moment before.
Standing by the door she spoke softly now. “I made another appointment with Doctor Melanson like Principal Sullivan asked.”
The clinking of dishes echoed as her husband and older son cleared the table. “Do you remember what she said the last time we brought him to see Dr. Melanson?” he questioned as he scooped the leftover handful of overcooked green beans into the trash while she wasn’t looking.
With a sigh of despair she replied. “Yes I do, Linus. Trust me I do, but I also don’t understand how a bright and intelligent boy who was very vocal would stop talking so damn suddenly.”
“I know, Hun. Principal Sullivan said it sounded like he had a traumatic event. But Evee said he shows all the classic signs of autism.”
Her shoulders quivered as she sobbed softly while she leaned against the door jam. Looking through the screen door she could see only trees and brush which filled their six acre lot behind their modest country home.
“Thank you for clearing the table with me son, now please go do your homework,” Linus said to Jeffrey as he patted the boy on the head as he watched his wife, feeling his own heart grow heavy.
“Why do I always have to go do homework when Devin gets to go play?” whined the boy. “It’s not fair.”
A moment later an overjoyed Muffet burst out of a thicket, bounded around the back yard in random patterns that made no sense to anyone. He stopped, stretching out his front paws in front of him with his butt in the air with a blur of a wagging tail behind him. He barked loudly towards the brush a few times and bounded into it vanishing into the newly grown greenery.
3
A few days later while sitting in their old dark blue Ford Escape, Linus and Geraldine were sipping coffee as they watched Jeffery play. This early on a Sunday he had the entire park to himself as he played on the park swings. They watched him attentively as they sipped the coffee they had picked up a short while ago. They watched his every move not wanting to take their eyes off him while they talked between themselves without ever looking at each other. They had brought Devin to see Doctor Evee Melanson as she had insisted on seeing him alone for a while in hopes that he might open up to her.
Evee could always get Devin’s attention easily compared to most as he was fascinated by her. She knew this but couldn’t figure out how to use it to her advantage.
“Your mother sent me an old video she had of you, Devin. She emailed it to me. You want to watch it with me?”
Getting up she turned her monitor on her desk a little so they could see it better from the chairs they sat in.
“It’s you from about a year and a half ago,” she told him as she took the cordless mouse back to her chair with her. Rubbing the mouse on her pant leg she revived it from sleep mode as Devin sat deep in his chair with his legs sticking straight out. This reminded her of how small he was for his age. He sat motionless with each hand on each arm rest as if waiting patiently for her to do something interesting.
After clicking on a few of the wrong icons she found the correct one on her third try.
“Are you ready?” she asked staring at him intensely, studying his every move and gesture. This was an attempt to read his body language since the boy had never spoken during the last three months she had gotten to know him.
Pressing “Play” on the media player program the still image on the screen came to life. As the camera panned the room about a dozen children in paper hats surrounded a table as a young little girl sat at the end wearing a huge smile. A woman placed a large birthday cake with white frosting and six burning candles before her. A chorus of bad singers were in the midst of singing “Happy Birthday, dear Emily. Happy Birthday to you.”
The little girl drew in her breath bracing herself with both hands on the table at each side of the cake.
“Make a wish,” someone off camera said.
The little girl blew at the candles with all her might blowing them all out but one. An older Peter Willet quickly blew the last one out before a disapproving Emily.
“Hey,” someone said.
“He’s just a kid,” a lady replied.
“Still,” the other voice added.
Devin sat transfixed watching the video. Evee watched him just as intensely. He smiled when he saw himself on the screen.
“Happy Bird-day, Emilly. Here’s yur present,” the younger version of Devin had muttered with a large grin stained with grape juice.
Evee paused the video.
Devin turned to look at her, his smile fading away being replaced by a confused expression.
“You were five and a half on this video, Devin,” said the doctor.
The smile returned on the boy.
“Are you ready to tell me why you stopped talking? Can you tell me what happened to you? I won’t tell your mom or dad if you tell me not to. I promise!”
The boy turned his attention to the paused video and gazed at it. Seeing this Doctor Melanson hit play again and watched the rest of the short video.
4
Geraldine sipped her coffee while staring blankly at Jeffery as he swung back and forth like a pendulum on the swings.
“What I don’t understand is even with all this. His refusing to talk and his change in behaviour, why is it his grades went up? Did you see the look on Principal Sullivan’s face when he was telling us they tested him again because they didn’t believe it at first? I mean come on. He’s seven and is too innocent to even think of cheating.”
“Some people say Autistic children – or maybe it’s Asperger. Anyways, they say these kids usually are super smart in some ways,” replied Linus.
Glancing at him quickly she added. “Yes, but straight A’s across the board except for Phys-Ed. Really?”
“Maybe he takes after his dad.”
Geraldine smiled a real smile and then laughed a little.
“What? What’s so funny about that?” he added content in knowing he had managed to cheer her up a little.
5
Standing in the parking lot with keys in his pocket Linus had an arm around his wife’s waist. Devin, sitting in the back seat of the small rusty SUV could see his parents talking with Evee.
Sleepless Nights Page 14
