by DL Cook
The three men gathered around a fourth got up when Ingrid and Travis entered the room.
“He's worse,” one of them said. Ingrid guessed that was the brother. She kept a wary eye on him as she approached Mike. He had a gut wound, bleeding all over her carpet.
“Mom, you used to be a surgeon, right? Can't you help him?”
“Mmhmm. Give me some space.” Still keeping an eye on the brother, Ingrid pulled out her gun and shot Mike in the head.
“Hey! What the hell? You shot my brother.”
“Take it easy, Andrew,” one of the other men said. But Andrew lunged at her.
Ingrid killed him too. “Clean up this mess. I'm going to check when I come back from my foundation's meeting. We're building a hospital in Africa.”
“You heard her,” Travis said. “I have to go take care of something too. It better be clean when I get back.”
She walked out, gun holstered under her sweater and prepaid cell phone in hand. She had been waiting for it to ring for the past three hours. Finally it did.
“Is it done?”
“Yes.”
“Get rid of the contractor.”
“Already on it. Should be done within the hour.”
Ingrid smiled. She took out the battery and broke the phone in half. At last she was free for the day to engage in her charitable pursuits.
Lucus waited outside the door for several hours now. Judge Hand's secretary informed him that the man was extremely busy in one of his “sessions.” She had grown increasingly tired of him calling and told him that once the judge was finished she'd get back to Lucus.
So he waited. At first inside his car, then outside as bums knocked on his window and demanded money. He arrested one for trying to steal the hub caps, cuffing the disheveled man to the bumper. Now the man was gone, along with the bumper. Lucus had turned away for a second.
The panhandlers kept coming, each more aggressive than the last. It's like they smelled him from blocks away. Lucus had several cuffed and sitting on the sidewalk, but now he was out of plastic cuffs and running out of patience.
He could've broken down the door and examined the place, but something told him it was no longer an emergency. Better to do everything by the book than to have Norman Mettler get the case thrown out because a few t's weren't crossed and a few i's weren't dotted.
“Hey,” he shouted at another denizen of Methton, this one trying to pry open the car door. “Get away from there. So help me I'll shoot you.” The creature scurried away. This seedy, crime infested neighborhood was no place for a cop. He'd love some company, but the force was stretched thin. Five in the hospital, others securing evidence at two separate but no doubt related crime scenes, and the rest patrolling the streets where they were needed most, the wealthier neighborhoods.
Lucus checked his phone to make sure, first that he still had it, and second that it was on. Affirmative on both counts. He hoped the judge would be finished soon with whatever it was he was doing.
The phone rang. Lucus almost shouted for joy. He responded with a “thank you” to the secretary's voice before he understood. The rest of his brain caught up with him and he asked her to say it again.
“The judge had an accident. He's gone to the hospital for emergency surgery.”
“Oh my. Is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah. He just got something stuck up his butt.”
“What?”
“I'm not really supposed to talk about it. Listen, I'm heading over there now. I have the warrant right here. As soon as the judge wakes up I'll have him sign it. Then I'll take a picture and email it to you.”
“Wow. Thanks. That's really nice of you.”
“Yeah, no problem,” the secretary said. “I just realized you're all alone in Methton and it's getting dark.”
Don stormed past the guards at Town Hall. When one tried to stop him Don pointed a gun at his head and told him to sit back down. Libby smiled apologetically and showed the guards her pass. “He has one too,” she said so they wouldn't be followed.
The budget committee was already in session when they barged in. A woman stopped in mid-sentence, aghast.
“What's this about cutting my budget?” Don demanded.
“Order, order,” one of the suited men banged with a gavel. “If you are here to testify on the matter of the police department's budget, take a seat and wait your turn.” He pointed at an empty row of seats. “You will be called in due order.”
Libby worried that her husband would pull his gun on the town councilors. With all the mishaps lately she prayed that he'd control himself.
“Alright then,” Don plopped down. Libby sat next to him and he took her hand.
“Now where were we? Ah, yes. Chair recognizes Madam Merwe of District Nine.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman.”
Libby guessed that the old man with the gavel was Douglas Hadiger's replacement. She and Don didn't have a chance yet to ask Lucus what he learned from Hadiger's files. She wondered whether the body had been exhumed. Tom confided his fears to her earlier that day about ghosts. Libby hoped her telling him that ghosts were nice people allayed those fears.
Lost in such thoughts Libby did not keep much track of what the politicians said. Don was on top of it, however. He startled her by leaping from his chair.
“How can you cut my budget because crime is up? We need more officers, not less.”
“Order, order. Mr. Mettler you will be given a chance to speak after we have voted.”
“This is not some communist country where you can boss me around like that. You idiot morons. Cutting the police budget because there is crime will lead to more crime. So then you'll blame me again, and cut the budget some more. That'll lead to more crime. What is wrong with you people?”
“Sit down, Mr. Mettler.”
“No, I won't sit down. There is no reason for the budget to be cut.”
“The town does not have enough money.”
“What are you talking about? My boys and girls are writing tickets left and right for you. We've surpassed the quota every freaking quarter. What more do you want?”
“Alright, Mr. Mettler. I suppose we can do this now. Take your seat at the witness table.” A clerk swore Don in.
“The police budget is in deficit, Mr. Mettler.”
“How is that possible? We always have a surplus. I use Quick Books Premier God damn it.”
The chairman sighed. “Someone give him a copy of the numbers. Thank you, George. Now, as you can see—”
“This is different from what I get. What is this helicopter expense? Limo expense? Spring water delivery service? Catering?”
The politicians exchanged whispers.
Don continued, “I heard of the helicopter thing once and I told you guys that we didn't need it. We can't afford it and there's no use for it. I don't even know what these other things are.”
“Irregardless, Mr. Mettler, the police budget must be cut,” the chairman took a sip from his personalized spring water fountain. Libby thought it looked very fancy and wondered how much it cost. “You must spend less money. You'll have to let someone go.”
“I can't fire anyone. We're understaffed as it is. We can't even do regular patrols of Methton. That's why it turned into the dump that it is.”
“Fire someone, do some fundraising, lower salaries. The ship has sailed. You must do more with less. Ah, here come the crepes.”
A team of waiters set food out before the budget committee. Libby's tummy groaned, reminding her that they hadn't eaten dinner yet.
“Thank you for your testimony, Mr. Mettler. We shall vote now. Those in favor of cutting the police budget by the numbers specified in the proposal say 'aye.' Those against? Mr. Mettler, you don't have a vote. The ayes have it. This concludes the budget meeting.” He banged the gavel. “Now let's eat everybody. No, not you, Ms. Klump. It is for town representatives only.”
A guard escorted them out.
“What are we goin
g to do?” Libby worried.
“Cancel all patrols where those bastards live and not respond to their calls,” Don said.
“I meant about the money. You're not going to fire anyone, are you?” Libby couldn't bear letting anyone go.
“Maybe one of those in the hospital?” Don mused.
“No. That's mean.”
“You're right. We can cut back on the repair budget. Officers can double up in their cars. Peggy won't get the latest gadgets.”
“Is that enough?”
“Doubt it.”
Libby got an idea. “What if we have a bake sale?”
“Like last year?”
“Yeah.”
“That cost more than it took in.”
“It was fun though,” Libby looked at her feet. Then she got another idea, but she wasn't sure Don would like it. “What if we lower our pay?” she said meekly.
“God damn it,” Don replied.
“Would that be enough?” Libby batted her eyes at him. He wouldn't resist for long.
“Depends how much we lower it. We can take a bunch from everyone, I guess.”
“No,” Libby said. “That will make them sad. I was talking about you and me.”
“That's not gonna cut it.”
“Even if we take half?”
“Half?” Don raised his voice as they exited the building.
“Yeah. Pretty please?”
“I guess that'd be enough if we cut down on all those other things and take a few percent from everyone else.”
“Really? And then everyone can keep their jobs?” Libby waited.
“I have to run the numbers, but I guess it's doable. But can we live on one salary?”
“I have a plan. Don't you worry.”
Don grinned at her. “The chances of winning the lottery are slim to none.”
Libby exhaled and thought about it. “Okay. I have another plan. I can find missing pets for money. I'm good at it.”
“And that'll be enough to make up for our dock in pay?”
“Absolutely.”
“Alright. I'll think about it and run the numbers. But everyone better be doing their job real good. I'll be looking to fire someone. Stupid politicians. Irregardless isn't even a word.”
That was as close to a yes as Don would get. “Yay!” joy flooded her body. “I'm hungry,” she announced. Images of delicious food swam through her mind. She craved tiramisu.
They got in their car. “Let's go eat somewhere,” Don said. “But first let me call Lucus and Tom to see what's going on.”
Tom stopped at the prison parking lot entrance and Duey got in. “Thanks a lot man. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Tom said.
“What's with the van?”
“Oh. I had to borrow it because Lucus took the car for police business.”
“So is there like a dead body in back or something?”
“No. Because of the ghosts. So anyway, what are you doing out? Mettler said you had a life sentence.”
“Early release program,” Duey said.
“I see. That uniform's too big on you,” Tom had a knack for detail.
“They gave me a job,” Duey continued to improvise. “The ladies love a man in uniform.”
“So anyway, my stupid parents ran out of gas again. I don't know what's going on with the fat man. He has brain damage or something.”
“Uh huh. Turn right here. Your other right.”
“Sorry about that.”
“It's cool. Are you sure you don't have a body back there?”
“Yeah.”
“Well something smells like it died.”
“Sorry about that,” Tom said again, “I ate prasad before I left the cemetery.”
“Cemetery?”
“That's where the ghosts are. Libby said they're nice and Mettler said they don't exist. But my mom said they're angry. I don't like nightmares.”
“Ghosts, nightmares, cemeteries. You're driving an ME van. What the hell do they have you doing?”
“Mettler wants to dig up a dead body. Lucus left me in charge because he had to go to Methton.”
“What's in Methton?”
“They want to get a warrant to bust down a door of this house because you parked in front of it.”
“Make a left here. Your other left.”
“Sorry about that.”
“What are they looking for there?”
“Some guy. Travis something. I don't know.”
They wouldn't find Travis there, Duey thought.
They drove for half an hour in silence. As they passed familiar landmarks Duey grew more focused. Where was it that he dropped Travis off back in the day? He had a trailer somewhere around here. With some luck, he'd kill Travis with enough time to make it to the bus station.
“Do you mind if we stop at that gas station?” Tom didn't wait for Duey to answer. “I really have to go.” He jumped out as soon as the van squealed to a halt. He undid his pants mid-run and fell through the convenience store door. The clerk inside directed Tom toward the restroom.
Duey chuckled and drummed his fingers on the dashboard. He looked over at the driver's seat. He looked into the store. He did it once more. Duey shrugged and scooted over. He closed the door and drove off.
Don couldn't reach Tom, but he got a hold of Lucus. Now he and Libby were on their way to Methton. Libby had trouble concentrating. The hunger monster living in her belly threatened to take over. At this point she could eat anything, even her mom's cooking. She wanted to ask Don about the warrant. What came out instead was, “I'm hungry.”
“Soon,” Don said.
“I'm hungry.” That would make him cranky, but she couldn't help it.
They stopped behind Lucus' car. “Was the bumper always missing?” Don wondered.
“I'm so hungry,” Libby replied. As soon as she got out, a horde of handcuffed people on the sidewalk started demanding spare change.
Don signaled Lucus over. Together the two men carried a mini battering ram to the door.
“So now we have to wait for the warrant,” Lucus huffed. But Don didn't set the contraption down.
“Meg emailed me a copy as well. It's already dated. All it needs is the judge's signature. That's as good as having it. Plus, I think I smell something. Don't you?”
Lucus nodded. They turned to Libby.
“I'm hungry,” she said.
“Alright then, on three.”
The door was surprisingly strong, but it gave way after several whacks. The moldy carpet creaked beneath their feet as they advanced into the darkness. They put their flashlights away when Lucus found a light switch. Not long after, they discovered a dead woman. She was chained to the wall by her wrists. Her eyes stared up at them.
Don called Mort and Peggy while Libby went in search of the fridge. Nothing inside but orange juice. She guzzled it down.
“This is Maggie Swinton,” Don said. “I recognize the necklace from the pictures Kirk gave me.”
Lucus agreed.
With the hunger monster temporarily vanquished by juice and the scary sight of the dead body, Libertad's wits returned. “The Swintons had children,” Libby said.
“That's right. What was that Travis guy in for?”
“Murder, kidnapping of children. Some real sick stuff,” Lucus said.
“Alright. So we're going to assume for the moment that this is Travis Quinton's work. It's his house, or at least the forwarding address he left with the prison. Where would this guy be if not here?”
Libby watched her husband's mind work.
Lucus said, “Before all this commotion I was going to visit Quinton's mother. That's his only known living relative.”
“Good idea. You happen to know where that is?”
Lucus wrote it down for him.
“Thanks. Libby and I are going to pay her a visit. You okay to stay here and wait for the ME?” Two officers, called in by Don from their patrol of the rich part of town, came in.
“We'll be fine,” Lucus seemed amused by his colleagues' frightened expressions. “First time in Methton?” he asked them.
Don and Libby left for the Village Gardens. Tom finally answered his phone.
“He left the cemetery in the ME van? To pick up Duey? What?” Don almost ran the car off the road in his rage. “Klump you idiot,” he grabbed the phone from Libby and yelled into it. “If you didn't have the best arrest record on the force I'd fire you on the spot. But you're dangerously close.”
“Sorry about that,” Libby's brother said on speaker. “I thought it was suspicious but he had a real good explanation. And he had a uniform and everything. What was I supposed to do?”
“Will you get home okay?” Libby asked him as Don glared at her.
“Yeah, don't worry. I'll call a cab when I'm done with the bathroom. I have to go again. I feel bad for the next guy that goes in here,” Tom chuckled.
“Idiot,” Don grumbled.
They turned into a long wooded driveway that after a couple of minutes opened to a mansion. Don and Libby ooed and ahhed as they got out of their car. A maid answered the door and escorted them to a lavishly decorated sitting room.
“It's too rococo,” Libby said.
“This is just the kind of place I want to live in,” Don countered.
“What can I do for you?” their host arrived through double sliding doors which the maid closed after her.
“Sorry to bother you at this late hour, Mrs. Quinton, but we are looking for your son.”
“I don't have a son,” the old lady sneered.
“Do we have the wrong house?” Don asked Libby.
She shrugged.
“Travis Quinton. Is he not your son?” Don showed her Travis' booking picture on his cell phone.
“Biologically speaking. I have not seen him in years. Last I heard he was in prison. What has my shame done this time?”
“He is a suspect in an investigation. It is very important that we track him down as soon as possible. Lives are at stake.”
“I'm sorry to hear that, Detective Mettler,” Ingrid Quinton said. “But as I've said, I haven't seen that boy in a long time.”
“You have any idea where he might be?”
“No. I'm sorry I can't help you.”
“Is it possible that he may be hiding somewhere on the property?”
“I doubt it.”
“What's that building we saw to the side of the house? It had lights on.”
Quinton glanced in that direction. “That's the pool house.”
“You mind if we have a look there?”
