by DL Cook
The woman eyed their empty plates with a smirk. “Good boys, I'm going to check on the laundry,” she left the kitchen.
Travis yawned. So did Chester. Then Mr. Marlow drooped to the table, his wrinkled face planted square on his plate. Travis felt himself drifting as well. The bitch poisoned them. His eyes closed and he slumped backward.
The door creaked and someone shuffled in. He smelled her perfume. She touched his neck, probably feeling for a pulse. Next she felt through his pants and suit pockets, humming some awful tune. Travis listened to her count the money from the motel. The woman swore. “Cheap bastard. Barely covers the sleeping pills.”
She left the kitchen again. Chester sure had a strange wife. Perhaps it was because he didn't eat very much of his dinner, he was young and fit, or he'd developed a tolerance over the years to various pharmaceuticals—whatever the reason, Travis was able to open his eyes and regain control of his body. He passed the snoring Chester out of the kitchen and into the dinning room. There he saw an open gym bag with all sorts of bric-a-brac: pearl necklaces, silverware, candle holders, and so on. He found his cell phone in there, then grabbed one of the heavier items and tiptoed through the living room.
He had not noticed how messy it was when they came in, so quick was Mrs. Marlow to usher them into the kitchen. It looked like a tornado swept through the area. Travis had to look up at the ceiling to confirm it was still there. Stepping over couch cushions he paused at the door. Leaving was definitely an option. But the old woman took his money and he was once again penniless. Travis removed his hand from the door handle and hustled upstairs.
The first room he encountered was as messy as downstairs. The next had an old lady tied to a chair. A different old lady from the one that poisoned him. Her eyes went wide and she moaned through her gag when she became aware of him. Her muffled screams grew more frantic when he smelled the familiar perfume.
A throbbing heat spread over his head. Travis stumbled forward into the room. He managed to turn, just in time to suffer another blow, this time to his forehead. He caught the woman's wrist as she swung again, making her drop the paper weight. Travis' candle holder made a satisfying clunk on her head. He grabbed her by the neck and forced her to the floor.
Wednesday
Peggy was surprised how fast she got the warrant returned to her. The recovering Judge Hand was concentrating on his work. Peggy wondered whether this attentiveness would last after the judge's embarrassment subsided.
She already tracked the phone. Its owner hadn't moved much. Peggy's map indicated that whoever had it spent most of his time in front of a Seven Eleven and in the alley next to the convenience store. Given the neighborhood and the mumbling of the cell phone bearer, Peggy expected Ted's help would be required.
As his wife Marcy was still in the building (Peggy heard her lecturing on the importance of organic vegetables), Ted was around too. She rolled out of her office without bothering to start an information claim with the phone carrier. That would take too long and last time the bill made Don scream. He almost organized a raid on one of the company's local outposts. Getting the phone and looking through its history was the best and fastest option, not to mention the possibility of lifting prints belonging to its previous owner.
She found Don at the conference room table. Photos from the bulletin board were spread before him. He heard her roll in. “What do you think?” he said, holding up one of Duncan's photos and one of the bulletin board pictures.
“Not the same,” Peggy said.
“I wish Libby were here. She's the one to do this.”
Peggy nodded. Don had trouble with faces. He often lamented that when he saw a movie with two blond actresses he couldn't follow along because he didn't know which was which.
“What's with the missing pet cases anyway? I know she loves animals, but it's not like we don't have enough to do here.” Peggy made sure no one was within earshot. “How bad is the budget?”
“Bad.”
“How bad?”
Don sighed and put the photos down. “We don't have to pay Swinton anymore. We got a $50,000 donation. Libby and I are taking a 50% pay cut. On Friday—they said in Office Space that the best time to tell employees bad news is on Friday—on Friday I'm going to announce that everyone is getting a 3% reduction in their pay. Then I'm going to hope no one crashes their car, beats or shoots someone enough to get sued...” he trailed off. “We can try to do a fundraiser or something when it gets less busy and the bodies stop piling up.”
“You can't just fire a couple of morons to free up some funds?” Peggy thought of half a dozen candidates.
“Who would be left to patrol the streets?”
“Libby said you can't fire anyone, didn't she?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice to know who wears the pants in the relationship.” Peggy smiled.
“Libby's lazy about shaving her legs,” Don replied with a shrug.
“Too much information there, Don. They won't be happy about the pay cuts.”
“Can't pay them what we don't have. What have you got for me?”
Peggy told him about the cell phone records and tracking. When she got to the phone's location Don said, “we're going to need Ted for that.”
Libby's father fit right in with the homeless community. With a wife like that (Peggy shuddered at the sound of Marcy's droning from down the hall) it was a wonder Ted was as functional as he was.
“Would you mind asking him?” Don was uncomfortable speaking with his in laws without Libby present. He reached into his pocket and gave her a five dollar bill.
“I'll see what I can do,” Peggy rolled past Tom toward the dreadful noise.
Behind her Don asked his brother in law for help. “No you idiot, we're trying to match faces. This guy is white. This woman is black. It's not the same person.”
Tom expressed his doubts. Peggy shook her head. Tom was even more hopeless than Don.
The lecture had switched topics, or Marcy was on one of her tangents. “They must be time travelers,” she said, “how else would the powers that be know exactly what to do to bring about the changes that they did? Hmmm?” Half her audience, Lucus, was awkwardly trying to escape. Marcy blocked his way. The other half, Ted, snored on a stool.
Peggy decided to rescue both men. “Don needs your help in the conference room,” she said to the chief deputy.
“Oh thank God,” Lucus muttered. Then louder, “sorry Marcy, I have to go.”
Marcy narrowed her eyes at Peggy. “Alright. Everyone just leave me. No one listen to what I have to say.”
No one ever does, Peggy thought. She coasted to a stop in front of Ted. She knew the man would wake up at any moment now that his wife was quiet. Sure enough, he opened his eyes.
“Hi Peggy,” he smiled.
“We need your help, Ted. Don said there's five bucks in it for you.”
Ted grabbed the money. He used the wall to stand up. “If I have to drive, I'll have to borrow someone's car.”
“Ran out of gas again?”
“Yeah. The tow truck driver was nice. But he accidentally dented the bumper so it's being fixed now.”
“Maybe Tom can take you,” Peggy rolled ahead of him into the hall, ignoring Marcy's glare. She waited as Ted wobbled out and made his way to the conference room.
“I was in the middle of something there,” Marcy complained.
“Yeah, my way,” Peggy muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. You can tell them your old wives' tales later.”
“I'll have you know,” Marcy said behind her, “the woman who told me about the time travelers was not married.”
In the conference room Peggy briefed Tom and Ted about their assignment. She gave them the location and the phone's model number. Don got his jacket on to tag along, but he decided to stay in the office when Marcy announced that she was going.
“That's going to take a while,” Don sighed. “If it wasn't in the artsy fa
rtsy district I'd go myself. But those hobos see a cop and they run like the devil is after them. Ted's the best man for the job.”
Peggy agreed.
“Thanks for sending Lucus over. We already have three matches. Though if you ask me, they all look the same,” Don said while Lucus worked.
“Figured you could use the help,” Peggy replied. “Have you had a chance to read Lucus' report?”
“I did,” Don straightened up. “Something doesn't feel right about it.”
Lucus raised his head. Peggy's heart skipped a beat.
Tuesday
When Lucus finished going through the file they got from the county clerk he gave it to Tom. “See what you can make of this.”
“Grumpy Cat is so awesome.” Tom fired off another email to Don before taking the documents.
Lucus discarded their garbage and stacked their trays on top of the trash bin. They left the pizzeria.
As he started the car Lucus received an email. He was surprised that it was from the judge. The warrant was signed. Hand's secretary indicated that it was faxed to the bank, so they didn't have to swing by the courthouse to pick it up.
“I wish the judge got something stuck up his butt more often,” Lucus said.
“You're weird,” Tom said. He ignored him as Lucus tried to explain. “So anyway, where are we going?”
“The bank,” Lucus said. “We're going to look at Hadiger's finances. You okay reading that while we're driving?”
“I'm not a wuss like Don,” Tom said.
A couple of minutes later Tom closed the folder and leaned back with his eyes shut. Lucus snorted. “Did you get nauseous?” He prepared to call his partner a wuss, and if that didn't work to tease him about Rose.
“Only in the metaphysical sense.”
“The what?” Lucus hoped this wouldn't start one of Tom's fevered and one sided conversations about Reptoids.
“It was a joke, Chalmers.”
“Of course. How silly of me not to laugh.”
“Indeed.” Tom kept his eyes closed.
“So what's going on? You going to sleep?”
Tom squinted at Lucus. “Chalmers, I'm trying to read.” He returned his head to the forward position and started breathing like he just ran a marathon. Lucus decided it was better to keep his eyes on the road.
Tom stopped short at the bank's entrance. Lucus barely avoided crashing into him. “Ha ha,” Tom said. “Freeman lost a bunch of money in real estate. He got screwed by the zoning committee.”
“You think it made him mad?” Lucus voiced his concerns.
“I'd be mad.”
“Mad enough to kill those responsible?”
“I don't kill people on purpose,” Tom said.
“Okay. Good to know. But do you think Mort could've killed Douglas Hadiger?”
Tom shrugged and adjusted his hunter's cap. “He was an Army Ranger or something. But how would I know? Why don't you ask him?”
“He certainly had the means and the motive. And now that he's Medical Examiner, he can fudge all the evidence.”
“Freeman got screwed,” Tom said again and clapped.
As they waited for the manager to show up Lucus recalled how Don once got kicked out of the bank for trying to act out a Gilbert Gottfried joke. The offended teller was in her usual place, poking at her keyboard with the back of a pen when it wasn't in her mouth.
At last the fat, bald headed manager stumbled out from the back and directed them to a desk. “So, what can I do for you gentlemen? You're interested in opening a new account?”
“Yes,” Tom said. “I am interested in your no fee checking and help with my negative balance at another banking corporation.”
“N-no,” Lucus stammered. “We're here to pick up some records. You received a warrant? I thought all this time you were getting them.”
The manager sneered at him. He turned to Tom. “Negative balance, you say? George will be right over to help you.” He motioned to a man behind them. “I'll be right back,” he vanished into an office.
The other guy came over and helped Tom open an account. Lots of forms were filled out and signed before it was discovered that Tom didn't have the proper documents on hand. George left and a third man helped Tom.
Lucus almost forgot why they were there. When he reminded the third banker of his business, they sat him at another desk. As he waited, Lucus watched several idle employees talk to one another. He thought maybe he should get a second job there. No one would ever miss him when he did police work. And that blond was kind of cute.
He started when Tom tapped him. His partner looked down and nodded. Lucus nodded back. Tom made the shape of a gun with his hand, pointed at Lucus, and said, “Chalmers.”
“That's my name,” Lucus said.
Tom nodded.
“I can't believe they're making us wait this long.”
“You want to open an account too?”
“No. I'm waiting for the records.”
“What records?”
Lucus scowled. “Douglas Hadiger.”
“Got them right here,” Tom held up a folder Lucus assumed had his new account paperwork.
“Let me see.” Lucus flipped through the pages. “When did they give this to you?”
“Like an hour ago.”
“Then why the hell have I been sitting here?”
“Beats me,” Tom approximated a shrug.
“I thought you were getting a new account or whatever. I kept asking for the records, and they gave it to you?”
Tom shrugged again. “That was a ruse,” he whispered loudly and made the most obvious wink. People turned. “Banks treat you better when you want to sign up for stuff.”
“So you were pretending about the account?”
“Yes. It's called police work.”
“Then let's get the hell out of here.”
“Can we stop at—”
“Yeah, I'll buy you a slice.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
They maneuvered around an old lady who yelled at a teller about wiring some money.
Wednesday
“Something just doesn't feel right about it,” Don repeated. Peggy tried to remain calm as he scanned their faces. “I'll tell you what it is. The grammatical and spelling errors. Geez, Lucus. You're a very good cop, but come on. You're a college man. It's t-h-e-r-e when you're talking about a place. T-h-e-i-r is possessive. And what's this 'and I' business? 'The bank manager was unhelpful to Tom and I.' It should be 'Tom and me.' I know it's not your fault. This hypercorrectivism plagues TV and internet fluff pieces. I could show you one about the Grumpy Cat that's full of it.”
He had a bit of Norman in him after all, Peggy thought.
“This coming from a guy who can't spell clues,” Lucus said to himself but loud enough to be heard by all.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, boss.”
Peggy didn't like where this was going. Libby wasn't here to calm Don down, and he was unusually cranky. The budget situation was the cause. The union rep crawling out of the woodwork and seeking an audience didn't help the Commissioner's mood. She hoped he didn't blame her for the pay cut rumor getting out, as she had kept her mouth shut.
“Aside from the issues of grammar, which I thought were minor,” Peggy glanced at Lucus, “did anything else in the report strike you as odd?”
Don flipped through the pages. “No, don't think so.”
Peggy took a deep breath. Lucus nodded to her. “Mortimer Freeman,” she said.
“What about Mort?”
“You know the people that were ripped off by the late councilman?”
“Yeah.”
“Mort was one of them. He lost nearly half a million dollars.”
Don slammed the report on his desk. “You're only telling me this now?” His face turned dark red.
Peggy worried he might pass out.
“He could've killed all those people and now he's in charge of the investigation,” Don
shook with anger. “And you're telling me this now?”
“Would you rather we not tell you at all?” Peggy tried to appear calm.
“I can fire the both of you for this,” Don's voice softened. He was thinking. “Alright. Lucus, go get that weirdo. Clive, or whatever his name is. The creepy guy that sleeps in those body things at the morgue. Tell him he's in charge of the warehouse. Bring him there, and bring Mort here.”
Lucus hurried out of the room.
“This is turning into a giant cluster fuck,” Don said.
“Yes, but we are getting closer to solving the latest murders. Swinton, Atkinson,” Peggy tried to calm him down. “You read that part of the report, right?”
“Yeah. Travis Quinton killed Swinton's wife and Charlene. Tom found him with Swinton's girls. Can we arrest him for the murders and rapes? Yeah. Will he go to jail for them? Mort did the work! Clive typed it up, but Mort did the work!” he repeated. “These property records,” he slammed his hand on top of them, “my dad will use them against the evidence of Quinton's involvement. And Quinton will say at trial that he found the girls somewhere and was going to take them to us. And the damn jury will believe him.”
Ted surprised Peggy and Don by coming back much sooner than expected. He wobbled in, a white cell phone in a zipped baggy in his massive hand. Tom came after him, eating a doughnut.
“That was quick,” Don said.
“Yeah,” Tom replied. “My mom just had us drop her off at home. She was sleepy.”
So Marcy's crazy energy did run out sometimes, Peggy thought.
“Report,” Don said.
“Huh?”
“He wants you to tell him how it went, sweetheart,” Peggy explained as she took the phone from Ted. She found her gloves and took the phone out of the bag.
“Oh, okay,” Tom said, chewing. “We found the homeless guy where you said. He ran away from me, but my dad talked to him. That's all I know.”
“Did you take precautions?” Don asked.
“Yeah.”
“Neither of you touched the phone with your bare hands?”
Father and son shook their heads no.
“So how did you get the phone, Ted?” Peggy asked.
“His name is Charles. He grew up on a farm outside Rosedale. He had three brothers and sisters...” Ted began. He was always one to make a short story long.
