It was almost nine o’clock. He lost track of time as he explained every detail over and over to Kevin. The original intent was to teach but his excessive questioning frustrated Mike so much he tried to shut him up with details. Everything was taking twice as long because of his incessant questioning. He either wasn’t getting it or didn’t want to. Either way seeing the professor was a good excuse to get away from him before he owed Greg fifty bucks.
Distracted during their initial meeting Mike forgot to get Dr. Kelly’s phone number and could not confirm her availability. She gave him the impression she probably slept in her office—hanging by her feet from the ceiling no doubt—so he made his way to campus hoping she was still there.
He took the elevator up the two flights and made his way down the monochromatic hallway to her office. The door was open and he saw her sitting behind her desk intently studying the paper in front of her.
It was a typical professor’s office. Book lined shelves, neatly stacked groups of papers on the desk, and one lone plant grasping for life, perched on the edge of the sole window. The office seemed to be an exact reflection of its occupant.
“Detective Anderson,” she said. Her eyes remained focused on the paper. “I understand when I told you to come by my office later I was in error by not qualifying what later should constitute. I made an assumption you would understand the appropriateness or may I rephrase, the inappropriateness of such a later hour.” She looked up long enough to make eye contact but only raised her head slightly. She had the unmistakable look of disapproval.
“My apologies Doctor Kelly. Unfortunately crime doesn’t wear a watch. I would prefer not to come back so if you’re not busy I’d like to ask you those questions we talked about earlier in your classroom.” He refused to succumb to her admonishment.
He could tell she wrestled with the idea of sending him on his way as punishment for being “inappropriate”. However her feelings toward her civic duty won out and she motioned for him to take a seat.
She finished writing notes on the paper in front of her as Mike sat in the appointed seat.
“Southpaw,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” She questioned.
“You’re left handed. Southpaw.” He raised his left hand and wiggled his fingers as if a visual aid was necessary.
She squinted then refocused on her papers.
He put his hands in his lap, then dropped them to the side, then tapped on the armrests. “Do you have any water? It’s so dry out here. I’ve been here for almost eighteen years and I still feel like I’m constantly dehydrated.”
He coughed into his fist when he realized how ridiculous he sounded.
She reached into a small refrigerator hidden under the desk behind her and withdrew a bottle of water. “Will you need a glass or would you prefer to drink it straight from the bottle?”
Her tone did not match the disdain of her words and he wondered if she was just being literal.
“The bottle is fine,” he responded as he pulled out his notebook. He wasn’t going to just sit there while she quietly punished him for his tardiness. “Okay, so, what can you tell me about ‘The Telltale Heart’?”
“In what context?” She asked without looking at him.
He paused and contemplated the question. “No context. I just wanted to get an educated persons’ opinion or overview of the story.”
This time she looked at him. “First of all it isn’t a story as much as it is a tale.”
“Oh?” What the hell difference does that make and who the hell cares? He reminded himself she was again, probably just being literal. Her face didn’t show any emotion. She just stared at him. If his lack of understanding amused or offended, her expression did not say.
“I didn’t realize there was a difference,” he said.
Her response was direct, specific and succinct. “The Telltale Heart is a tale of one man murdering another and the madness that not only drives him to it but also drives him to confess. It is a madness he specifically denies but his actions belie his words. He is tormented by his neighbor’s eye. Not his eyes—plural—but his one eye. He refers to it as the “Evil Eye”. He actually claims he loves his neighbor but he can no longer tolerate his eye. He sneaks into his bedroom every night until he accidentally makes a noise, which awakens the neighbor. He then feels he has no choice but to kill the man.”
She put her pencil down, leaned forward and folded her hands on her desk. “He cuts him into pieces and buries him in the floorboards of his own bedroom. The police arrive and in his arrogance and some would argue his obvious madness he actually conducts the interview in the man’s bedroom sitting over the dead body.”
Mike listened intently scribbling notes as she continued.
“As the interview continues he begins to hear the neighbor’s heartbeat. The police apparently do not. Yet again he dismisses his potential madness and, as mentioned earlier in the story, equates his hearing of the neighbor’s heartbeat to an acute sense of hearing. Eventually the sounds become too much to deal with and he confesses his crime to the police who are still sitting in the room.”
Still focused on his notepad Mike asked. “What can you tell me about the author?”
“Detective Anderson, all of this information is available in any library, bookstore or on the Internet. I would imagine you are looking for something more specific than just a book report or biography of the author. We might be able to spare each other some valuable time if you just provided me with some context as requested earlier.”
He looked at her, the idea of “context” finally making sense. No doubt it would help her understand what he was looking for if she understood why he was there but he was reticent to share too many details about an ongoing investigation. However, realizing he would never get anywhere unless he was willing to divulge something, he gave in.
“There was a murder and the body was found in the floor,” he said. “His throat was cut and then his head, arms and legs were cut off. Also, there was a note on the body which apparently is from The Telltale Heart.”
“I think what you are looking for is a psychological evaluation of the perpetrator not a biography of the author or meaning of the tale,” she deadpanned.
“No doubt that’ll be my next stop but I thought it’d help if I understood the story or the author better. I might be able to understand why he specifically chose it and why he did what he did to the body.”
“That really isn’t possible given there is only one crime. It could be a red herring meant to confuse you. The actual act may have nothing whatsoever to do with the tale or the author. I am not a detective but I would say you have nothing tying one to the other except those two items. Items that, again, may be intentionally misleading.”
Yet again she had a good point and yet again he wasn’t going to tell her.
They continued their conversation for a few more minutes and then he left. Surprisingly enough she offered future assistance assuming he found something more solid. With an appointment of course.
He didn’t care for the idea but she did have insight. Not only did she understand literature but was able to take a psychological view on things as well. Of course he didn’t necessarily like the view but he couldn’t argue with it. She was right about one thing, he needed another body to give the note any relevance.
Chapter 8
“Well?” Kevin asked as Mike walked into their shared office the next morning. He seethed with his exclusion from the previous night’s interview. “How’d it go last night? Was she helpful at all?”
“It was interesting,” Mike responded.
“Interesting how?” Kevin persisted.
“Interesting in that she really didn’t give me anything to go on.”
“What did she give you?”
“Just an overview of the story—excuse me—tale, and then her opinion.”
“And what was her opinion?”
Mike stopped and gave Kevin his undivided attention. “
She didn’t have anything relevant to say. The only insight that might be useful is we don’t have anything to go on because there’s only one murder. We can’t say the story has any relevance to anything because it’s an isolated incident.”
“So she thinks there’s going to be another murder?”
“She didn’t say that. Just that we would need another one before we could say the story had any relevance to anything.”
Kevin nodded.
“Happy?” Mike asked. “Now can I get back to work?”
Kevin felt slapped in the face. After calming himself down the night before he acknowledged they didn’t get off on the right foot when they met and decided to try and rectify that starting today. Obviously Mike wasn’t going to make it easy.
He blamed Smythe and rightfully so. His so called advice on how to handle Mike wasn’t working. Kevin went over and over what he said until he realized Smythe had sandbagged him. There was something going on between the two of them and Smythe was using him to get at Mike. Unfortunately that realization came too late. He had no idea how to deal with Mike moving forward. It wasn’t like he could just apologize and serve himself up as Mike’s whipping boy but if he didn’t say or do something Mike would continue to make his life miserable.
“Maybe next time you could come with me,” Mike said, catching Kevin off guard.
“Really?” Kevin gulped trying to suppress his surprise.
“Look, you shouldn’t take me leaving you behind personally. This woman, Doctor Kelly, is an interesting person. I needed to gage her and determine the best way to deal with her before we bombarded her with both of us asking her questions. As the senior detective it’s my job to make those assessments and not burn a potential source. Is that what you’re so pissed about?”
Kevin didn’t think Mike would recognize his irritation or understands its origins. He hadn’t given Mike any credit for anything, again, because of Smythe.
“Well, I just didn’t appreciate being left behind like some secretary doing all your paperwork.”
“Our paperwork. You’re a part of this now too kid and this isn’t all about the crime scene. If you don’t like paperwork you sure as hell picked the wrong job. You’re going to spend more time doing paperwork than you are footwork. You better come to terms with that now.”
“Gentlemen,” Lt. Smythe interrupted as he walked into room, one well manicured hand on the knob, the other knocking on the frame. “It’s nice to hear productive shop talk between you two. I trust everything is going well for you both.”
Mike ignored him and focused on the paperwork in front of him.
“Yeah, uh, everything’s great.” Kevin naïvely responded before Mike could stop him. “Getting lots of great information on the new case. Talked to a college professor yesterday about the note and everything. She thinks there should be another murder before we can tie anything together. Well, she didn’t say there was going to be another one but we needed another one to make any sense of the note. She also said—”
Mike’s loud cough shut him up.
“What?” Smythe asked as he looked over at Mike.
The look on Mike’s face was another scoop of fresh compost added to Kevin’s grave. He thought their ingenuity would impress Smythe. He hadn’t considered how he might react to knowing they shared details of the investigation to an unsanctioned advisor. His need for validation made his slipup inexcusable. Mike’s expression made that obvious.
“Look,” Mike said. “I just wanted to get some more information on the note. I didn’t provide any details that wouldn’t have been reported in the evening news. And the kid wasn’t even there.”
“Leaving him out of the investigation already?” Smythe asked snidely.
“Are you here for a reason?” Mike asked.
“Actually yes. There’s an ‘all hands’ right now in the briefing room. I just wanted to make sure you two were coming.”
“Thanks for the special invitation. We appreciate your consideration,” Mike sneered.
“Good. Great. Well, up ‘en at ‘em,” Smythe said clapping his hands together.
Kevin looked at Mike for direction and then back at Smythe when he didn’t get any. Tentatively he stood hoping Mike would follow. He was the meat in their hard case sandwich and whatever decision me made would piss off one of them. He just wasn’t sure which one would leave the fewest broken bones.
Kevin lingered waiting for Mike to go ahead of him and trailed only a few feet behind. He knew he screwed up. The look on Mike’s face should have shut him up but he just kept talking and talking, digging a hole deeper and deeper until he couldn’t see out. No doubt this would come back and bite him in the ass. He expected it and to a certain extent agreed he deserved it.
They walked into the sparsely populated briefing room. Mike sat and Kevin sat beside him. He looked over at Mike hoping to apologize when he saw a curious look on his face.
“What?” Kevin asked as he followed Mike’s gave. “You know them?”
“One of them,” he chin jutted to the one on the left. “Adam Daily, I.A.”
Kevin looked at the man then back at Mike. He didn’t know anything about an I.A. investigation but the tension he felt radiating from Mike told him he was the only one. He wondered if that was why Smythe was so intent on getting them in this meeting.
“Gentlemen let’s go ahead and get started,” Captain Roy Madison said. “There have been all sorts of rumors flying around here about the missing heroin and before they get too out of control I wanted to let everyone know the facts, as they are. This is now, effective immediately, an Internal Affairs investigation. I can’t get into too much detail at the moment but each of you will be questioned and Lieutenant Adam Daily and his team will be reviewing your records.”
He paused as he looked around the room. “I expect complete and full cooperation from everyone in this department. I also expect these to be the facts flying around this station moving forward. Let all your fellow officers know what’s going on. I have complete confidence everyone in this station will be cleared of any involvement and I have also told Lieutenant Daily he is to treat each and every one of you with the utmost respect and as innocent members of the brotherhood. I expect to hear about it if otherwise. Now, does anyone have any questions?”
No one responded.
“Good. If there are no questions than I’ll turn it over to Lt. Daily.” Captain Madison stepped aside as Lt. Daily stepped forward.
Kevin assumed Adam Daily was in his early fifties but his haggard appearance made him appear much older. His overstuffed cheeks were ruddy and red. One bushy eyebrow went from one eye to the other and his nose would give Jimmy Durante’s a run for its money. He was five feet eight and easily pushing three hundred pounds. He reminded Kevin of Violet Beauregarde after chewing the Blueberry Pie bubble gum, his stubby arms and legs disproportional to the rest of his body.
“I won’t go on too long about why we’re here,” Daily began. “Captain Madison covered all the basics that are relevant for right now. We will be talking to everyone in this station, without exception. Make sure to be available when we set up a time. This isn’t a witch hunt but I can guarantee you this will be resolved quickly and effectively. I expect complete cooperation from each and every one of you. Does anyone have any questions?”
Again, no response.
“Okay then. We will be contacting you some time over the next couple of days for interviews. Dismissed.”
As Kevin stood, Smythe caught his eye and give him a single head nod. Kevin shook his head and turned to leave only to run into Mike who stared down at him. He smiled awkwardly and when Mike didn’t respond in kind he turned back to Smythe who remained smiling at them both. He looked back at Mike who now stared at Smyth.
Further realization of the situation he was now in caused the hairs on his arms to stand. He brushed both forearms as if cold only to catch Mike’s attention. He found himself inextricably cast in whatever was going on between them
and the idiom “between a rock and a hard place” took on a whole new meaning.
Chapter 9
As Mike exited the room his phone rang with the news he anticipated and dreaded. The details were sketchy but he knew they’d find clues tying this body to the one in the floor. If they were in fact connected, he would be one step closer to finding out the truth. One step closer to preventing it from happening again.
He grabbed a wide-eyed Kevin and drove to the scene.
They pulled into the back parking lot of the mall and followed the migrating crowd. Yellow caution tape hung like al dente spaghetti between light posts, an industrial refuse container and one of the many police cars parked around the scene. Unlike the previous morning the air was still. Sparse clouds dotted the sky but remained in place like cotton balls glued to blue construction paper. The inevitable crowd of onlookers flanked the scene as police, fire and rescue personnel focused on their responsibilities doing their best to ignore questions yelled from reporters and curious spectators.
Mike parked the car and got out, immediately sending a sullen faced Kevin in search of Jill.
“They call him Ishmael,” Greg exalted with one hand over his heart and the other in the air as he remained squatted next to the dumpster. “I hear you’re moving up in the world.”
“What are you talking about now?” Mike shook his head.
“I hear you’re spending time down on campus hobnobbing it with the intellectual elite."
“Yeah, I guess I needed a change of pace.”
“I really do bring out the best in you don’t I?” Greg smiled.
Mike smiled. “So. What’s the story?”
Preliminary joking completed, Greg resumed the mantle of professionalism and pointed his gloved fingers at specific areas as he spoke. “Well, nothing as strange as the last time we met but definitely as vicious. It appears he died from multiple stab wounds. It also appears multiple blades were used. I can’t tell how many just yet but it’s obvious there were at least three. His carotid was transected as well as his femoral artery. Explains all the blood everywhere although it looks staged. Based on liver temp I’m putting T.O.D. sometime early this morning. I’d say between four and six a.m.” He leaned in closer and pulled back the victim’s lips. “One obvious connection, his teeth are missing,” he nodded toward the hands, “fingers too, just like the other guy. Hard to imagine no one saw or heard anything. Seems so unnecessary. Poor bastard. Sign of the times, my friend, sign of the times.”
Burdened By Guilt Page 4
