Stroke of Genius (Archie Lemons #3)

by Grant Fieldgrove

  Elise stared at me, mouth slightly agape for what seemed like minutes. When she finally spoke up, it was not with an answer to my question. "I'm going to need another drink."

 

  When we were finished eating we returned to our drab security room. Mulroney had stopped in to check on us and see if we had any new leads. We didn't. He reminded us that the clock was ticking on Balls’s room being unoccupied. We thanked him and got back to work staring at our monitors.

  It was time to start eliminating some people. First thing we looked for this time was any staff members traveling in a pack of two. We struck out on that quite quickly. The only staffers in packs of two were women. Rather petite women at that. They posed no threat. Only six times during the entire three hours was a cart of food brought up to one of the floors on Leslie's elevator, and all six times the men bringing the food returned minutes later completely empty handed.

  "Maybe," Elise said, "just maybe, someone finished their breakfast and pushed their cart out into the hallway, then someone attacked Leslie, knocked her out and hid her in one of the carts and got her later."

  "Maybe, but the cart would still have to come down the elevator, and none have. Plus, look at the carts." I freeze framed on a busboy pushing someone’s breakfast into the elevator. "The carts have no bottom shelf. It's pretty much a moving table."

  "Then why didn't we realize that the first time we saw this and rule out this possibility all together?"

  "Because we are exhausted and our eyes are going blurry from staring at these goddamn things for too long." I let out a rather loud, frustrated grunt and slammed my fist on the table in front of me, sending our empty cans crashing to the ground below.

  "We don't have to do this, ya know?" Elise said, as she reached over to rub my back with her left hand.

  "Yes, we do. Yes, we do. We can't let rapists go free. You know this. You would never let it go, either. I don't even know this woman but I feel some connection to her. An obligation to make things right. I want to catch these fuckers more than anything I've wanted in a long time." I closed my eyes and lowered my head. (There’s one thing I want more, actually.) I opened my eyes and looked at Elise. She smiled at me. I returned one of my own.

  We went back to the cameras.

  "So, what exactly are we looking for?" I asked.

  "Let's see," Elise answered. "Two men. Spoke English. That's all we've got."

  "Wow, that’s great. I think I saw those two guys earlier. Ugh! So pretty much the only people we can immediately cross off are single men wearing giant sombreros. Great. Just fucking great."

  The next four hours of our lives were spent in the most ridiculously boring manner ever, aside from watching The King's Speech back to back. What we did was set all the cameras in the hotel to the same starting point; five minutes before Leslie enters the elevator, while she is still sitting at the bar. Then we focused on the elevator camera, taking note of every.single.goddamn.person that entered or exited it. We would do one person at a time. If someone went up the elevator, we matched what room he went in to with the data from the keycard readout we had. If that person never reappeared on camera during the timeframe, he was a suspect. If he came down again, obviously alone, we would follow them through their travels until the timeframe was closed. If there was no funny business, that man was removed from the suspect list.

 

  While it was true we were looking for a pair of men, we couldn't afford to just focus on duos. We have no idea if the attacker followed the victim up to her floor then had somebody already there waiting for them. Keycards recorded all the data of being used, but there was no data on file from doors being opened from the inside. There was really no surefire way to tell what happened, so we followed everybody.

  We had the screens lined up in sequence. The one thing we had going for us was that it was morning. The casino floor was not very crowded and a lot of people were coming down into the lobby for coffee then going right back up. Also, several people were checking out. We watched them all. If someone was going to check out, they got off the elevator then would have to cross through the casino, into the lobby then out the lobby doors to the outside. Or, they could have gotten off the elevator, made their way to the parking garage elevator, taken it down, and then entered the garage directly from the casino. The camera caught their every move, even through the maze of cars. We had all our screens in order. We continued watching, checking off people one at a time who left empty-handed before or after our time frame.

  When all was said and done we had a handful of people still on our suspect's list and no real way to dig any deeper in to them. We had to think of something else. We decided we would have to just start taking guesses. At first, if someone went up to their room and never came down, we kept them on the suspect list. The reasoning behind this was; if the girl got out undetected, so could the attackers. But after hitting that final brick wall, we had to start eliminating that particular set of people.

  We still had more than a handful of suspects.

  "E?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What time did Balls go up to his room, according to the key log?"

  "Hold on, six something. Let me check." She flipped through our rather expansive notebook of suspects, notes, non-suspects, time tables, drawings of happy faces, games of tic-tac-toe and various other crap all somehow related to this case until she found the information she needed. "He got up to his room at six-forty am and apparently again at seven-twelve. Wait..."

  "The security guy said Balls got to his room then later pushed their room service tray out into the hallway a little while later. The tray was still in the hallway when Balls was discovered. You were in a waking coma at the time of this conversation."

 

  "Jesus Christ, so now our times are over-lapping, you realize this, right?"

  "Why do you think I asked?"

  17.

  We decided to go up and take a look at Balls' and Vince's room. The elevator ride was hell. Pure torture. And on top of that, first we had to take one elevator up to our room so I could grab my work bag, then take it down to the lobby, then get on a different elevator and take it to the thirty-seventh floor where all the action occurred. Hell, I tells ya, hell!

  We entered the room using the key we were given by Mr. Adams, the head of security. It was a two bedroom suite, but much smaller than ours up on the higher floor. Elise carried all the photographs we had and we used them to compare them to the scene. I went and kneeled down at the entry way of the closet where he was found dead, rightfully mindful the whole time that I may be crouching near some crusted up semen on the carpet. I held my breath while I poked around inside for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing popped out at me.

  I stood back up and continued looking around the room. It was exactly how it was in the photograph, right down to the pack of gum and junior mints on the table. His suitcase was still sitting open on the bed, clothes removed and stacked neatly. A pair of Nike shoes at the bedside. Empty glass on the night stand. In the other bedroom, where Vince had probably stayed, was nothing. It had been cleaned. Only the room where the body was found was undisturbed. This bothered me, but I let it go. If I was Vince, I wouldn't be willing to leave all my stuff unprotected in a hotel room for two weeks while someone, MAYBE, worked on the case at hand. Who knows who would be coming and going from the room. He had every right to take his stuff with him. I just wish he hadn't, for some reason.

  Elise had started looking under the bed and tables, behind the TV and what-not, looking for, I suppose, anything that might help us out. She wasn't having much luck. I went out in to the common room and put my bag on the table and squatted down next to it. I laid the photographs on the glass tabletop and removed my magnifying glass from my bag-o-goodies. I focused in closely on the dead body.

  "Something tells me you're not the first person to use a microscope on that guy’s junk," Elise said as she came walking out from the
bedroom.

  "This is a magnifying glass, but not a bad joke, all the same."

  "Thanks. I learned from the best. I actually can’t believe we are sitting in a room where a guy died masturbating and with an open box of Junior Mints on the table and you haven’t made a single Marcie Playground joke."

  "Huh?" I ask, distracted. "Oh, um, I smell sex and candy. Wacka Wacka!"

  "Really? That’s it?"

  "Sorry. I’m just looking for something."

  "Ooookay. And what are you looking for, oh wise one?"

  "Actually, I'm trying to see if he is wearing a belt. I looked through his clothes on the bed there and there wasn't any kind of dress clothes or shoes. They obviously weren't here to go classy or go to a club. Nothing but a pair of jeans, two pairs of shorts and the jeans he died in."

  "Yeah, so?"

  "Yeah, well, that’s what I wear, too. And guys like us don't bring more than one belt with us on vacation. It's one of the luxuries of being so handsome and laid back casual."

  "So laid back casual is the new lazy with no style?"

  "Whatever, nice skinny jeans, Mary Tyler Moore."

  "Nice try. You know you like these! Just look at my ass in these things? What two kids?!"

  (Gah, knock it off. Your ass distracts me enough, vile woman, I'm trying to work!)

  "Yeah, real good, now shut up for a second while I figure this out. I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier. No belt on and we're right back where we started, but if he is wearing a belt I think we hit pay dirt. I just...cant...tell." I squinted into the magnifying glass, trying desperately to see anything. No luck.

  I flipped to the next photo and took another look. Nothing. On to the next. I clearly saw a belt loop in this one. Nothing underneath it. No belt. Out of luck. Game over, mannn, game over.

  "Shit, he's not wearing a belt."

  "Don't you think the detective would have figured that one out by now?"

  "Ya never know, sometimes the most obvious clues are the ones that are overlooked. It was worth a shot."

  "You're right. Nice try, kid."

  I stood up from my squat, slowly and rather painfully. I was getting old and was still ridiculously out of shape. One day I would work on that. One day. Just not, ya know, today. But one day. Probably.

  I reached into my bag again and grabbed my tape measure. "Here, follow me. I need to see something."

  "Okey dokey."

  She followed me back in to the bedroom and we made our way to the closet of orgasmic death.

  "Do me a favor," I said. "Sit down right here." I pointed to the spot where Balls was found, right in the doorway.

  "Um, okay," Elise said, as she reluctantly sat down. "Why can't you do this?"

  "Because, ew, what if that guy jizzed all over the carpet right there? That’s exactly where your boyfriend Killed Bill and that’s gross. I'm not sitting in that."

  "God damn it, Lemons!" Elise yelled as she started to stand up.

  "It's too late now. You're practically already pregnant from it, may as well just see this through to the end. Sit sit."

  "I hate you. This is gross!"

  "You love me. Here, sit exactly like this." I handed her the picture I had just studied. Balthazar was slumped over to his left side; the only thing keeping his body from falling to the floor was the belt around his neck. His pants were pulled down around his knees and of course, his wiener was left standing there like a lone baby mushroom in a deserted field of shit.

  "How am I supposed to sit like that?"

  "Gawd, use your hand to prop you up. Duh. Come on."

  "Fine." Elise sat there exactly as Balls had died.

  "Speaking of semen, what’s with those Sobe drinks? Seriously, they look like someone took a bottled and filled it with ji-"

  "FOCUS!"

  "Okay, okay. Shit," I said. "Well judging by these pictures, how tall would you say this cat is?"

  "I dunno. Looks about average height I would assume. 5'10" maybe?"

  "Okay, how much do you think he weighs?"

  "Oh geez, I have no idea. He's not fat but he's certainly no skinny minny."

  "You're right. I'm going to guess about 200. That would put his waist at, probably, thirty-six inches or so. Hmmm."

  "Whatcha thinkin'?"

  "Hold on. I'm going to have to call Vince. This needs to be right on."

  I took out my cellphone, found Vince's number in my contacts and hit call. Thirty seconds later he picked up.

  Me: Vince, Archie Lemons

  Vince: Archie, any news?

  Me: Not yet, my man, not yet. We're trying though. It's just hard to do without having been here when the body, I mean, when Balls was still in the room.

  Vince: I understand, man. I appreciate you still trying, though.

  Me: Absolutely, man. Absolutely. What I'm calling about is, I need to know Balthazar's exact height and weight if you know it. I have his driver’s license here but it seems to be a bit outdated. His picture looks like it was taken when he was like fifteen and he looks to be at least a couple inches taller and little more hefty than his stats would suggest.

  Vince: Yeah, well college will do that to ya, ya know. As will sitting around writing stroke movies.

  Me: We're up in his room right now and we need this information to do a little experiment. Any idea?

  Vince: Well, I'm almost positive he is..was...five-eleven. I'm six-one and I have always been about two inches taller than him, barely even noticeable with that mop of hair he had.

  Me: Five-eleven, great, great. What about weight? Any guess?

  Vince: Probably just a little more than me. He was a little denser than me. I'd guess two-hundred, two-ten mayyybe.

  Me: Fantastic. Hey listen, Vince, we're going to get back to work now. If we find anything, you're the first person we contact.

  Vince: Thanks again, man, I appreciate-

  I hit End Call on my phone. No time for goodbyes, Sucka.

  "Five-eleven, two hundred to two-hundred and ten pounds," I tell Elise.

  "Okay, so?"

  "So? So you ask? So this!" I walked over to the bed and grabbed the pair of jeans. I flipped up the tag, size 36/32. I showed it to Elise. "See, 36 inch waist."

  "Where ya goin' with this, Monk?"

  "Okay, so he's five-eleven with a thirty six inch waist. That means the longest his belt would be would be forty inches." I started pulling the extracting the ruler from the measuring tape, locking it when I got to forty inches.

  "If you deducted all that from his pants, Columbo, why the hell did you need to call Vince?"

  "Shut up, I was a bit scatter brained. I was meaning to call him today anyway. Just. Shut up. Shut up. Sit back down."

  "Nope, that’s gross. Plus I know where you're going with this and you are way closer to Balls’ height and weight. It's easier for you to shrink two inches than it is for me to grow six inches. And the weight thing, well... ya know."

  "I hate you."

  "Good to know, but you're sitting in the crusty semen this time, big boy. Go grab a towel from the bathroom and lay it down first if it makes ya feel better."

 

  "Gah! Fine!" I walked to the bathroom and returned with all four towels. I laid them all out on the carpet, one on top of the other, for extra protection.

  "Ok Nancy, take a seat."

  Very slowly I knelt down and eventually planted my big fat ass on the pile of towels.

  "See," Elise said, "now what you're doing here is seeing if his belt was long enough to wrap around his neck and stay hanging on that hook, all the while he is moving around vigorously and eventually slumps over to his final position. Yes?"

  "Very good, Mac. If the belt doesn't fit, either too short or too long, then me-thinks the belt belonged to someone else. If someone was in here and strangled Balls with his own belt, he would probably leave the belt behind so the wounds matched up with the width of that belt
. And, if the killer was smart, he would have removed Balls’ belt to make it seem like he had used it himself while he died. I know that because that's what I would have done if I killed someone in the matter."

  "Very good observation, now let’s see if it amounts to a hill of beans."

  "Very well, very well." I positioned myself on the towels exactly how Balls was found. Elise put the lip of the measuring tape on the hook in the closet and tried to wrap the end of it around my neck. It didn't work. The lip wouldn't stay on the hook. We had to reverse it. She wrapped the lipped end around my neck, (rather tightly, frak!) and raised the housing of the tape up to the hook. It fit. Barely. My plan had backfired and we were right back at the same dead end we'd been hanging out at since we arrived. Damn.

  "It was worth a shot," Elise said, trying to cheer me up.

  "I know. Maybe this whole thing was just an accident and a huge coincidence. I don't know."