An Unusual Occupation

by M. L. S. Weech

  He noticed a bouquet of flowers. Someone must have plucked them off the body and plopped them on the bed. Idiots probably didn’t wear gloves. A thought occurred to him, and he filed it away.

  Now that he had something for Richard, he thought he might as well try to get a little something for himself. Amanda was beautiful.

  “I appreciate your help, Amanda,” he said. He only allowed the tiniest of smiles to form on his lips.

  “Detective,” she said. “I think you should be working.” Her smile gave away her mock severity.

  “You’re right,” he replied. “You should leave.”

  “You asked me to come.”

  “That was my first mistake.”

  “You plan to make more?”

  “A lot in my lifetime, I hope, but in this instance, I think asking for your number would be a huge mistake.”

  “And yet, you backed right into doing it.” She smiled again. Kyle could tell she was interested, but only half interested.

  Kyle moved close to her. There wasn’t any tact involved. He wasn’t exactly known for tact. His guilt nudged him. He had a job to do, and Richard depended on him.

  “I’m an ass,” he said, wondering how the words escaped his lips.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. Kyle couldn’t help but notice the smile was still there.

  “You’re not as harsh as the head nurse back there, are you?” he asked.

  “That depends on whether or not you’re good at what you do.”

  Kyle heard a cough, a very forced and loud cough, near the door behind him. Suddenly, he realized he was about as close to Amanda as the law permitted.

  “Oops,” Kyle said, casually clearing his throat. “Nurse, you should leave your number at the desk, in case I have any follow-up questions.”

  The nurse pulled a pen from the white pocket on her white uniform. She grabbed Kyle’s hand, palm up, and brought it dangerously close to a very provocative place. She wrote her number on his palm and never once pulled her eyes away from Kyle. “For all those follow-up questions,” she said as she backed out of the room.

  I am an ass, Kyle thought to himself. But sometimes, it works for me.

  Kyle and Richard stared out the door as the nurse walked away. Kyle broke the trance with a long whistle.

  “I have no idea why I keep defending you around Linda,” Richard snapped.

  “You’re mad,” Kyle said, half confused.

  “Mad? Where were you when I was being abused by this hospital’s best and oldest?” Richard asked.

  “I was here, getting evidence,” he said. Richard really was angry. It wasn’t as if Kyle had some sort of CSI kit to search the room.

  “Was this ‘evidence’ in that woman’s uniform?”

  “Oh, God, if only,” Kyle said with a chuckle.

  “I’m even more angry because I can’t even accuse you of not caring,” Richard barked.

  “I’m glad you know that,” Kyle said.

  “Why?”

  “Because if you’d accused me of not caring, you’d feel bad when I gave you this.” Kyle walked over to the bed and pointed to the flowers from Rojas’s “visitor.” He pulled a pen from his back pocket and lifted the plastic wrapping at the bottom of the bouquet. A number of tiny fingerprints glinted in the light. He had noticed the light catch the prints before he decided to pursue Amanda. Mom, thanks for hiding the cookies so well. He never needed more than an instant to see any scene.

  “That could be anyone’s print,” Richard barked.

  “I’ll bet my pension and that coin in your pocket there are two sets of prints,” Kyle said. He’s still mad at me? He didn’t let his grin fall. Richard would come around, like he always did. “One will belong to whatever idiot moved them off the body. The other will be from our mystery guest.”

  “My guess is our guy wore gloves for the visit,” Kyle explained. “He didn’t leave any prints on the machine when he turned it off. You watch: CSI won’t find a one.”

  “But who wears gloves when he’s buying flowers?” Richard asked and smiled at Kyle.

  “We have a good relationship, partner,” Kyle said.

  “Why, because we’re accused of being able to read each other’s minds?”

  “Well, that, and we always have the right approach to questioning witnesses.”

  “Yeah? Well, next time, you question the mean-looking one.” They made their way to the lobby. Kyle’s new friend winked at him as he waved to show her number on his hand.

  Richard didn’t scold Kyle for his behavior. He wouldn’t do something like that. Kyle still realized that he had done something incredibly stupid to get a phone number.

  “I won’t hit on any women at a crime scene again, OK?” the younger officer promised. He was a bit surprised at the amount of shame in his voice.

  Richard smiled. “Thank you.” He meant it for finding the fingerprints, but Kyle knew that. They had a lead, and Kyle had gotten to meet a pretty girl. He couldn’t resist the temptation, but Richard understood that, even if it pissed him off. It was a good thing Richard had Linda; it meant Kyle could have the rest. So long as I’m not such an ass about it next time.

  12

  A Plan

  October 9, 2006

  I have a plan.

  I’m a bit surprised that things worked out this well, but in my line of work, things have a weird habit of going my way when I’m in a pinch. I was on my way to class yesterday when I noticed a chance to do what I came here to do and help Nick and David all in one swoop.

  It’ll be close. It’s almost time, and I still have to keep a low profile. Nick’s hinted more than a few times that he knows something’s different about me.

  I’ve never given much thought to the question of what happens after death. I’ve constructed a theory that if, and that is only if, there is a God, he doesn’t just hand out help to anyone.

  I’m sure he’s as benevolent as the scripture says, but what I mean is he doesn’t exactly “answer” prayers. He provides opportunity. I like this theory because then the idea of free will still works. A man sees a need, but if he just sits there waiting for God to toss him a break, he’ll waste away wondering why God let him down. No, I think God presents opportunities for those who look and work to make the best of those chances.

  My secret is in danger. That puts my mission at risk. I never gave up looking for answers, though. I’ll have to look for a way to keep my secret, but for now, I think, God, if he’s out there, has seen fit to grant me this chance to keep the promise I never should have made.

  The students loved Bob. Ever since the first “candy prize” question he’d asked, Bob had found what made the students tick and then showed them how math applied to their desires.

  He had a special plan set. Despite the fact that he was closer to David than his other students, Bob was harder on his young apprentice in the classroom. Bob told David it was because expectations must always rise. More instruction demanded better performance.

  The young man sat with Karen. She spoke to him quietly with a smile on her face. He only responded with shrugs, nods, and the shortest phrases he could think of. Nick was right: the boy needed confidence.

  Bob decided to break one of his rules that day. He passed out worksheets with musical notes on them to his students. The last packet went to David, who immediately smiled when he saw it.

  “Math is about patterns,” Bob said. “Everything has a pattern.”

  “Everything?” Karen asked. She looked as happy to see the worksheet as David was.

  “I’m no James Rigney Jr.,” Bob answered. “But I’d say that when an event is seen, all you need do to see it again is to wait.”

  “Was Rigney a mathematician?” Peter Nelby asked.

  “No, but he’s writing about a pattern in fantasy literature, so I felt the comment was appropriate,” Bob answered.

  “So how does this work?” David asked, more anxious to hear about music than about reading.

  Bob went int
o a five-minute speech about Beethoven, Bach, classical music, and how it influenced modern rock. He even told the students that the musical Grammy Award winner, Sting, had used a “go-to” classical movement pattern to create one of the most requested wedding songs ever.

  As if on cue, one of Bob’s other students asked about R & B or rap. I’m really not up on the times anymore.

  “That same Sting song was later sampled by a rapper who changes his name far too many times for my taste,” Bob replied. “I’ll call him Combs, because that’s what his mother named him, as a tribute to a fallen comrade. The trick is to find the pattern.”

  The worksheet in front of David had sheet music.

  “Not everyone here can read music,” David said. David was one of those students. His talent in music came from instinct.

  “I didn’t expect so, but I’ll bet a pizza party this Friday that every student here can fill out the missing notes without that skill,” Bob said with a smile. And watch the young protégées suddenly discover they’re Mozart.

  As the substitute expected, the students got to work the moment he said pizza.

  After the music sheet, which all of the students completed regardless of musical talent, the next page in the packet featured a series of numbers. By the end of the period, the students were either finished with their homework or a page away.

  David flipped to the last page of his packet.

  “Mr. Drifter?” David called. He wasn’t permitted to call him Bob in the classroom. “What’s this?”

  David held up an advertisement. A microphone and guitar were graphically laid over a theatrical comedy/tragedy mask. The words “Fall Talent Show” arched across the top of the advertisement.

  “That, Mr. Taylor, is opportunity,” Bob said, sounding as if that should have been obvious. I guess this is where I find out if I’m right about my God theory. “How many of you plan to participate?” Bob asked the class.

  Not one of his students raised his or her hand. Bob planted both of his hands on his desk and shook his head.

  “How regrettable,” he said. “I’d like to think I taught you all a little more than math.”

  “What do we get if we participate?” Karen asked.

  “The chance to do something!” Bob said. He surprised himself at how emphatic the statement was. “Your lives are more than classes and grades.”

  “Yeah, but a stage is ... ” David trailed off as if a stage were something too horrible to describe. “Well, you don’t want to look bad.”

  “’All the world is a stage,’ Mr. Taylor,” Bob said, quoting Shakespeare. “But you can decide what part you want. You can choose to be someone who did something, or you can choose to be the man who watched others take risks.”

  “Those things are rigged,” Peter said.

  “Perhaps,” Bob conceded. “But the truth of the matter is that if you’re performing to win something from judges, you’re in it for the wrong reason. You show yourself to the world because you deserve to be seen. Each of you earned the right to be seen the moment you were born. Those who hide themselves away for fear of failure only prove themselves to be cowards to those who would tease them.”

  “So you want us to enter?” David asked, meaning himself.

  “I want all of you to want more than what you have,” Bob answered. “But I won’t make you, and I certainly won’t reward you for doing something to make yourselves better.”

  “But you reward us all the time,” Karen said.

  “For excellence,” Bob said. “And what I reward you for, you would have had to do anyway. I just wanted there to be something in it for you.”

  “And what’s—” Peter began.

  “The chance to do anything you want,” Bob answered. “All the reality shows and contests are just that: a chance to show the world who you want to be. In my mind, if you want my opinion, the reward is the chance. In the end, all anyone can ask for is a chance to live a dream. You’re old enough to know that nothing is guaranteed, so take opportunity when it’s there.”

  The bell surprised Bob. When his students chose to properly arrange their desks before rushing to their next class, Bob thought he’d have a heart attack. Am I really making a difference? Will it matter after I’ve done what I came to do?

  David walked up to his mentor. “What if I fail?”

  “What if you don’t?” Bob retorted. “I could quote Edison, but the truth is you might not fail.”

  David smiled as he rushed out of the class. He tucked the form into his pocket.

  “That’s one success,” Bob told himself.

  13

  A Theory

  Lieutenant Wilks’s office was intimidating enough without the square man sitting behind the desk. Kyle was amazed they’d found a desk big enough for the man to sit behind. Wilks had twenty-eight years on the job, and six of those were spent answering only to the assistant chief of the Criminal Investigations Division. In short, Kyle hated talking to him—or rather, answering to him.

  “The theory we’re working with, Sir, is that we have a man committing acts of negligent homicide,” Richard was explaining. Kyle was smart enough to let his partner do the majority of the talking.

  Kyle fidgeted in front of the large, oak desk. There were two perfectly good chairs to sit in, but they stood because they weren’t told to sit. Wilks had that sort of presence. You didn’t do anything unless he told you to.

  “What’s your evidence?” Wilks asked. He wasn’t paying too much attention at the moment. He had stacks of folders on his desk and didn’t look like he wanted another.

  “Videotape from a car crash of the suspect leaving the scene,” Richard said.

  “An eye witness who saw him leaving shortly after someone turned off a patient’s heart monitor,” Kyle added.

  “Missing glass from a fire,” Richard continued.

  “Stop that!” Wilks barked. It bothered him when Kyle and Richard finished each other’s sentences. “You have video, bring the guy in.”

  “That’s just it, sir,” Richard said.

  “Nothing we have actually shows the guy’s face,” Kyle added.

  “Or connects him directly with the cause of death.” Richard looked at Kyle. They’d just done it again. Wilks rubbed at his temples.

  “So you got nothin’,” Wilks replied. “Except a whole bunch of time, apparently.”

  “We haven’t lost any progress on any other cases, Sir,” Richard said.

  “Three arrests and one conviction this month. All five of our cases were closed, and we’re working the break-in from a few days ago.” Kyle chuckled. If the lieutenant wanted to be mad at his detectives for backing each other up, well, there were worse things to get in trouble for.

  “That doesn’t excuse you wasting my time with a hunch,” Wilks said.

  “Sir,” Richard said calmly, “there’s evidence that a crime might have happened.”

  “We’re just asking you to let us look into it,” Kyle finished.

  “I said stop that!” Wilks shouted. Richard’s lips quivered. He wanted to laugh.

  “Sorry, sir,” they said together. Wilks didn’t look amused.

  “You two work well together,” he said. He’d shifted his total attention to Kyle and Richard. Kyle would have preferred it if that didn’t happen. “So, convince me not to use all this time you’re wasting more effectively.”

  “We’re running some fingerprints from the last potential crime scene,” Kyle said. Richard looked a bit tired of having to explain so much. Wilks looked ready to yell at them for using command resources.

  “The patient would have lived, had someone left his monitor on,” Richard interrupted. “So this is a wrongful death, Sir.”

  “How long would the guy have lasted?” Wilks asked.

  Richard’s head sunk. “Maybe another hour, maybe a week?”

  “That’s a pretty big fucking maybe, Sergeant.” The scowl on Wilks’s face was enough to force Kyle to take a step back..

&n
bsp; “We’re not saying it’ll be our priority case,” Kyle said.

  Richard shot him a look that read, “We won’t?”

  Kyle nudged his head at the lieutenant, as if to say, “We won’t have to tell him that.”

  “What’re you two thinking?” Wilks asked angrily.

  “Nothing, Sir,” they both replied.

  “Sir,” Kyle jumped in. “Just let us see if we can connect any of these dots. That’s all we ask. If it turns out they line up, we’ll update you and go from there.”

  “And if it’s a wild goose chase?” Wilks asked.

  “We’ll let it go,” Kyle said.

  “And we’ll find better ways to use our time,” Richard finished.

  Wilks chuckled a bit. “You two are somethin’ else,” he said. It didn’t sound like a compliment to Kyle. “OK, you can carefully look into this. Do not overreach your authority! You have one week. If you don’t have anything by then, you drop it.”

  “Sir—” Richard said.

  “You drop it!” Wilkes ordered.

  “Yes, Sir,” they said in unison.

  “Get out of here,” Wilks said exasperatedly. They both made it a point not to run out of the office. It wasn’t that Wilks was a bad person or even mean, but he didn’t react very well to people who went against the grain. Kyle and his partner had gone against the grain more than a few times. The only thing that saved their asses was the fact that their hunches usually led to convictions. Not just arrests, but the right person being put behind bars.

  “I thought you were gonna let me do all the talking?” Richard asked with a pretty big smile. Richard liked having new cases.

  “You looked uncomfortable,” Kyle answered. “So I decided to take some of the heat.” They started walking to their office. Kyle started to think about what they’d do next.

  “We should see who those prints belonged to and question him to see if he gets rattled,” Richard said, as if Kyle had spoken his thoughts out loud. He didn’t know where they got it any more than Richard, but they always knew what each other was thinking. The theory had merit. The plan was the best strategy Kyle could think of.