Duncan's Diary

by Christopher C. Payne

  It had a mixed array of restaurants and high-end shops focused on University Avenue, but several side streets had built up, as well. Sudhir had parked outside the garage on the street above ground. He walked below down one of the sets of stairs that were on each corner of the garage. Then ventured over to the small crowd and walked directly toward the police officer who was ensuring nobody pressed too closely.

  The fire inspector, Jeff was poking around at the car and holding up a small piece of cloth. He placed it in a plastic bag carefully holding it with his latex gloved hands. Sudhir had known Jeff most of his life so he walked over and asked how things were going.

  “Nice,” Jeff said. “Family is good; kids are doing well. Same ‘ole, same ‘ole.” Jeff stated that he guessed a piece of cloth was used to ignite the car. It had been placed in the gas tank and lit from the outside. It appeared to be arson of some sort, but the owner was still not here to claim her vehicle. They did not have any idea why the car would have been set on fire. They were trying to track the owner down now. Her name was Jill Hammel, and she was a local lady in her 30’s who had grown up in the area. She now lived with her parents less than a mile away.

  Sudhir’s eyes were slightly glazing over as he heard this news. Information was so easily available to anyone in today’s society, he thought. He found this amazing. The fire inspector had been here less than an hour. Most of the team had been here only slightly more than an hour, and he already knew that Jill owned this car. She lived relatively close to here with her parents, arson was involved (or highly suspected anyway), and the cloth was most likely the tool used to start the process. How is it possible that such information can be ascertained so quickly without putting too much effort in? Big Brother was indeed watching all of us, he thought.

  So with arson being likely, Sudhir pulled out his notebook (seemed like something he should be doing) and wrote down a few notes. He asked the junior officer standing guard over the crowd if anyone had seen anything.

  “No, sir,” the officer responded in a gruff tone. He was definitely one of the new breed of officers. Buff-toned gym types who looked at Sudhir as a nuisance more than anything. The officer had asked around, as he had been first on the scene. Nobody had seen anything. They were only gathered to observe the event and gawk at the unknown as most in society do.

  Isn’t it odd--our obsession with gore and mishap? How many times do we drive down a freeway only to be forced to stop and sit through hours of traffic because an accident has occurred? The odd thing is when the accident is on the other side of a freeway, blocked by a divider. The only reason traffic slows down on your side is everyone has to stop and look at what happened. Are we really so preoccupied with death that we slow down just in the hopes of seeing somebody else’s misery?

  Sudhir got the phone number of Jill’s house. Since it was approaching 1 a.m., he was now concerned that he was staring at a blown up car, and Jill was still not back. Most of the garage had cleared out with only a few stranglers remaining to gawk at the crime scene. The tow truck was here, and the car was being loaded up for transportation to the police impound lot. The scene was about to be closed. He decided he would stop by Jill’s house and see if the lights were still on.

  The ten-minute drive was a short one, and he wondered why somebody would drive such a short distance. He, then, remembered he himself could barely walk up a flight of stairs without losing his breath, so driving seemed logical. It would have also been dark when Jill was returning home. It seemed to make sense that she would have felt safer in her car.

  The porch light was on when he pulled up to the curb in front of the address he had been given. He could also see a light on in the house, and it seemed like there was some movement. He felt that gave him the green light to call them and ask a few simple questions under the circumstances. Is it normal for Jill to stay out this late? Had they expected her home?

  He called and assumed it was her dad who answered. Sudhir introduced himself as a detective on the Palo Alto police force. He interjected that at this time there was no cause for concern, but wanted to inquire about their daughter Jill. He asked if she were home. Jill’s dad said no, but she was not currently there. However, they were worried as she had been expected home a couple of hours ago. She never stayed out this late. She was very conservative, prompt, and never would have left them wondering where she was. They had unsuccessfully tried to call her several times on her cell phone.

  Sudhir informed them he was sitting out in front of their house and would like to talk to them in more detail. He told them of Jill’s car. He could sense the worry and anxiety building with each of his uttered words. They were now somewhat frantic (probably with good cause, Sudhir thought) and were wondering what the next step was. Sudhir also wondered what the next step was. He had never been down this path before, so he had no idea what to do next.

  He spent a few minutes with them discussing the details. He tried to fill them in on the facts without alarming them any more than they already were. He did not stay long and, after the short discussion, left their house, promising to call them the next day. He wanted to help them proceed if they had not heard back from Jill. He also had them agree to call him immediately if they heard from her or from anyone that knew her.

  On the drive home, Sudhir wondered about his wife and kids. How he felt about them, and what they meant in his life. He had never been faced with the possibility of somebody being abducted and/or killed. He felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his own family and how fragile the strings were that held existence together. The slightest crack or smallest fragmentation could drastically change everything in life. He decided he would have a drink when he got home before slipping back into bed for the two hours of sleep he could still get.

  Drinking remained the one comfort that, without fail, could return him to the restful numbness that isolated him from reality. What was reality anyway, and who is to say what you have to face? What can you choose to ignore and sweep under the rug? As he swallowed the first gulp of scotch, he couldn’t help but feel the tugging pull that this night was going to change him somehow--divert his path down a new road. He wasn’t sure that he was ready to step up and face the challenges and blockades that might appear. As he took another drink, the familiar relaxing warmness started to spread throughout his body. He settled down into his recliner to finish before heading off to bed.

  The Next Day

  Sudhir woke up at his normal 7 a.m. and rolled out of bed. He stumbled into the shower and quickly washed his close to hairless head. Bright green bottle, he thought. Odd that he washes his head with shampoo when there is more hair on his back than on his head. It seems like he should use soap on his head and shampoo on his back. Everything in life is a marketing scheme. We are programmed to use shampoo on our heads no matter what, so that is what we do every morning, even if we don’t have one damn hair.

  The kids were already rummaging about getting ready; he threw some waffles in the toaster and started pouring milk. They both liked Eggos in the morning, and he always sprinkled a little cinnamon sugar to go along with the syrup. It was a sweet way to start the day. He poured himself a cup of black coffee and informed the kids that their mom would drop them off today. He took pride in their yelps of protest at his not being the designated delivery boy this morning and headed to his car.

  When he arrived at work, he started preparing the report from the night before. After only 10 minutes, he was beckoned by his captain to come down to the office. Rarely did anyone speak to him, so he assumed it was serious. When he arrived in the small glass enclosed square, he discovered a couple of the newer detectives were already in the office, as well as his captain. It was a nondescript box with the obligatory photo of the wife and kids on the desk and a couple of awards in plain wooden frames hung on the walls. Two generic metal-framed chairs with worn green padding sat in front of the plain metal desk that was now and always covered in papers.

  The two detectiv
es were a couple of years ahead of Sudhir in the promotion line so they had more experience with the detective title than he did. In Sudhir’s mind that was really about all they had going for them. Sudhir was sure he would be removed from the case, and it would be placed into the hands of more seasoned detectives; but he had reservations about handing it over to these two. They were not known for their ability to carry most things through to resolution and were labeled as inadequate at best. Again, this was all Sudhir’s opinion, and his opinion of most people was negative.

  “Please, grab a seat,” the captain said as Sudhir walked in and closed the door behind him. The discussion started around the car explosion the night before as Sudhir was prompted to explain the evening’s activities. He went through his interaction with the fire inspector, his visit to Jill’s house, and his promise to them that he would call them today. He needed to let them know what the next steps were if Jill had not returned.

  The captain listened intently, nodding and muttering on occasion, until the story reached its conclusion.

  “Sudhir, you realize with your lack of experience and the fact that the case is turning into a missing person and a possible homicide that you are not really qualified to move forward on … this?” Sudhir nodded. “Unfortunately, with the work load that we have in-house right now, I don’t really have any choice but to let you take the lead with the investigation and see how you perform. I would like for you to utilize Mike and Scott as consultants, and they have agreed to help out as needed.”

  Sudhir sat thinking to himself how he could possibly be in a position to learn something from two guys who were 10 years younger than he. Their combined IQ could be no higher than 10; but he said that would be fine, and he appreciated being given a chance. All three left the captain’s office together and headed down to the pit (the large room where all the detectives’ desks were crammed together). He listened as Mike filled him in on his role. Mike was the leader of the two. He was a big, burly man who had to spend a minimum of four hours every day in the gym. Sudhir guessed that two of those hours were probably spent looking at himself in the mirror.

  Mike filled Sudhir in on appropriate protocol. He provided a step-by-step approach or checklist to moving forward in a case of this nature—a “Detective for Dummies” checklist, if you will. He also agreed to help Sudhir out and scan the area with him. He thought it might be best if the three of them went to the parents’ house together. He made it clear that this was Sudhir’s case, but didn’t want to have him feel like he was out there on his own. They would help him and lead the investigation as a team, with Sudhir doing most of the detailed follow-up.

  The conversation moved Sudhir into thinking he had been too quick to judge the two, and he found himself gaining a new found respect for Mike as the day progressed—he hoped of Scott, as well. Both looked like the Arnold who won Mr. Universe, versus the Arnold of today that spent his time ascertaining loans from the Federal Government to bail out the state of California--not saying Arnold doesn’t look good for his age, mind you. He was just not the buff, look-at-yourself-in-the-mirror-all-day physical specimen that he once was and that Mike and Scott now enjoyed being.

  They arrived at University Avenue around 10 a.m. and started walking around. Most of the restaurants and bars from the night before were not open as of yet, and Sudhir thought to himself it was a little stupid coming here so early. Mike had decided he needed to walk around the scene to get a feel for the specific area. He very much believed that one had to get in tune with the crime. Frequently visiting the actual scene during an investigation had always helped him keep in sync with the direction he needed to head.

  Their next move was to call Jill’s parents and see if she had arrived, and if not, would it be okay if they stopped by and spoke to them for a few minutes. Since Mike and Scott had not spoken to Jill’s parents, it was decided that Sudhir needed to make the call and see if they could come over for an update. As he was dialing the number, he continued to feel a hole growing in his stomach as his concern for Jill grew. He had difficulty thinking of her all alone sitting in some dark room waiting for something horrible to happen. Scared, isolated, and confined is a horrible way to look beyond this world and contemplate what your next step is as you play out your role in this universe or another.

  He dialed her parents’ phone number, and her father answered. No, she had not come home yet, and they were worried sick; and, yes, please come over. Any help the police could be at this point would be very much appreciated.

  When the three arrived it was clear to Sudhir that he had much to learn about what to ask and how to proceed; but when the conversation went into a lull, he spoke up and let his instincts take over. He asked to see Jill’s room, if she had a computer, if she were dating anyone (she was not) if anyone was currently angry with her, where did she work (she was going to school), did she have any hobbies (running).

  The three were allowed to look around her room and see if they could find anything. Since this was not officially a missing person’s report, as Jill had not been gone more than 72 hours, they still were required to ask permission and had to be careful not to upset anyone. They were allowed to take Jill’s laptop. They received a list of phone numbers and addresses of her friends, running mates, and everyone the parents knew that she had contacted recently.

  They divided the tasks of contacting the cell phone company, scanning the restaurants, polling friends, and looking through the computer. The next 24 hours seemed critical in the development of activities. Again, the feeling that Jill was taking control of his life was overwhelming. Sudhir did not like saunas that much, but the few times he had been in one the initial suffocating feeling as he opened the door and made his way over to the wood bench was overwhelming.

  A sauna seems to suck the moist fresh air out of the body and replace it with a heat that, to him, was unbearable. He had never lasted more than 10 minutes in a sauna and felt the feeling must be similar to that of having your head forcibly placed in a plastic bag, closing off the air as you gasped continuously for breath. The helpless feeling of being out of control, not afforded the luxury of your basic right of breathing clean, fresh air. He didn’t like this feeling, but unlike the sauna, he couldn’t leave. He was trapped in this airless enclosure and felt his only release was to track down this killer and stop him before he had a chance to do anything else.

  Sudhir had never met Jill and couldn’t understand why he felt this connection, but he mourned for her; and if he were alone, he might have started crying right then. God, he could only hope that she was okay and that his ineptness would not be the cause of her being harmed in any way.

  The Next Day

  I awoke around 7 a.m. I was still spent from yesterday’s activities; but, as usual, I was fully alert. The flagpole was at attention, as they say. I immediately thought of Jill lying there anticipating what might await her and decided there would be no way that I could not take her again. I jumped out of bed and quickly maneuvered the obstacle course through the closet to the hidden room behind the door.

  When I turned on the light, I noticed that she was lying still on the bed. She had apparently relieved herself as there was a yellow tinted liquid circling its way beneath her butt and thighs. A slight stream had apparently rolled into a pool on the floor. She must have continued in her struggles to break free as the redness around her ankles and wrists were raw with dried blood and were swelling.

  I poured a bucket of warm water with a little soap and started cleaning her the best I could, as a mother would a child who was ill and bedridden. She made some whimpering sounds as the warm water streamed over her taunt stomach and cascaded down the drain in the middle of the floor. It had been ingenious to install the drain, I thought to myself. It really would make cleaning things up rather easy.

  Once I had her as presentable as possible, I slowly entered her for the second time. There was no struggle and no sound as she lay there silently. I tried to ensure that the movement of my lovemak
ing was pleasant for her, but I could not get her to react at all. I started talking to her about how beautiful she was, and how the freckles on her face were flattering. I complimented her reddish hair, but still nothing. I started to lose the ability to continue as I slowly shriveled back into stagnation; and with every fraction of shrinkage, my anger began to build.

  Who could she possibly be to reject me? Who did she think that she was? She was average-looking at best. She was in decent shape, but she was a leach on her previous husband. She did not even have the ability to support herself. She was worthless to society. Who would even miss this small grain of sand that contributed nothing to the world?

  I had not even noticed that I had begun striking her with my hand, smacking her across the face. Her cheeks were now a bright rosy, red color and seemed to be swelling before my eyes like a balloon being inflated for a birthday party. I must have done this several times, slapping back and forth as my right hand crisscrossed from cheek to cheek, over and over again. I was shaking violently and uncontrollably and started to shiver as if the room had suddenly dropped 20 degrees instantaneously.

  I jumped off her and ran from the room, hearing her sob quietly as I closed the door shutting her in the darkness. This would be the last time that Jill would speak to anyone, see anyone, or have any verbal or emotional connection to anyone on this planet. A slow bubbling sob that whispered quietly in a lightless room as her wrists and ankles were fastened into place. The last thing she would see was my smallish soft, white naked body as I ran away from the rejection that I was facing yet again.

  I slammed the door shut and ran to the shower. I lathered myself with shampoo and soap over and over again trying to wash the grotesqueness from my body. Who am I and how could I have ever done something like this? I just needed to get away. Go back to my house and forget that this ever happened. I went back to the closet, never opening the door, but ensuring that everything was closed tightly shut. I placed the contents of the closet back into place, concealing the door. This closed Jill’s life away from me and away from everyone she had ever known.