by A W Hartoin
All three bedrooms and the two bathrooms were unremarkable and undisturbed. The shower and sink drains were clean. I didn’t expect to see splashes of blood or the killer’s hair in the drain, since it wasn’t that kind of murder, but you never knew. Plus, I knew Dad would’ve looked. I wasted more time on those rooms and moved on to Gavin’s office, taking pictures of the door, both sides, and the view into the office. It was messy as I expected. For a small room, Gavin packed a lot in. Three of the four walls had floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled to overflowing. The bay window seat was stacked with how-to manuals on home improvement. Gavin collected how-to books like my father collected crime manuals. Some of the books were scattered on the floor. Gavin wasn’t a neat freak, but I doubted he’d let his books fall and not pick them up. I shot the window seat from several angles, and continued to look around. The chair was across the room about four feet from the desk, and there were several papers and a couple of file folders on the floor.
I got Dad’s iPad out of my backpack and noted the names on the folders. The files appeared to be intact, so they probably didn’t mean anything. They were just in the way. I went through the papers and books on the desk using my fingernails to lift and shift. I wrote down every name and phone number I found.
My phone kept ringing nonstop. I gritted my teeth and answered. All I heard was raucous laughter and rude noises. I hung up, switched to vibrate, and threw the phone in the bottom of my backpack. I feared turning it off altogether, in case Mom or Dr. Grace called.
I shook off the freaky phone calls and pressed the play button on Gavin’s old school answering machine with my pen. The machine said, “No Messages.” That was odd. Dad usually had a ton of messages. I flipped up the lid and found the cassette holder empty. The landline was only used for business, so I guessed I was looking for a client or someone who knew a client. If the killer had thought to take the tape, he’d want to take his file, too. I hadn’t thought much about Gavin’s files. The drawers were closed, and there were no signs of the struggle around it. I checked it out anyway, and opened the top drawer.
Gavin was an organizing freak when it came to his files. I’d done some office work for him a few years ago during college. Each drawer was divided with hanging green files. Inside the hanging files were manila folders tagged and dated with the client’s information. Gavin kept several folders per hanging file. He liked to divide the case into aspects with files for billing, handwritten notes, transcribed notes, dictated notes, interviews, research and so forth. Filing for Gavin was a pain because each file was unique. He used one cabinet in the office, but there were several more down in the basement. He kept the active and recent files upstairs. There were four drawers. I started at the top and worked my way down. I used my nails to let my fingers do the walking. From what I could tell all the files in the first two drawers were intact. I got lucky on the third drawer. S had two empty hanging files. Since the hanging files weren’t tagged, I couldn’t tell what belonged there. Gavin didn’t allow empty files, so someone took them. The fourth drawer didn’t yield anything new.
While I was on my knees, I glanced at the wall to the right of the cabinet. A black smudge started at five inches above the floor and ended at the carpet. It looked like a mark from the sole of a shoe. I crouched with my face a foot from the wall and studied it, looking for anything. I slowly got to my feet, and when I was standing straight, I spotted some tiny fibers snagged on the textured paint. They were short and dark blue. About five inches above the fibers were three hairs caught on the rough paint. The hairs were between two and three inches long. One was gray and the other two were dark brown. They matched Gavin’s shaggy head. The police crime scene team would probably find skin cells. A swell of fear began in my stomach. That was where it happened. Gavin didn’t die in that exact spot, but it was where the crime occurred.
I stood up and took a deep breath. I figured it out. The thought should’ve made me feel better, but instead it made me feel worse. The crime happened in Gavin’s own home, his safe place. What if Dixie had been there? I couldn’t think about it. I wouldn’t. Not now. Later. Much later.
My backpack vibrated nonstop against my hip and I started thinking that maybe it was Mom or Dr. Grace wanting to tell me the murder had been solved, go home, and take a nap. So I answered and got a woman asking about my rates and travel stipend requirements. I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about and hung up. My phone immediately began to vibrate again. For crying out loud.
I’d been in Gavin’s house for a half hour, and it was time to get out before someone finally noticed me. I shot the wall as closeup as I could. I wanted to take some hair and fiber evidence, but let’s face it, I wouldn’t know what to do with it if I had. Plus, taking it had the distinct disadvantage of being a criminal offense, tampering with evidence or something. I left the fibers alone and took a last look. On top of the filing cabinet was Gavin’s cell phone. I pulled up the last twelve numbers Gavin dialed with my pen. Three were Dad’s office, and the rest I didn’t recognize. I put the numbers into the iPad and went to the bedroom to pack Dixie’s favorite outfits and toiletries. On the way out, I checked the answering machine for the personal line. No tape. My guy took no chances.
The vibrating was getting ridiculous. I couldn’t take it anymore and answered, praying it was Mom or Morty. Heck. I’d even take Chuck. Instead, all I got was weird sucking noises and moaning for my trouble.
“That’s it,” I said and turned the phone off. Mom would just have to leave a message.
I locked the side door, put Dixie’s bags in my passenger seat and my backpack on the floor. A couple of cars pulled up in front of the house behind me. Male voices came to my ears and I said a quiet, “Shit.” I shoved the backpack under the seat as far as it would go.
“Where the hell are the uniforms?”
Shoes crunched on leaves as I crawled in the passenger door and tried to slither across the seat. I don’t know why I bothered. It’s not like my rear is easy to miss.
“Imagine finding you here. I knew I should’ve skipped lunch,” said my cousin Chuck.
I peeked over my seat back and saw Chuck standing at the end of my truck with his notebook and pen ready. No iPad for him. Chuck liked to think he was a throwback to the golden age of detectives, some sort of Sam Spade in bootcut jeans. Whatever. Detective Nazir and some crime science team members came up the walk behind him. Nazir waved at me and smiled. I responded in kind. One of the crime science guys flipped open his phone and the other one looked and began chortling. The rest of the team stopped and watched me from a distance. They smiled and whispered to each other. It was weird even for me. Chuck glanced back at them and he wasn’t smiling.
He came around the truck and watched as I slithered out and tried to look innocent.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Aren’t we cranky today? I’m picking up some clothes and stuff for Dixie, if you must know,” I said.
“You’ll have to give me that bag.” Chuck didn’t smile at me and he usually did. The kind of smile that makes you feel oily.
“Why? What for? What are you doing here?” I was glad I’d stowed the camera in the backpack. I couldn’t afford to lose those pictures. Dad would never forgive me.
“Evidence,” he said.
“Evidence? Hand lotion and panties? What’s going on?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Mercy. You know exactly what’s going on, and God help you if you’ve disturbed the scene.”
I put my hands on my hips. “A scene you didn’t bother to tape off, but don’t panic. I only disturbed Dixie’s closet and the medicine cabinet.”
“Yeah, and what else?”
“Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll let you know.”
“Give me that bag.” Chuck advanced on me until we were toe to toe or maybe a better description would’ve been boobs to s
tomach.
“Seriously, Dixie needs this stuff.”
“Fine. Let me take a look.” Chuck went around me and pulled the bag out, totally neglecting to look under the seat. What an amateur. He rifled through Dixie’s underwear and said, “I guess it’s OK. You better hope you didn’t mess anything up. But if you did, I’ll let you make it up to me.” Then he smiled.
“Don’t hold your breath, Upchuck,” I said.
“Upchuck? I’ll remember that the next time you need a favor,” said Chuck.
“Whatever. Can I go now?”
“Yeah, but we need to talk later. Same with Dixie. Has she said anything to you?”
“Nope, but I haven’t told her yet.” I put the bag back in my truck and walked around to my driver’s side door.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Isn’t it your job to deliver the bad news?” I looked at him over the bed of my truck, a nice, safe distance.
“You can’t ever make anything easy, can you?”
“Not if I can help it. See ya.” I got in and backed out the driveway before Chuck thought of a reason to keep me. As I drove off down the block, I saw a uniform running full out towards Gavin’s house with his tie undone and pants unzipped. Somebody was in trouble, and I couldn’t stop smiling. It was like Dad always said, luck has everything to do with it.
On the way back to my parents’ house, I called Dr. Grace.
“I have a couple of quick questions. Do you have a minute?” I asked.
“Shoot.”
“First, is the toxicology back yet?”
“Not yet. Next?” Dr. Grace asked.
“Can you tell me what Gavin was wearing when he was brought in? We haven’t picked up his effects yet.”
“Hold on. Let me take a look.”
I waited for five minutes until Dr. Grace came back on the line.
“He was wearing a blue polar fleece pullover, a white T-shirt, and jeans.”
“What about shoes?” I asked.
“Hiking boots.”
“What color are the soles?” I heard some rustling in the background like Dr. Grace was looking through a bag.
“Black. Why?”
“Just curious. Is it possible to tell if hair was ripped out in a struggle?”
“Yes, if the root is intact, and by the placement of the hair? I have a bad feeling you’re doing something you shouldn’t.”
“If you’re worried that I messed up some evidence, don’t.”
“But you saw some.”
“Could be,” I said, still smiling.
“So I can expect a call from the detectives any minute.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Good luck and be careful,” he said.
“Thanks, Doc. You know I will,” I said.
Back at my parents’ house, The Girls and Dixie were snoozing in the parlor. They’d found more of Dad’s peach wine and drained the bottle. Uncle Morty was nowhere to be found. He was probably out plotting revenge for me ditching him. I went up to the office to put the camera away and noticed the light on Dad’s answering machine blinking like mad, as usual. I sat down with my pen ready, and pressed the button. It was unlikely that Gavin would’ve left anything interesting on an answering machine, but you never knew.
The first four messages were from Dad’s stable of detectives. The business grew so much in the first ten years, he had three detectives working for him. Denny Elliot and Suzette Montag worked insurance fraud and various white-collar crimes. Stark Evans worked everything else, mostly domestics. None of them worked with or for Gavin, as far as I knew. I took down the information, and moved on to the rest of the calls. The next two were from clients, big industrial outfits asking about some background checks. Then I heard Gavin’s voice come through the recorder, tinny and thin. It was unlike his voice in person, but it was him.
“Tommy. Gavin. I have a situation. I’m driving back now. Call me on the second cell,” he said. Both Dad and Gavin carried several phones with them, in case of a problem.
“Tommy, where the hell are you? Call me ASAP. I’m four hours out.”
“It’s me again. God damn it. This is irritating. Don’t make me call Chuck. Meet me at the house if you get this.”
The first call came in at midnight, the second at two-thirty A.M. and the third at five. Gavin must’ve forgotten about the cruise. He never called Chuck or he’d probably still be alive. I sat down in Dad’s big chair, and kicked my feet up on the beast. I grabbed my pack and looked at his last calls, three to Dad, two to information, and the rest I didn’t recognize. Gavin called three numbers twice.
I dialed the first one and heard a voice say, “Rockville Church of Christ. Nancy speaking.”
“Hi. Did you say this was a church?” I said.
“Yes. This is the Rockville Church of Christ. How may I help you?”
“I’m not sure. What denomination are you?” I asked.
“We’re Protestant. Are you looking to join a congregation?”
I was so surprised I could only mutter, “I’m just doing a friend a favor. Thanks for your time.”
Gavin called a Protestant church? He was Episcopalian. It had to be a case, but I couldn’t exactly ask good old Nancy, “Hey, my friend was murdered. Can you help me out?” I’d have to call Nancy back and be a little more coherent.
I dialed the second number after forming a game plan. After all, Gavin could’ve been calling anyone, so I had to be less dufus and more Dad.
Like most of my game plans, it didn’t help. The phone rang forever and finally a familiar voice said, “Hello?”
“Hello, who is this?” I asked.
“Who is this?”
“I asked you first,” I said.
“Mercy?”
“Chuck?”
“How in the hell did you get this number?”
“Is this your cell?” I asked.
“You know it’s not,” he said.
“Whose is it?”
“First, tell me where you got this number.” Chuck was grinding his teeth. Not a pleasant sound on a phone.
“Fat chance.” I snorted.
“I’m not playing, Mercy. How did you get this number?”
“Got to go.”
I hung up before he could threaten me and dialed the third number.
“Good afternoon, Student Administration. This is Angela speaking.”
“Uh. I’m sorry, I’m not sure who exactly I’ve reached. Where are you?”
“This is Student Admin. Are you a student?” asked Angela.
“No. Is this a college?” I asked.
“This is the University of Nebraska at Lincoln. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I hope so. Were you answering the phones last Friday?”
“No. I was out sick. Why?”
“If I knew I’d tell you,” I said.
I wouldn’t, but she didn’t know that. People like a little hopeless honesty.
“What’s wrong? What can I help you with?”
“I have a friend who called you on Friday and I’m trying to figure out who he talked to and why.”
“Well, like I said, I wasn’t here,” she said.
“Do you keep records of phone inquiries?”
“No.”
“Who would’ve been handling calls while you were gone?”
“I think they sent someone from personnel down.”
“You don’t know who,” I said.
“No,” she said.
“Could you find out?” I asked.
“I suppose so.” She didn’t sound too sure, so I decided to throw out some bait.
“I’m a private detective, and this is part of a very important investigation. I’d really appreciate your help.”
“Really? What’s the case?”
“That’s my client’s private information. I’m sure you understand,” I said.
“I do, I do, and I can’t give you any personal information either.”
“I u
nderstand completely. I just need to know why you were called in the first place.”
“OK. I can ask personnel who came up.” She was so excited she could hardly breathe.
“That would be great.” I gave her my name and cell number. Angela said she’d find out what she could.
I pushed my feet off the desk and let myself spin in Dad’s big chair. What did I know? Not much. For details, I’d have to rely on Dixie. She might know where Gavin was before he returned in such a lather, but, then again, she might not. Dixie wasn’t like my mother. She had nothing to do with the business, to the point that she didn’t answer the business line.
I wrote down my sad little list and doodled on it, drawing a pattern of paisley around the words and sentences. Gavin liked paisley. He wore paisley ties when he wore ties, which wasn’t often. He gave Dixie a paisley scarf for Christmas two years ago. I’d seen it knotted around her throat a hundred times. She’d had it on at our Easter brunch a few weeks before and Gavin unknotted it several times causing her to go to the bathroom and reassemble herself. He loved to pester her.
I couldn’t remember who said what or who ate what at Mom’s brunch, but we had a good time. Gavin smiled a lot. Dixie too. They held hands when they walked out the door. I watched them from the bay window, as they walked down the steps and through the gate. They turned left, got in their car and drove away. I would never see him alive again. I wished I’d known it at the time. I would’ve told him some things. How I liked his magic tricks and his barbecued ribs. I’d thank him for remembering that I only like dark chocolate with nuts. No one else ever did. Just little things, things that don’t matter much when people are alive, but become important when they’re not. I missed him, and I didn’t know if it would go away. Time heals all wounds they say, but I’d seen plenty of evidence that it didn’t. I didn’t think Dixie would heal. Hers wasn’t a flesh wound, and I hoped to God it wasn’t a mortal one either.
