More detective story!
Sorry it took me so long.
(you'll have to look at my prior entries for the previous installments)
There’s no one else in the lobby as I approach the ground floor, but I’m used to it; there’s no doorman, this isn’t a classy place but it keeps me off the street, so I’m happy. As I push through the glass doors my eyes take in the scenery, a shade too cheery for my brand of sullenness. Thankfully, sunglasses make the world a touch dimmer but it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t remember the last time it was so bright outside. Maybe I should thank Jack. He brought the sunshine back into my life.
If only that was what I wanted.
Instead, already in a bad mood, I hustle down to the police station, hoping to catch the Captain before he has a mob of people trying to get his attention. I catch many a gander on my stroll, but I’ve made it a habit to ignore all those wandering eyes. I need a sign that reads “No Solicitors”. They’re all selling the same thing and I don’t want it.
God, it isn’t even noon. Is it too early for a cigarette? I share a private laugh with myself as I pull one out, realizing I’ve already had one.
It’s never too early for a cigarette.
The police station is soon in my view. It’s a respectable old building, staunch and confident looking. My heels click against the stone steps, announcing my presence, although no one seems to notice. They’re all rushing around as if what they’re doing is very important.
Hardly intimidated, I stride in, cigarette in hand, smoke trailing errantly behind me. Many a man do stop, puzzled to see me here at such an early hour, no doubt, and further piqued by the fact that I’m not buried in a trench coat.
I pointedly divert my attention to the Captain’s office, the only man of importance to me right now. He’s a hard ass who loves to give me shit about smoking cigarettes and being a woman in such a dangerous profession. Apparently they’re both bad habits I can’t break. It’s taken years of beating him to the punch and putting men behind bars to gain his respect. And even then, he remains indignant.
I knock on the door, but the voice that answers is not the one I’m expecting. As I enter, it quickly becomes apparent that I’ve been left out of the loop. Seems there’s a new sheriff in town and nobody bothered to tell me. He’s much younger than his predecessor, and unless my mind is playing tricks on me, decidedly more attractive.
Great. Just when I think I’ve got a grip, my fingers start to slip once more. I better not break a sweat.
He stands as I approach. I suppose chivalry is a good trait. It’s hard for me to decide how I feel; I admit I’m a little put off. Flustered, even. I take a long drag off my cigarette, trying to center myself. This is purely business, after all, and I’m a professional.
I soon realize that I’ve been eyeing him this whole time but I haven’t said a word.
“Good morning, Captain,” I begin, trying to read him, his eyes sharp, yet somber, as if they see much less of the world and far more of it’s shadow.
“Trixie Malone, I gather?” he says, sounding indifferent, almost unimpressed, although his eyes tell a different story. He slides his hands into his pockets, his dark blue uniform crisp and clean. Clearly, I’m not the only one trying to make a good first impression. I can’t blame him. It’s not easy being the new kid on the block.
So why am I the one who’s nervous?
“Little bird tell you?” I ask, my words so dry they almost crack. I feel very out of my element this early in the morning.
“A whole flock,” He comments, gesturing with his head to the bustling station beyond his door. “You’re pretty well known around here, Ms. Malone. Should I be worried?”
I quirk my brow. Is he flirting with me, or being serious? He certainly sounds serious. It’s his job to be serious.
“I imagine you have far more important things to worry about, Captain.”
“True,” he says. “But forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Charles Dean. I’ve just been appointed to this district. They transferred me from Newport.”
“What happened to Crawford?” I query, wondering what the old grouch must have done to get canned.
“Crawford was promoted. The old chief was finally badgered into retiring; his best years are behind him.”
My brows rise in surprise. Definitely not what I was expecting. I suppose, when I think about it, Crawford isn’t a bad choice. He’s just one of those people who can only see in black and white; shades of grey simply don’t exist and color is an overindulgence.
Dean however, I have yet to decipher.
“A pleasure to meet you, Captain,” I respond cordially, moving in close enough to offer my hand. I can tell he’s surprised; clearly he’s not used to a woman initiating such a gesture. He’s already looking at me differently, as a result.
His grip is firm, and at his touch my mind wanders, a little too far a little too fast.
I’m assaulted by the memory of a similar morning, bright and balmy, and I’m sporting the same blaringly green polka dotted dress, beside a man who stole my heart and has yet to give it back. We’re holding hands, and he’s smiling. I think that’s the last time I ever did.
I shake it off. Captain Dean cracks a smile, which doesn’t help, and it confuses me, until I realize that I’m still shaking his hand.
Swiftly, I withdraw, running my fingers through my hair, trying to keep my cool. It’s been a long time since a man has had this affect on me. I hate it.
But a part of me loves it, too.
“I’m sorry, I’m not really a morning person,” I comment, attempting to remain nonchalant as I take a final drag and the life leaves my cigarette. Already I’m nostalgic for the great times we’ve had together.
“I gathered,” he responds, shooting me a curious look, as if he doesn’t entirely know what to make of me. “If you don’t mind, Miss Malone, I’ve got a long day ahead,” he says plainly, although he continues eyeing me patiently. “What were you here to see me about?”
Finally, I gather my wits, tossing my cigarette butt into the trash. The last thing I want to do is waste the man’s time. So, without saying a word, I waltz behind his desk, flip through the newspaper lying static on his desk, and pointedly pull out the obituaries.
“He’s the reason I’ve interrupted your morning,” I say simply, gesturing to Charles Wenton, who’s looking back at me through austere eyes. “Someone killed him, Captain, and I’ve been hired to find out who.”
Dean looks at me, as if trying to decide something about me. For a man of authority, his eyes are far too friendly. Again, I am pulled back to that mystical time and place that doesn’t exist anymore, with a man made of dried up dreams. We’re in a park, but time is moving without us. We’ve been there all afternoon, and the sun is just beginning to set. It’s beautiful.
“Let me save you the trouble. He killed himself, Ms. Malone,” Dean responds gravely. “His suicide note was found just this morning.”
I’m forced back to the present yet again, and I try to comprehend what Dean is telling me. He pushes a folded piece of paper in front of me, and I unfurl it in disbelief.
“Why the hell would he do that? He was a man in his prime!” I sputter, and then I realize that my annoyance is mainly due to the possibility that I may not be making any money in this, after all. I’m not sure who to be more appalled with, Mr. Wenton or myself. Dean glances over the obituaries, just as put off by the man staring back.
“A strong face does well to hide a splintered heart,” Dean says, his look suddenly far, far away. My own heart slips over his words, tumbling into the muddy waters of memory, and I struggle to keep afloat. “The man is gone of his own volition. You shouldn’t speak of him that way.”
“No…” I shake my head at both the note and his words, inspecting it inch for inch, ignoring my own inner turmoil, for once. “Nothing is this simple, this easy! We cannot be content to settle for what’s apparent.” I exclaim, unconvinced. “You may be done with this case, but I’m only just beginning.”
“I won’t prohibit you from continuing your investigation, Ms. Malone, ” Dean replies, and I am surprised he is being lenient, although he sounds tired of it already. “If you uncover anything questionable, I’ll look into it. But keep it quiet. Keep it discreet. I want this case closed by the end of the week. I’ve had enough trouble keeping the press happy. For the family’s sake we don’t want the truth in this all over the papers.”
So he isn’t entirely convinced himself. But I gather that, given his new position, he’s not about to step on any toes his first day on the job. He’d rather me do his dirty work it seems. I can’t decide how that makes me feel.
He is right about one thing. It would be selfish of me to continue something like this in a futile attempt at self-gain. But my intuition tells me something isn’t right. And a girl has to go with her gut, you know? I admit I’m a little desperate for work. This dry spell has put me on edge.
“Know that I’ve told you this in confidence, Ms. Malone.” Dean says, “Consider it an offering of trust. If I catch his name in the paper anywhere but the obituaries, I’ll be knocking on your door, and you’ll be lucky if we let you go quietly.”
His confidence in me is reassuring, but his threat throws me off balance. He’s dead serious. Crawford always threatened something similar, but somehow I was able to shake it off. Now I feel the pressure. It has claws and it’s digging into my skin.
“Mum’s the word,” I assure him, “But I need to be able to investigate the crime scene, even if the victim may well be the culprit.”
“On one condition,” Dean says, “I do not want you there when his wife or children are present. They are off limits, understand? She is eager to be done with all of this, and I cannot blame her. One of my men can accompany you there later this evening. The family will be there this afternoon to collect their things, but they are not currently sleeping at their residence.”
“Why?” I ask on impulse, wondering just how bad it must have been.
“Her daughter is convinced the place is haunted. She won’t go anywhere near it. But that’s all I will say on the matter. I need to get back to work.”
“You’re a busy man, I know. How about I come by around 8 o’clock?” I offer, as if arranging a date. Quite a grim way to spend my Friday evening, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Very well,” he says. “You will have an hour, and that’s it. My men will make sure you don’t disturb anything of importance.”
I try to refrain from rolling my eyes. He’s giving me the benefit of the doubt, which I appreciate, but at the same time treating me like an amateur. It’s somewhat infuriating, but I guess I have to give him the benefit of the doubt, as well.
I’m confident however. If I can’t find what I’m looking for in an hour, than I’m just not cut out for this. I’m almost tempted to make a bet with him, but I realize how unprofessional that would be.
So instead, I dip my head as a sign of respect, and offer my hand in farewell. He shakes it once more, his gaze lingering with me, which makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I can’t hide anything from him when he looks at me like that.
“Have a pleasant afternoon, Ms. Malone,” he says, his tone losing its warm touch and reverting back to its more stoic ways.
“Thank you,” I manage to say in return, and with nothing more said, I leave the room, the door clicking shut behind me as the rest of the world returns in full force, the bustle of the crowded station only intensifying as the day wears on. I beat a hasty retreat, although I find little sanctuary in the open street. My memories trail close behind, and I hasten to keep ahead of them, but it’s of little use. I see happy couples everywhere, and droves of smiling faces. My face reveals nothing, but I stew and churn inside. I hear Dean’s voice inside my head, faint, but hardly forgotten.
A strong face does well to hide a splintered heart.
The day is young, but I feel very old.
(you'll have to look at my prior entries for the previous installments)
There’s no one else in the lobby as I approach the ground floor, but I’m used to it; there’s no doorman, this isn’t a classy place but it keeps me off the street, so I’m happy. As I push through the glass doors my eyes take in the scenery, a shade too cheery for my brand of sullenness. Thankfully, sunglasses make the world a touch dimmer but it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t remember the last time it was so bright outside. Maybe I should thank Jack. He brought the sunshine back into my life.
If only that was what I wanted.
Instead, already in a bad mood, I hustle down to the police station, hoping to catch the Captain before he has a mob of people trying to get his attention. I catch many a gander on my stroll, but I’ve made it a habit to ignore all those wandering eyes. I need a sign that reads “No Solicitors”. They’re all selling the same thing and I don’t want it.
God, it isn’t even noon. Is it too early for a cigarette? I share a private laugh with myself as I pull one out, realizing I’ve already had one.
It’s never too early for a cigarette.
The police station is soon in my view. It’s a respectable old building, staunch and confident looking. My heels click against the stone steps, announcing my presence, although no one seems to notice. They’re all rushing around as if what they’re doing is very important.
Hardly intimidated, I stride in, cigarette in hand, smoke trailing errantly behind me. Many a man do stop, puzzled to see me here at such an early hour, no doubt, and further piqued by the fact that I’m not buried in a trench coat.
I pointedly divert my attention to the Captain’s office, the only man of importance to me right now. He’s a hard ass who loves to give me shit about smoking cigarettes and being a woman in such a dangerous profession. Apparently they’re both bad habits I can’t break. It’s taken years of beating him to the punch and putting men behind bars to gain his respect. And even then, he remains indignant.
I knock on the door, but the voice that answers is not the one I’m expecting. As I enter, it quickly becomes apparent that I’ve been left out of the loop. Seems there’s a new sheriff in town and nobody bothered to tell me. He’s much younger than his predecessor, and unless my mind is playing tricks on me, decidedly more attractive.
Great. Just when I think I’ve got a grip, my fingers start to slip once more. I better not break a sweat.
He stands as I approach. I suppose chivalry is a good trait. It’s hard for me to decide how I feel; I admit I’m a little put off. Flustered, even. I take a long drag off my cigarette, trying to center myself. This is purely business, after all, and I’m a professional.
I soon realize that I’ve been eyeing him this whole time but I haven’t said a word.
“Good morning, Captain,” I begin, trying to read him, his eyes sharp, yet somber, as if they see much less of the world and far more of it’s shadow.
“Trixie Malone, I gather?” he says, sounding indifferent, almost unimpressed, although his eyes tell a different story. He slides his hands into his pockets, his dark blue uniform crisp and clean. Clearly, I’m not the only one trying to make a good first impression. I can’t blame him. It’s not easy being the new kid on the block.
So why am I the one who’s nervous?
“Little bird tell you?” I ask, my words so dry they almost crack. I feel very out of my element this early in the morning.
“A whole flock,” He comments, gesturing with his head to the bustling station beyond his door. “You’re pretty well known around here, Ms. Malone. Should I be worried?”
I quirk my brow. Is he flirting with me, or being serious? He certainly sounds serious. It’s his job to be serious.
“I imagine you have far more important things to worry about, Captain.”
“True,” he says. “But forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Charles Dean. I’ve just been appointed to this district. They transferred me from Newport.”
“What happened to Crawford?” I query, wondering what the old grouch must have done to get canned.
“Crawford was promoted. The old chief was finally badgered into retiring; his best years are behind him.”
My brows rise in surprise. Definitely not what I was expecting. I suppose, when I think about it, Crawford isn’t a bad choice. He’s just one of those people who can only see in black and white; shades of grey simply don’t exist and color is an overindulgence.
Dean however, I have yet to decipher.
“A pleasure to meet you, Captain,” I respond cordially, moving in close enough to offer my hand. I can tell he’s surprised; clearly he’s not used to a woman initiating such a gesture. He’s already looking at me differently, as a result.
His grip is firm, and at his touch my mind wanders, a little too far a little too fast.
I’m assaulted by the memory of a similar morning, bright and balmy, and I’m sporting the same blaringly green polka dotted dress, beside a man who stole my heart and has yet to give it back. We’re holding hands, and he’s smiling. I think that’s the last time I ever did.
I shake it off. Captain Dean cracks a smile, which doesn’t help, and it confuses me, until I realize that I’m still shaking his hand.
Swiftly, I withdraw, running my fingers through my hair, trying to keep my cool. It’s been a long time since a man has had this affect on me. I hate it.
But a part of me loves it, too.
“I’m sorry, I’m not really a morning person,” I comment, attempting to remain nonchalant as I take a final drag and the life leaves my cigarette. Already I’m nostalgic for the great times we’ve had together.
“I gathered,” he responds, shooting me a curious look, as if he doesn’t entirely know what to make of me. “If you don’t mind, Miss Malone, I’ve got a long day ahead,” he says plainly, although he continues eyeing me patiently. “What were you here to see me about?”
Finally, I gather my wits, tossing my cigarette butt into the trash. The last thing I want to do is waste the man’s time. So, without saying a word, I waltz behind his desk, flip through the newspaper lying static on his desk, and pointedly pull out the obituaries.
“He’s the reason I’ve interrupted your morning,” I say simply, gesturing to Charles Wenton, who’s looking back at me through austere eyes. “Someone killed him, Captain, and I’ve been hired to find out who.”
Dean looks at me, as if trying to decide something about me. For a man of authority, his eyes are far too friendly. Again, I am pulled back to that mystical time and place that doesn’t exist anymore, with a man made of dried up dreams. We’re in a park, but time is moving without us. We’ve been there all afternoon, and the sun is just beginning to set. It’s beautiful.
“Let me save you the trouble. He killed himself, Ms. Malone,” Dean responds gravely. “His suicide note was found just this morning.”
I’m forced back to the present yet again, and I try to comprehend what Dean is telling me. He pushes a folded piece of paper in front of me, and I unfurl it in disbelief.
“Why the hell would he do that? He was a man in his prime!” I sputter, and then I realize that my annoyance is mainly due to the possibility that I may not be making any money in this, after all. I’m not sure who to be more appalled with, Mr. Wenton or myself. Dean glances over the obituaries, just as put off by the man staring back.
“A strong face does well to hide a splintered heart,” Dean says, his look suddenly far, far away. My own heart slips over his words, tumbling into the muddy waters of memory, and I struggle to keep afloat. “The man is gone of his own volition. You shouldn’t speak of him that way.”
“No…” I shake my head at both the note and his words, inspecting it inch for inch, ignoring my own inner turmoil, for once. “Nothing is this simple, this easy! We cannot be content to settle for what’s apparent.” I exclaim, unconvinced. “You may be done with this case, but I’m only just beginning.”
“I won’t prohibit you from continuing your investigation, Ms. Malone, ” Dean replies, and I am surprised he is being lenient, although he sounds tired of it already. “If you uncover anything questionable, I’ll look into it. But keep it quiet. Keep it discreet. I want this case closed by the end of the week. I’ve had enough trouble keeping the press happy. For the family’s sake we don’t want the truth in this all over the papers.”
So he isn’t entirely convinced himself. But I gather that, given his new position, he’s not about to step on any toes his first day on the job. He’d rather me do his dirty work it seems. I can’t decide how that makes me feel.
He is right about one thing. It would be selfish of me to continue something like this in a futile attempt at self-gain. But my intuition tells me something isn’t right. And a girl has to go with her gut, you know? I admit I’m a little desperate for work. This dry spell has put me on edge.
“Know that I’ve told you this in confidence, Ms. Malone.” Dean says, “Consider it an offering of trust. If I catch his name in the paper anywhere but the obituaries, I’ll be knocking on your door, and you’ll be lucky if we let you go quietly.”
His confidence in me is reassuring, but his threat throws me off balance. He’s dead serious. Crawford always threatened something similar, but somehow I was able to shake it off. Now I feel the pressure. It has claws and it’s digging into my skin.
“Mum’s the word,” I assure him, “But I need to be able to investigate the crime scene, even if the victim may well be the culprit.”
“On one condition,” Dean says, “I do not want you there when his wife or children are present. They are off limits, understand? She is eager to be done with all of this, and I cannot blame her. One of my men can accompany you there later this evening. The family will be there this afternoon to collect their things, but they are not currently sleeping at their residence.”
“Why?” I ask on impulse, wondering just how bad it must have been.
“Her daughter is convinced the place is haunted. She won’t go anywhere near it. But that’s all I will say on the matter. I need to get back to work.”
“You’re a busy man, I know. How about I come by around 8 o’clock?” I offer, as if arranging a date. Quite a grim way to spend my Friday evening, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Very well,” he says. “You will have an hour, and that’s it. My men will make sure you don’t disturb anything of importance.”
I try to refrain from rolling my eyes. He’s giving me the benefit of the doubt, which I appreciate, but at the same time treating me like an amateur. It’s somewhat infuriating, but I guess I have to give him the benefit of the doubt, as well.
I’m confident however. If I can’t find what I’m looking for in an hour, than I’m just not cut out for this. I’m almost tempted to make a bet with him, but I realize how unprofessional that would be.
So instead, I dip my head as a sign of respect, and offer my hand in farewell. He shakes it once more, his gaze lingering with me, which makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I can’t hide anything from him when he looks at me like that.
“Have a pleasant afternoon, Ms. Malone,” he says, his tone losing its warm touch and reverting back to its more stoic ways.
“Thank you,” I manage to say in return, and with nothing more said, I leave the room, the door clicking shut behind me as the rest of the world returns in full force, the bustle of the crowded station only intensifying as the day wears on. I beat a hasty retreat, although I find little sanctuary in the open street. My memories trail close behind, and I hasten to keep ahead of them, but it’s of little use. I see happy couples everywhere, and droves of smiling faces. My face reveals nothing, but I stew and churn inside. I hear Dean’s voice inside my head, faint, but hardly forgotten.
A strong face does well to hide a splintered heart.
The day is young, but I feel very old.