The Music Made Me Do It
Dames.
I don' trust dames.
'Specially not when they strut into my office, inches upon inches of legs, tight, glittering dresses, and pitiful, woe-is-me expressions.
"Oh, Missus Hearthfire!" she cries, back of her hand to her forehead, body angled juust right against the silhouette of my open door. "You must help me, truly! The music made me do it, I swear!"
"Shut the bleedin' door," I growl. "And it's Madam Hearthfire, to you."
The case is, unsurprisingly, a horrific, tangled mess. The Lord Richter, of the Boston Conglomerate, and one Admiral Steinpopper, an explorer of some renown, have been found dead from multiple stab wounds, in "Bedrock", the Richter summer home. The woman in front of me was the Lady Richter, and she had been the one to call in the constabulary. (The report said they'd found her "weeping profusely, like a woman possessed, and in her very hands were the murder weapon.")
The Lady fully admits to the murders. "But", she sobs, sitting sideways, one leg over another, on my desk, "I never meant to, I promise, I promise on my life! It was all to that... that voodoo the Admiral brought back from India, that curséd music box - one minute he's winding the handle, and then I'm clutching a bleeding ceremonial knife, and they're all dead!"
I note, impressed despite myself, how she pronounces the é perfectly. This one's been to finishing school.
"What does the box do, Lady?"
"Oh!" She looks surprised, tears drying up. "I suppose it ... it makes people kill each other? Some dirty trick by those rotten Indians, I dare say."
I nod, not taking my eyes off her. I don't trust her. She's too in control of herself, too practised, too polished.
And my legs're longer than hers, anyway.
"I'll take the case."
"Oh, will you, truly?" She reaches forward, grasping my hands in her own. I raise an eyebrow, but she doesn't notice, caught up in the moment. "Oh, thank you, thank you so much!"
She twirls off the desk, scattering the case files everywhere. "You don't know what it means to us innocents you save, Madam Hearthfire! We would be lost, utterly lost, withou-"
I smile, careful to not show teeth. "Cash up front."
I pull on my overcoat and boots, and hit the rainy Seattle streets. I know the city like my own fingernails, and I know this case is gonna take some footwork.
The police station's my first stop, and Dick immediately starts complaining as soon's I enter. Some days, that boy...
"No, no, Carla, no, I am not doing this. I am not going to let you look at the Richter files. I almost got wrote up for it las' time, you know that?"
I smile at him, and pat him on the arm. "Dicky, we go through this song and dance every single time. You and I both know how it ends, so what say we skip to that bit, for once?"
His voice drops to an urgent whisper. "Carla, seriously, this ain' funny, okay? You know why I.... And you really should drop the Richter case. Trust me on this one, kay?"
"You know I'm not going to do that, Dicky." I smile, just enough so he can see it. "You prob'bly should tell me what you know, so I can keep myself safe!"
He sighs, exasperated. "Look, the Boston Conglomerate's involved, Carla. BosCong. They're claimin' the music box as their property, and truth be told, we did find a contract 'tween the Admiral and the Lord might even suggest so. Haven't let 'em have it, of course."
I can feel my heart start to race. "BosCong?" I murmur, trying hard to keep my voice quiet and steady. "They're stepping in directly?"
"Yeah. And our cops at Bedrock've been told to pull back, orders from on high. And the boffins've who've been pokin' at the music box, tryin' to figure out why they want it so bad, have got nothin'. Carla, all a' this scares me, an' I'm beggin' you, pull out."
"Yes, yes, you're right," I say, doing my best to hide how excited I am. "That's way outta my league. Thanks, Dicky, for the heads-up, and-"
"Don' lie to me, Carla." I'm walking out, exit in front of me, and I suddenly can't turn back, can't meet Dick's eyes. "And fuck, girl, don' listen to that death wish of yours."
I raise a hand, in farewell, in acknowledgement, and cross the threshold.
Something's in the wind tonight. Smells like money, and dirt, and blood. Trouble.
BosCong dropping their careful neutrality to dip their fingers into a murder investigation? They gotta know they're gonna get investigated. Are they just that sure the cops'll find nothin'?
Well. I'm on the case.
And right now, under the high, full moon, that means staking out Bedrock. Something's gonna go down, here, tonight, I just know it will.
I tap my Smith & Wesson, concealed inside my coat, and the cold steel seems to be in its element. To belong to this bright, moonlit night.
An' if I'm being honest... I don't.
There! Movement. And... yes, four people, dark outfits, masks. A Conglomerate "cleanup" crew if I ever saw one.
Okay, Carla. You can still back out now, you know. You don't have to do this. Tangling with BosCong ain' gonna be good for your health, and you can always just return the Lady's money...
Heh. The Lady Richter. She of her vaunted innocence.
...Dick's right, I do have a death wish.
I pad after the cleanup crew, quietly. They're being careful enough, about not leaving a presence, that it slows me down trying to follow them - but I manage, sticking to the shadows, following them into the depths of the house.
They make a beeline for the bedroom the murder was supposed to have occurred in. Of course. I can't get close enough to see what they're doing, but I can guess.
Soon enough, there are discontented grumblings from the room. Yea, they're lookin' for the music box, or at least the contract. Now's my best shot.
Deep breath.
"Evenin', boys." I walk into view, left hand grasping a piece of paper, right hand in my coat. They immediately take a diamond pattern, targeting their weapons at me, but pause, for a critical second.
"Pyrotex gloves." I say. "I can burn the contract here up as soon as you try to shoot me, so be a dear and don't, please?"
They're silent, for a few seconds. Then, from the one in front, "What do you want, Mrs. Hearthfire?"
"It's Madam, actually." I say, lightly. I recognise the voice, in fact, and now I know what I'm bargaining for. "And really, all I want is all I've wanted from BosCong for ever: to get the fuck out of my city."
To their credit, they don't deny it. "Do you refer to the Richard Stonebraker case?"
"Yes!" I growl, anger welling up inside me like a firecracker. "Yes I want to clear Dick's name! Yes, I want to see you hang for your crimes, but I'll fucking settle for never having to see any of your ugly mugs ever again!"
The words ring out into the air, and spread out. No one speaks for a minute. Maybe two.
"I'm afraid we can't do that, Mrs. Hearthfire. It is not a deal that is sufficiently beneficial to us. I do apologise for not being able to come to an agreement."
And the squad swarms towards me, and it happens in slow motion as my heart beats, pounding in my head, and I draw my pistol. My blood is singing, singing at me to take vengeance, to wish death on the both of us and let a fair God, if He exists, sort it all out.
("Madam... Hearthfire... to you!")
As the innocent say...
...the music made me do it.