It was raining in Trope City. The clouds boiled and seethed like a bowl of hot soup with an epileptic lobster inside. Lightning arced across the sky like Hell's own Christmas lights. In Trope City that could only mean one thing.
Murder was afoot. Good thing the city has a shoe like me to drop.
My name is Clewless. Martin Clewless. And I'm a detective. I've been hitting the mean streets of Trope City since before I could walk. A city like that leaves scars. Scars that most people can't see. Scars that only you and your proctologist know about. But they're there. Trope City is a place where you have to earn your keep. A cheap pair of gumshoes won't stick to these mean streets.
Sure enough, the call came in practically before the thunder started rumbling like a wet fart from an incontinent bear. There was a 288 in progress on Sorority Row at Trope U. Lewd incident. Unfortunately, they sent me to Drawing Room Manor on Hobknob Hill. Old Man McGreed had just been murdered in a study.
I wasn't sure what a man of his age hoped to learn, but I was on the scene anyway. I arrived at 9:17 PM. My captain was already waiting for me.
"Glad you're here, Clewless," Captain Hopper said as I arrived, "This one's a real mess. You got your work cut out for you."
"Tell me what you've got, Claude," I said.
We took a walk across the flower bed towards the front door. Captain Hopper is an old school cop. Came up through the ranks the hard way. You could see it in the lines of his face. Like a potato that has been left out in the sun too long and then stepped on with a hiking boot. Hard lines. But, like a potato, he stuck to it and it'd take more than a fork to dislodge him once he shoved his nose into the thick of it.
We wiped the mud and flatted begonias off our shoes. He rang the bell.
"Old Man gets iced in his own house," Hopper explained.
"He froze to death?"
"Ice pick to the back of his skull," Hopper clarified, "Anyway, five people here. None of them saw anything! I tell you, everyone here seems to have an airtight alibi."
"Well, Claude, making things airtight is how you kill fireflies," I reassured him, "We'll wrangle the truth out of them."
The door flew open and we were greeted by a man with gray hair slicked back along his skull like it had been painted there. He was thin and immaculately dressed. Other than the blood splattered all over the front of his tuxedo there was not a blemish on his perfectly pressed suit.
"Good evening, sirs," the man greeted us, "May I slash your throat and dispose of your bodies in the arboretum?"
"What was that, Redhand?" the Captain asked.
"May I take your coats?" he repeated.
"Oh, no thanks," Hopper said, "We'll just drip rain water all over your expensive rugs if that's all the same to you."
"Very good, sir," Redhand said with a stiff bow, "If you will please track mud this way I shall take you to the study."
"No need," I said, "I've already went to school. Take me to where the murder took place."
"That will be in the sitting room, then," Redhand said and waved us inside.
We stepped through the door and Redhand shut the door behind us. He then locked and barred the door. Lastly, he picked up a loose chair and wedged it under the doorknob.
Cautious type. I know his kind.
"Who is the walking corpse?" I whispered to the Captain.
"That's the butler," he explained, "Served Old Man McGreed for the past 37 years. Stood to inherit a fortune, actually. The old man had a falling out with his own kids and the old man changed his will so that everything went to the butler. Said he was the only one he could trust. Then, just last week, the kids mend fences with their old dad and he forgives them. He was supposed to have been drawing up a new will tonight when he got the icepick to the head. But here's the strange thing. No one can find the new will anywhere."
"Damn!" I said, "We need to find that will, Hopper. If we find out what it said I know it'd point us right to the killer!"
"Yeah," he agreed with a nod and looked at the shambling frame of the butler, "Poor fellow must be heartbroken. To think. You see a guy every day for 37 years. Wait on him hand and foot. And then one day, poof, he's gone just like that."
"Just another life chewed up and spit out like last week's tin foil," I agreed, "This city. It does that to you."
"Are you two finished with your exposition I will take you to the salon," Redhand offered.
"Just had my hair done, actually," I told him.
"Very good, sir," Redhand said, "However, if you will follow me I will take you to see the others.
"I generally go to see Raoul," I told them both as I followed the butler, "There's lots of rumors about male hairdressers but, I can tell you, that man really knows his way around a tool."
"That's great, Martin," the Captain said.
"Sometimes when it's just me and him in the room," I went on, "It's like magic. The way his hands move. So steady. So confident. It's like watching a sculptor chiseling away at stone. This was Raoul's element. He was the master of this."
"I think they're just up ahead," the Captain added.
"But, you know how it goes," I said, "Rumors started flying. People started talking. Innuendos and whispered words. They didn't understand him so they wanted to cut him down to size. They wanted to break him. This last time I went to a barber but it's just not the same. Not like having a real man touch you. To make you respond in ways you never knew you could."
"We're here, Martin," Captain Hopper pointed out.
I looked up. The room seemed to be some sort of library. More books in there than I had read in sixteen years of public education. Still, even with that one shelf, the room was still very elegant. The walls were covered in a glossy looking wallpaper with a fleur-di-lis pattern. I wasn't sure if the walls really were papered with silk, but it at least looked like silk. In the corners of the room there were sculptures and potted plants. All tasteful and obviously designed to match the decorum. A pair of long couches faced one another in the middle of the room. To complete the stylish yet cozy effect, there was a oversized fireplace along one wall complete with a roaring fire. Someone had tossed something that looked like a pamphlet or something. I could only make out the words "ast wi" and "ement" scribbled along the top. Probably some sort of rich person's newspaper, I decided.
A young man and a young woman sat on one of the couches. Across from them was an older woman. Broad shouldered and heavy set. She was wearing a white jacket and an apron. The cook, I decided.
Captain Hopper waved to the one person in the room who was standing.
"This is Sue McGreed," he said, "The widow."
"Sue Cubus," she corrected him gently, "As of half an hour ago I have decided to return to using my maiden name."
I nodded at her. I knew her kind. Real femme fatale type. Legs so long they could be an Icelandic Saga. Hourglass figure. A bust that strained at the seams and made a guy's pants want to sit up and wave howdy.
"This," the Captain went on, "Is his daughter, Emma."
I knew her kind. Real femme fatale type. Legs so long they could be an Icelandic Saga. Hourglass figure. A bust that strained at the seams and made a guy's pants want to sit up and wave howdy.
"Martin," the Captain said while prodding me with his elbow, "Over here. You're still staring at the widow."
I tore my eyes off Sue Cubus' plunging neckline and looked at Emma. She was young. Mid twenties. Barely younger than her step-mother, I noted. She had soft features. Doughy like sourdough. Her eyes were puffy. She wore a frumpy dress that did nothing to accent her total lack of a figure. Her eyes were puffy from where she had recently been crying.
I looked away and back at the widow.
I knew her kind. Real femme fatale type. Legs so long they could be an Icelandic Saga. Hourglass figure. A bust that strained at the seams and made a guy's pants want to sit up and wave howdy.
"Martin," Captain Hopper went on, "And over here is McGreed's son, Red."
I looked over at Red. He was a cadaverously thin kid. Like the butler, he had a blade sharp nose and piercing sharp eyes. He wore his hair slicked back and pressed to his skull. His clothes were pressed and immaculate. Strangely enough, he didn't have a speck of red on him.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. McGreed," I said with a nod.
"Actually," Emma said, voice thick with tears, "His last name is Herring. Mother insisted that he couldn't be named McGreed. She never told us why. She also never explained why she wanted to name him Red."
The butler Redhand exploded into a coughing fit then and took a few moments to compose himself. I looked back at him.
"Allergies?" I asked.
"Well," he said thoughtfully, "Mrs. McGreed did complain from time to time of something blocking her throat that made it difficult to breathe. But I hardly consider that to be an allergy."
"No," I said, "You. You sounded like you were having a bit of trouble breathing yourself."
"Oh, not to worry," he said with a reassuring smile, "Unlike some people in this room I will find myself breathing quite well by the end of the night."
"Good man," I said with a nod, "Take something for that cough before you catch something."
"Thank you, sir."
"Lastly," Captain Hopper said as he waved in the direction of the other couch, "There's the cook, Helga. She was in the kitchen when it happened."
My eyes swept over her. I knew her type. Real femme fatale. She-
"No, the cook's sitting over there," the Captain reminded me.
"Right," I agreed and looked at the cook. I decided to start with her.
"So tell me what happened," I said, "Tell me in your own words."
"Ich war in der kuche," she said.
"Okay," I interrupted, "Not in your own words. English this time."
"Oh," she said, voice heavy with some accent I couldn't place. Possibly Cuban.
"I was in the kitchen," she said, "Making bratwurst for the master-"
"Do they eat a lot of bratwurst in Cuba?" I interrupted.
She blinked and seemed taken aback by my question.
"I do not know," she admitted.
Interesting, I thought. What sort of cook is completely unfamiliar with the cuisine of her native country?
She must have realized her mistake because she just stared at me as if unsure what to say. It was too late for her, though. I was onto her now. Afterall, we only had her word she was even a cook.
"Go on," I said at last.
"Not much else to say," she admitted, "I was cooking. Redhand comes into the kitchen to get an ice pick. I think the master must have called out for his traditional late night whiskey but I never heard it. Redhand must have been in a hurry as he forgot to also take bucket of ice with him. Two minutes later I hear the screaming coming from the other room. Redhand races out of room carrying something in his hand. It is covered in something red. Ketchup I think. I look in the room and see master is now dead."
'So," I said nodding, "You're saying you had access to the icepick?"
"What?" she asked, "No, I did not do this! Ice pick was in kitchen but I was in there cooking!"
"If that's true," I asked, "Tell me something. What is the best mustard to use on a Cuban sandwich?"
"What?" she asked.
"Exactly as I thought," I snorted, "You're not really a cook, are you Helga?"
"What?"
"My god, Martin," Hopper said, "That's amazing. How do you do it?"
I waved him aside.
"I'm not done yet," I promised and looked over at the victim's son. He had a twitchy look about him. I knew he was up to something.
"What about you?" I asked, "Where were you when the murder took place?"
He refused to meet my gaze. His eyes rolled around like a box of loose ping pong balls strapped to a camel's back. He didn't want to look at me. His was looking at his stepmother. Probably a real mama's boy, I thought.
"I was in my bedroom," he admitted, "It's on the second floor. My bedroom is right over my father's study."
"So," I said coldly, "Tired of the old man trying to better himself at his age? Can't teach an old dog new tricks. That the way of it, sonny?"
"What?" he asked.
"You said you were over his studying," I pointed out, "Did his studying really bother you that much? Afraid he might do something with himself and come out from under your thumb? Can't have old dad living his own life, huh?"
"What?"
"Your story's got more holes in it than an old shirt that someone cut a bunch of holes in," I warned him, "Now I want you to tell me what you were really doing and I want the truth!"
"I told you!" he protested, "I was in my bedroom. I heard my father screaming below me. He said something like 'What are you doing with that icepick, Redhand' and 'Help! Redhand is stabbing me in the head!' But, I couldn't make out the exact words. So, I jumped out of bed, pulled off the condom, got dressed, ran down the hallway past all the security cameras, met Emma on the stairs, and together we ran down the stairs and over to the study where we found father inside dead, the cook screaming, and Redhand laughing and raving about how something was now all his."
"And no one can back up your little story, huh?" I asked.
"What?"
"It's no use, kid," the Captain warned him, "You're talking to the best there is."
"As for you," I said as I spun to face Emma, "What were you doing on the stairs?"
"I wasn't on the stairs," Sue commented as I locked eyes with her cleavage. A deep inviting pool that dragged you in. I looked away from her.
"Not you," I admitted before stabbing a finger at Emma, "Her! What were you doing hanging out on the stairs?"
"I heard voices," she admitted as she looked down at her feet, "A woman's voice saying 'Oh, yes! You're so much better than my husband!' I always thought this place was haunted and I was looking for the ghost."
"Nice try, sister," I said, "But that excuse doesn't hold any more water than a slice of toast. Red asked you to meet him on the stairs, didn't he? You were his alibi, weren't you?"
"What?"
"Don't try to hide it," I said, "I know all about you and your brother's little scheme. You were afraid, weren't you? Afraid your dad might cut you into the will. So you both plotted and schemed this."
"No!" Emma protested, "Father had forgiven us and welcomed us back with open arms! We'd just been allowed to move back in! Why would we want to hurt him?"
"Enough of your lies," I said, "Look at your stepmother there! Look what you've put her through! The woman is in mourning for a husband that was five times her age and you . . . all you can think about is you! Makes me sick."
I turned to Sue Cubus and took her hands in mine.
"I'm so sorry you have to go through all this," I told her, "Just tell us. Tell us how your stepchildren conspired. You can stop protecting them."
She shook her head and then gazed upon the monsters that were her stepchildren as if seeing them for the first time. This was always the worst part of a detective's job. Unearthing these dirty little secrets. Family's needed secrets. They bury them down deep in the Earth like you do with your underwear after Taco night. But sometimes those secrets need to come up from the ground. To see the light of day. To expose the wounds and grind salt and lemon juice into them. It's the only way to start the healing process. My mother showed me that after that time my dad whipped me with a cat o'nine tails for leaving the milk in the refrigerator door.
We need the lemon juice to heal.
"I . . . I don't know," she said, "I didn't know. I was in the east wing in my own room and most definitely not in the west wing where Red was staying. I don't care what those security cameras say. That's a dirty lie!"
"Oh course it is," I reassured her.
"I couldn't hear his screams as I was too busy having one earth shattering orgasm on top of another," she said, "And I couldn't hear anything until I heard Red shout something from between my thighs, uh, I mean from down the hall. As soon as I realized what was happening I yanked off the nipple clamps, put out the candles, tried to get dressed to check on him. But by the time I got the key in the handcuffs it was already too late! He was dead!"
"It's not your fault," I assured her. "Thank you," she said with a sniff and then looked from me to the butler.
"Hey there, handsome," she said with a grin. The butler smiled back at her.
The butler was a loyal fellow. He'd served the old man well and I was sure he'd do his best to comfort the widow. I looked at Redhand and nodded.
"You take good care of her," I said.
"I will do my best to service the lady," he agreed.
"We need more people like you in the world, Redhand," I said and then, slowly, I began pacing the room.
"Yes," I said at last, "It's all coming together now. The pieces are fitting together like a leafs on a head of iceberg lettuce. Red and Emma, this was your plan all along, wasn't it? The fake apology with your old man. That was part of the plan, wasn't it? Lure him into a false sense of security. Give you the keys to the house. Then, four or five weeks later, you stab him in the head and steal his watch!"
"His watch?" Captain Hopper said.
"Yes!" I said, "Everyone empty your pockets! Whoever has the watch is the real killer!"
Confused, they all did as I asked. No one had a watch on them.
"Oh," I said at last, "Well, it was still Red Herring and Emma anyway. Take them away!"
Nothing happened.
"Sorry, Martin," Captain Hopper apologized, "I guess the other boys are still busy over at Sorority Row. I thought they'd be here by now, too."
"Hmm," I said, "Redhand? Can you take care of these two?"
"Oh most certainly," he said, "We have a number of bogs surrounding the property."
"Well," I said with a sympathetic nod, "I know what it's like to have cut rate landscapers. The bastards never did finish up the work on my apartment. Still, if you can drop them off by the station for processing I would appreciate it."
"It shall be done," he promised, "No need to check up on it later. You can simply take my word for it." He then smiled at the two stone cold killers. They cowered before the glare of this archetype of the working man. The butler reached in his coat and pulled out something. He held it loosely in one hand.
"Whoa!" I cautioned, "That icepick looks sharp. Be careful with that or someone might get hurt!"
"I will take the warning to heart," Redhand agreed, "Possibly a pair of hearts. Please feel free to show yourselves out, detectives."
We turned to leave.
"I don't know how you do it, Clewless," the Captain marveled, "The way you unravel their web of lies."
"A gut full of experience and a years of hard earned instincts," I said, "No criminal can hope to stand before that."
We heard a blood curdling scream behind us.
"Listen to that," the Captain said with a smile, "That Redhand sure is a hard worker. Sounds like he's already escorting them out to car to take them down to the station."
I laughed at that.
"There's just one thing that troubles me, Martin," the Captain said as we reached the front door, "How did you know about the mustard and the sandwich thing?"
"I didn't," I said with a wink, "But she didn't know that."
Submitted April 15, 2016 at 01:29AM by semiloki http://ift.tt/20FpqRA HFY
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