Detective D. Case (20 page)

          “Yes.”

          At least
he told the truth, even if No Beard hadn’t a clue as to what he spoke of.

          “Did it
involve his family?”

          “Yes.”

          “Interesting
. . .” No Beard kept that tight-lipped secret from the old detective D. “I’d say
you better run, old man, cause this place will go down in flames soon if not already.
The house is long gone. We wish you happy times, right?”

          He nudged
Beard, who agreed with him. D. was all questions being the detective that he was,
so he knew the underlying layers beneath Beard’s common looking surface.

          It might
have been the fire, but no one else spoke a word. The endless land of the Water
Home sickened into the all-famous black color of the dead. Memories, all the information
D. had been going through day after day with little sleep to hold him up, vanished
in the massive flames, their colors contemplating his anger. But with this other
idea in mind – the return of Paul McDermott – even more questions arose, some of
them questioning the idea of the reality in which he lived in.

          Voices
shouted, and Beard as well as No Beard dashed off. Their guns, which for some reason
they had picked up without D.’s permission or him noticing, were aimed at him everywhere.
If they shot, the old detective wouldn’t live. The wounds would cry in so much pain,
yes, even the wounds, although they were the aftermath (or the effect) of the bullet
fire. He lay there, clutching patches of grass, while the two gunmen left. They
got what they wanted – all the evidence destroyed in the fire – and made McDermott’s
return announcement as shocking as it would please. Wonderful, if you were them
or McDermott himself.

          Speaking
of which . . .

*****

Assassinating the
mayor of the city was easier than Lake thought.

          Stone,
actually. When you put it into context, the name change seemed rather dull; from
a body of water to a stone, what a difference. Patrick Stone wasn’t the perfect
ideal name he desired, but it appeared fitting when you became the new mayor.

          Keeping
this in mind, Patrick Stone (West Lake) made his very own tour of the city hall.
He was expecting Mayor Bloom. The mayor was a large man heaving his weight everywhere
like giant footprints in the snow. Just about everybody knew where he went despite
the omnipresent bodyguards circling him. It wasn’t that he was a public figure with
whom everyone was acquainted; it was people like Stone they needed to keep an eye
out for was all.

          The plan
had been done in rehearsals so many times that it would take a fool, two bananas,
and an impaired monkey to mess everything up by reordering the steps and not following
directions. Hell, even a child could figure it out! But the mayor must stay ignorant,
always unaware of the people who were ten steps ahead of him.

          In his
mind, he wandered over the steps like a dance: attend the dinner, switch the drinks,
and relax . . . everything will be over. Quite simple, really, when you thought
about it, and if you go back to the previous statement Stone thought about, you
might have to agree with him.

          The dinner
began, the night sky bewildered with stars. In fact, it was the first time Stone
had ever seen stars in the nighttime. Where had time gone? Anyway, he attended early
to make himself more organized and sat opposite Mayor Bloom. Like all dinners involving
politics in this city, the location was city hall; no other fancy restaurant suited
the mayor’s needs like his own workplace. And the best part about this dinner? It
was all about him, all about Stone. You see, he was being promoted to Vice Mayor.
For some time now, he had served on the city council and had gained the mayor’s
trust. For such appreciation, they appointed Stone to the title. In such a vast
city such as this, there was more than one deputy or vice mayor (from what he was
told, Stone had heard that there were at least five deputy mayors around) so he
needed to make himself desirable to become the new mayor. Things would make quite
the extravagance when, simultaneously, Paul McDermott would take the step onto the
highest floor of the De Angelo Building and make the mark of his return. Everyone
would be astounded!

          So he made
the move like players in chess. The dinner, in a sense, was the board upon which
they all played. The Toast of the Drinks – which was what he liked to call it –
worked fine. Its achievement was remarkable. Human nature might react in polarizing
ways depending which point-of-view you held, but it was a success nevertheless.
So it wasn’t to Stone’s surprise that after he got a restful sleep, he learned early
in the morning that he had become a temporary mayor. Bloom had died overnight and
wrote a note giving Stone full control of the city. How lucky can you get? People
would object if they saw his true nature (or the possibility of giving such power
from a mayor) but let that rest for now. Let them think of the details later.

Paul McDermott had
no idea what he was doing on top of the De Angelo Building. Had he been drunk? No,
that didn’t sound right, for if he was, he would have had a hangover rather than
be confused about his surroundings. And what surroundings did he have: rustling
wind blows rocking and clouds thicker than a dimwitted fool. His thoughts were unoriginal
when he saw the lack of sun since many had done it before him.

          How did
he know the name of the building upon which he stood? He didn’t remember a lot of
things, like his family . . . did he even have a family?

          Rewind,
rewind . . . the ticks of the mind clock going back like a video cassette. He and
his father posing together like two wolves engaged in fighting, or bullfighters
turning the battle toward themselves instead of the animal. One of them, possibly
McDermott, was crying. Little boys acting like little boys did. His father grinned
in the likes of the Grin of Wolves. Even though smiling did not mean laughing, it
looked like it from some perspective.

          Flash:
both of them lying on the floor in red. He supposed the red was blood.

          I hurt
my father, he thought. Was it like that all this time?

          But the
man named Patrick Stone said so! It must be the truth!

          He wanted
his family back even if he barely knew them. Chin held high, the new Paul McDermott
raised his arms in the position Christ once symbolized before death and screamed
at the top of his lungs:
I, PAUL MCDERMOTT, HAVE RETURNED FROM MY PAIN AND SUFFERING.
MY FAMILY . . . I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY. I NEED YOU TO COME BACK!

         
Then,
remembering what Stone had told him, McDermott spoke louder:
DETECTIVE D. – I
REQUIRE YOUR PRESENCE! WE WILL MEET SOON.
Stone was right; he needed his family’s
forgiveness to make himself known again in peace.

          Looking
at the sky this far up in the De Angelo Building, McDermott remembered that Stone
had said to come out here at noon. He gave him a watch that had a 12-hour time frame,
but when it reached twelve – for some reason – the light of the sun never came.
He was never the only one.

*****

“WINNIE?” cried her
mother. Never had the little McDermott girl heard her mother so excited and breathless
as she did now. She played in her room minding her own business, so this all was
new to her. With no other places left to find her, Winnie’s mother came into her
bedroom like a storm.

          “You’ve
been here all along?” she questioned.

          Winnie
turned, unsure why her mother would ask such a question. “Yeah?” she said slowly.
What else was there to say?

          Her mother
continued: “Did you hear about Paul?”

          Immediately
Winnie stood. “What are you talking about?”

          “He’s back,
Winnie. Paul’s back.”

          Winnie
only stared as if False Hope had dawned for the first time in their human lives.

*****

The city had not
been quiet about the return of Paul McDermott. Strange when you think about it –
a man who, in the beginning, no one cared about; his persona was that of a ghost
rather than a wealthy man who could shower in gold coins if he wanted. Now, he was
everybody’s beloved, the man who could only be signified as a star from above, despite
the fact that everybody should know by now that there were no stars to see in the
skies. We won’t go deeper into the difference between day and night, because those
two times of the hour of life have never existed there.

          Interviewers
kept their heels nigh on the topic as far as D. surveyed the scene (or scenes).
The clouds thickened, and so did the crowd in the streets. Everybody’s faces blurred
into fast-motion threads of dizziness, but D. wasn’t going to give up on catching
up with the man, Paul McDermott. After all, the missing McDermott had been looking
for him ever since he made the announcement.

          Since the
claim made by the two gunmen at Water Home, D. had been looking block after block
(of course, this had happened once he returned to the city) in search of the McDermott
man. D. should’ve expected lots of people to come here; you make a misstep and you
drown without air in the deathly ocean of people. Aside from that, he found it suspicious
that so many – yes this many   people – came into the streets right now. Don’t many
of them have work, jobs? And the younger adults, the ones who are still college
age . . .

          Light bulbs
flashed from people’s cameras – no, wait, they were from the press, the newspapers
and magazines power hungry for a new story to sell. D. landed on his back, frustrated,
and got up just to see what was going on. They wouldn’t be taking pictures of him;
that sounded too ridiculous. His mind wandered in free form. Thoughts spun out of
grasp. Something must have caught their eye. It reminded the old detective of birds
catching the sparkle of shiny objects.

          A woman
appeared from the crowds of people wavering about, making herself notable with her
wardrobe. D. had never seen such a woman wanting to appear like the subject of a
fabulous painting. Beside her was a little girl trotting along with a face paler
than an albino clown. Stretched lips, her hair all over the place – the world’s
people had never seen a sicker child. Even D., who was considered a forgotten man
of old age, had the internal pangs of human organs. He approached the woman and
child in hope of the location of the now appeared Paul McDermott.

          “Excuse
me, miss?”

          The woman
turned expressionless. She did not recognize the face of the old detective D.

          “Do I know
you?”

          “No, you
don’t,” he said, sure he knew who they were. “I just need to locate Paul, Paul McDermott?
A couple men have told me of his reappearance after fifty years, and since I know
him, I really need to –”

          “Fifty?”
repeated the woman. Something about the number affected her in a number of ways,
hitting her on all sides. “But my son has been gone for only five years.”

          D. smiled:
gotcha. “Pardon me, but it appears to me that you’ve said
your son
as if
the Paul McDermott is your son?”

          “But he
is!” she cried. “I’m his mother!”

          To make
the stage clear, D. took a step back in aghast. “You – you’re his mother? But, why,
that’s impossible! The McDermott family has shunned the press and media outlets,
and any newspaper as far as I can remember, and even more so since the disappearance
of their son.”

          “It’s not
impossible, sir,” said Mrs. McDermott. “See, I’m his mother and over here is my
daughter, Winnie.” The little girl said hi after her mother mentioned her name (she
probably thinking “finally!” at the sound of it).

          “Hello,
Winnie,” said D., shaking hands with the little girl. She didn’t say anything back,
though, besides the one hi from moments previous. D. glanced back to the mother.

          “If you’re
Paul’s mother, then do you know where he is?”

          “We’re
looking for him, too. I heard him make his announcement on the De Angelo Building,
right next to the Modern Tower.”

          “Do you
mind if I follow? Just a little while so I can speak with him” .

          “Sure.”

          Situations
like this weren’t to be used carelessly and D. knew it as he pressured Mrs. McDermott
on all sides in line with the misused number of years since her son’s disappearance,
if he ever even had vanished at all. “I don’t want to bother you, but...”

          “Yes?”

          “You seem
rather surprised at what I said about Paul disappearing for fifty years.”

          “Why, because
it’s preposterous!” cried Mrs. McDermott. “How can you mess up information like
that? As tight-knit as we are about the public, I’m sure everyone knows that our
son hasn’t been gone for that long!”

          “Are you
sure?” countered the old detective.

          The mother
narrowed her eyes. “Are you challenging me?”

          “No, of
course not – I’m just curious.”

          The eyes
did not cease from their position. “What are you suggesting, old man?”

          “I’m a
detective.”

          “I don’t
care who you are,” Mrs. McDermott said sternly. “I do not want anyone bothering
with our private affairs.”

          “Then why
bother suggesting that your son was Paul to begin with? Surely you would have kept
that private, too, and leave me well alone for all that’s good for you.”

          “I was
caught up in the moment,” she said in defense.

          “Lousy,”
old detective D. spat in mockery. “I expected a better answer than that.”

          “Oh do
you now? Then what about your private life, Old Man of Wise Wisdom? Care to explain
about the mother you grieve for every day and night like a child?”

          He shouldn’t
be hearing this. How did this mother know about his mother, of all things?

          “You wouldn’t
–”

          “Stop being
pathetic and answer. You all act the same way every time I see one. I’m thinking
of you as the worst of the lot, more miserable than any of us have endured. You
put an incredible image of yourself through the prism glass where the rainbows come
from. It’s the same damn thing every time (pardon the language for the sake of Winnie,
please)!”

          The girl
child said nothing of the matter.

          “We’ll
be on our way, like you suggested earlier.” Nose held high, the woman began to leave.
But old detective D. grabbed her arm, tightening his grip by the second.

          “Why –
get off me!” She struggled but he tightened in response.

          Through
gritted teeth, the old detective growled: “Do as I say and tell me just why is it
that you deny that Paul McDermott, as a boy, had been long in thin air for more
than fifty years? Seems quite odd that no other investigator has said anything of
this matter – why is that?”

          A man tackled
D. and sent him to the ground. His face broke the fall, but that was not a good
sign. Hands on his hair, some men took the McDermott mother into their hands, one
of them shouting into his ear. “TELL ME, OLD MAN!”

          “Urrrrghhhhhhhhh...”
D.’s words slurred when he spoke.

          “WHAT,
WERE YOU GONNA RAPE HER, OLD MAN?”

          These voices,
he thought, were all sounding the same. None of these people he kept running into
sounded different anymore, just the same. The screaming made things worse, and hurt
as well.

          “I wasn’t
– I need answers –”

          He was
released; the shouting ended too abruptly. The crowd dispersed leaving space for
the mother, the girl child Winnie, and old detective D.

          “Fifty
years too long,” D. said to the mother. “Fifty years too long.”

          “EVERYONE!”
said a god. Well, it sounded like a god or else someone from above in the skies
and clouds, that darkened atmosphere that plagued the world. “IF EVERYONE CAN HEAR
ME, I WISH TO SPEAK TO DETECTIVE D.! HAS ANYONE SEEN HIM? IF SO, PLEASE SPEAK UP!”

          No one
spoke in reply to Paul McDermott’s godly voice from the heavens (or more likely
the megaphone he had acquired), least of all D. He wanted to make sure no one would
bring him forth to Paul; he wanted to go to him, if that made any sense. Everything
– the whole plan – should occur as one surprise after another.

          “NO ONE?”
said Paul. “THEN LET ME SAY THAT, D., IF YOU’RE THERE – HEAR WHAT I SAY. COME TO
THE DE ANGELO BUILDING WHERE WE WILL SPEAK. NO SURPRISES OR UNPREDICTABLE ACTIONS.
IT WILL BE AS CIVIL AS MEN DESIRE IT SO. ONCE WE FINISH, WE WILL TELL YOU EVERYTHING
YOU NEED TO KNOW AND LEAVE EVERYTHING IN PEACE. THAT IS ALL.”

          His voice
trailed off, leaving everyone in exasperation. Some people who were smarter than
most began looking for someone who looked like an investigator. But when they started
their search, old detective D. had disappeared much like Paul had done a long, long
time ago.

*****

Lincoln – for
once – had a team of officers with him. They kept low postures, guns clicked at
the ready. All of them wore black suits and metal armor underneath. Better safe
than sorry, but everyone knows that, don’t they?

          It seemed
that when Lincoln had finished his uncomfortable visit with the McDermott's, everything
had veered off course. First on the list was that everyone he knew at the police
department claimed that when Chief Advert went on vacation, he died of a heart attack.
When he heard it, Lincoln had dismissed the theory and demanded a phone call with
the chief. However, he was taken back when Advert’s wife was on the other end, sobbing,
trying to explain to him about the tragic death of her husband. That was only the
beginning.