Lemons 01 Darkness Once More Page 4

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Up yours, bitch.

  “You have a good night, Mrs. Fick. I’ll be in touch.” And just like all the badass movie heroes, I hung up without waiting for a reply. Shit, I shouldn’t have even told her I’d be in touch. Real movie heroes would have hung up after the Yes ma’am part. I’ll have to work on that.

  I was ready to call it quits at the office. After my near panic attack, I was in need of some relaxation. I gathered up all my files and put them in my bag, making sure I had Amanda Colley’s address and phone number among my papers and headed for the door. I hit the light switch and locked up behind me. I took the stairs down to the lobby and walked to my car. While driving, I decided to make a quick stop at one of our town’s small local toy stores that I frequented often, for one reason.

  I pulled into a space directly in front of Gibswitch’s Games, Toys & Puzzles and put my car in park. Once inside, Gabriel Gibswitch himself greeted me.

  “Hello there, Arch! It’s been a while!”

  “Hi, Mr. Gibswitch. I know.”

  “I heard about your wife, Arch. I am devastated. She was a lovely woman. A real doll.”

  “Thank you.”

  “They ever catch the SOB that done it?”

  “‘Afraid not. The police think it was just a home invasion. A robbery gone bad, I mean. There aren’t even any real leads, no fingerprints, nothing to go on except the bullet they recovered.” I let out a small sigh. “And when I say police, I mean most of the police.”

  “What do you mean most of the police?” He looked deeply saddened by everything I told him and genuinely confused by the last part. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. He was a nice old man. In all the years I’ve been coming here I never asked him his age, although I knew all about his family, especially those grandkids of his. He was a slight man, with white hair parted neatly on the left side of his head, like the old-time barbers would comb it after you got a haircut when you were a child.

  “Forget it, Mr. Gibswitch. It’s nothing. What have you got for me today?”

  He stood silent for a few moments and then quickly realized I was trying to the change the subject. “Oh,” he said. “I’ve got a couple for you to choose from. Whatcha in the mood for, son?”

  “Well, whatcha got, old man.” My taunt was welcomed with a playful grin as he decided what challenge he would bestow upon me tonight.

  “Let’s see here. I’ve got a 200 piece Mickey Mouse. A 500-piece New York Skyline or a 750 piece Darth Vader montage. Do I even need to ask?”

  “I should hope not.”

  He put my night’s entertainment in a bag, handed it to me and told me there would be no charge.

  “Don’t give up, Arch. And I don’t mean the puzzle.”

  I returned home, much to Wrecker’s excitement, with two soft tacos for him and a pepper jack quesadilla and some fries for myself. Most of the fries hadn’t survived the trip back to my house, but I ate my quesadilla like a human at the table. Wrecker ate one of his tacos at my feet, and I fear he may have hidden the second one under some mystery hiding spot for me to probably discover later.

  After I ate, I went into my bedroom and got into my pajamas, brushed my teeth…the usual nightly routine. Before I walked back into the hall I stopped and just kind of stared at my bed. The sheets were in the same position they had been the last night Marianne and I slept in it. I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. I turned and gazed into what was going to be our nursery. The room I found my wife in with a perfectly round hole in her forehead and a mess of blood and brain and hair on the other side. The room where her blood still stained the wall around an empty hole where the police had dug out the bullet. The room I later destroyed in a rage.

  After a few minutes, I went into my kitchen, grabbed my bag from Gibswitch’s Games, Toys & Puzzles and made my way into the center of the living room. I pushed the coffee table close to the sofa, took my Darth Vader puzzle from the bag and gave it a good shake, then opened it up, leaving all the pieces in the box. I walked back to the kitchen and grabbed myself a Sugar-Free Rockstar because I knew it would be a long night. I then turned off every source of light in the house and walked back to the sofa using my phone as a flashlight, Rockstar in-hand, plopped down and called for Wrecker. After he was cuddled up next to me and ready for his slumber, I sat in the pitch darkness and began my puzzle.

  Outside in his car parked across the street, Detective Anderson lit a cigarette and decided to call it a night. He’d catch up with that wife-killing bastard Archie Lemons tomorrow.

  6.

  The light had already begun pouring in through my window by the time I had finished my puzzle the following morning. I snapped the final piece into position and admired my achievement. Only problem was, in my deep concentration, I had stayed up all night, and I had work to do today. I stood up and stretched and walked over to the window to witness the brilliant colors of the morning’s beautiful canvas and continued to stare as the bright sun rose above the manmade clutter and shone its light through the trees in my backyard. It was a wonderful sight to start the morning with.

  I returned to the couch, took a picture of my completed night’s work with my phone and then began deconstructing the puzzle and putting the pieces back in the box. I usually threw them away when I was finished with them, but decided to hold on to this one. It’s the first one I completed since Marianne’s death. I wish I had kept the last one I finished with her instead. Sitting in the dark with her that last time I remember how happy she was when she finally connected two pieces amidst the darkness. It was her victory. She went to bed right afterwards, proud of herself. Why had I thrown that one out?

  I stowed the puzzle away in the closet then headed for the shower, hoping it would provide a burst of energy. It didn’t. I was exhausted. I toweled off and fell on our bed. My bed. The first time I had touched it since my new life as a widower began, and I was asleep within seconds.

  When I awoke, I felt groggy and even more tired than before. I slowly got out of bed and went for my phone to check the time. 11:58. Still technically morning. Not bad. I got dressed and went to the kitchen for a quick bite then decided to give Amanda Colley a call, maybe be able to save myself a trip. No luck. She didn’t answer. I grabbed another Rockstar from the fridge, collected my keys, wallet and Chapstick and headed for the door. I typed Amanda’s address into my GPS and got the directions. It would be a fairly short drive.

  The English voice of my apparently female GPS system told me I had arrived at my destination at 12:39pm and wished me a good day as I killed the ignition. “Thanks, Lovey.” I said, for no good reason at all.

  I walked up to Ms. Colley’s door trying to think quickly of ways to get me to stay on the case. I would even try bargaining and accepting lower rates if she couldn’t afford it. I don’t know what it was, but this one was bugging me. I wanted to see it through. When I got to the door and knocked, no one answered, so I checked the doorknob. It was unlocked. I opened the door a bit, stuck my head in, and called out her name. No answer, of course. Seeing enough movies to know this scene, I decided I better go in and make sure everything was all right. It turns out this movie cliche is a cliche for a reason, as I soon realized my chances of finding a Shania Twain song with deep and meaningful lyrics were now better than me collecting any form of payment from Amanda Colley.

  As my luck would have it, Detective Anderson was the first to show up at the house. Why would a detective show up to a supposed accidental drowning, you ask? Well, when I placed the call I gave my name. I am sure he found out and I doubted if he wasn’t already close by anyway. And sure as shit, here he comes with some other cheery looking fella I assume is his partner, walking up the front lawn to meet me.

  “Archie fuckin’ Lemons, soo-prize, soo-prize.”

  “Detective. Always a pleasure.”

  He wore a gray suit, probably the only one he had, and has his cell phone attached to his belt. Someone needs to tell him that shit was ne
ver in style and that he would need to at least go back to 1998 to even be called a fucking tool for sporting the look.

  He was a decent enough looking man in his late forties, in good shape and with short dark hair and a day’s worth of stubble. His fashion sense may be awful but I’m willing to bet he’s a lot brighter than his cell-phone clip gives him credit for. Tact seemed to be his strong point.

  “We would have been here a little sooner but we had to stop by the Faggot Store and see if they had another mustache like yours.”

  “Faggot Store. Clever. Well, I’m sure you guys fit right in.”

  “Funny. Hey, what’s Chris Hansen really like?”

  “Wow, a To Catch A Predator joke. Let me hop in my Delorean and cruise on back to 2008 when that joke may have been relevant.”

  Note to self: SHAVE!

  The other officer spoke up, “Mr. Lemons, I’m Detective Enzite.”

  “Like the boner pill?” My joke, like always, landed with a huge thud.

  “That’s Viagra. Enzyte is the dick embiggener thing.”

  “Riiiiight. Embiggener. Sorry for the mix-up.”

  Detective Enzite was a short and stalky little fellow. I could tell he was going to be trouble just from this pathetic Smurf-like height. The buzz cut, dark sunglasses and the broad shoulders weren’t going to fool anybody, dude. You’re still only three apples high. I guess the police department gave up that whole height requirement thing. Maybe he was making up for his height with the tightness of his shirt. And the shades. Oh Brother.

  “So just how bright is your future, Timbuk 3?”

  “Fuck you, Lemons. My partner told me about you.”

  “Hey Enzite, I bet you can get your pants on really fast, huh?” After some puzzled looks, I turned to Anderson and said, “Because he’s so short…”

  Anderson interrupted, “So what have you got for us today, Fagnum P.I.? Another corpse, I hear.”

  “Classy as always detective. But yes, there is a woman in her bathtub. She was obviously dead. I didn’t take anything and I didn’t touch anything. I left the house right away and called you fine people.” As I was talking, I saw a squad car pull in behind Andersons unmarked. Two uniforms got out and headed up towards us. Anderson filled them in and we all went into the house.

  Standing in the bathroom now with the empty shell of Amanda Colley at the bottom of the bathtub, Anderson says, “Well well well, Lemons, dead bodies seem to be piling up all around you these days.”

  “Yeah thanks” was the only retort I could think of. He was kind of right. Two this month. “I barely knew this woman, Detective. She came to my office a while ago with a job for me. A job I’m currently still working. I hadn’t been able to contact her. I thought her phone may have been disconnected and I needed more information and I needed to be paid. I promised a new client I would try to get in contact with the newly deceased here today and see if my services were needed, and if not, I would concentrate full time on my new client’s case.”

  “So you decided to just walk on in and you conveniently saw the body here? Why does this all seem so familiar to me, Lemons?”

  “God damn it!” My anger was building up inside. He was referring to the way I had discovered my wife’s body. The bugs under my skin were starting to crawl. I had to calm myself. Please don’t lose it, Archie.

  I lucked out. We heard a knock on the door followed by a “Hello.” It was the coroner in record time. Anderson informed him we were in the bathroom and shortly after the coroner and another man joined us there. The coroner’s name was Henry Vargas. I had met him once before. Unfortunately. The other man I did not know nor was I introduced to. Whatever. Vargas briefly examined the body and concluded that it was probably a heart attack while she was in the tub, as he didn’t notice trauma to the head from a slip and fall.

  Anderson looked at me and chimed in, “Looks like you lucked out this time, bitch.”

  “Yeah, I sure am LUCKY.”

  Detective Anderson said, “Alright guys, I’m satisfied, we can head out. The ambulance will be here in a few minutes.” I’m pretty sure he was just talking to me, Detective Boner and the two Uniforms, not Vargas and the Mystery Man. I was about to leave the bathroom and the bugs started crawling again. Why now? Something is not right.

  “Wait wait. Are you guys serious? Hold on.”

  “What now, Lemons?” Boner asked. I hardly felt he had earned the right to talk to me as disrespectfully as Anderson does, but I let it go. He’ll earn it in a minute when I start pointing out their shitty detecting skills.

  I continued, “That’s it? A dead body in the bathtub with no noticeable head wound and you’re going to just call it quits? I had seen Amanda, her” I pointed to the lifeless body of my former client, with her glossy eyes and loose skin hanging off her body and floating on the surface of the water, “not too long ago and she was fine. She was worried about her daughter but she didn’t seem ill and she certainly didn’t seem old enough to worry about a heart attack.”

  Vargas decided to defend his ruling by telling me that no one can know when a heart attack will occur. He said it’s always stuff in the body that doesn’t hurt that ends up killing you. If you have pain, you go to a doctor and have it checked out and hopefully fixed. If you think you are healthy, you’re not going to go and say you think you might have a heart attack soon. Or hey, I’m showing zero symptoms but I think I have cancer. Please check. He said in a perfect world everyone would go for routine check-ups but that’s not the case. Most people only see the doctor when they are in pain, and if it’s something as serious as the heart or cancer, it’s usually too late. I was also informed that heart problems occur in people of all ages. He then gave me some stats I couldn’t give a shit less about and then concluded his little lecture. He appeared to be quite proud of himself. The ruling stood. Heart attack. The signs were there. His story reeked of bullshit though. Fuckin’ asshole.

  “Let’s go, guys,” Anderson said.

  “Wait!” I yelled a little too eagerly. Things were clicking in my brain now. I knew why the bugs were crawling. I decided to be an asshole about it since I was sick of Anderson’s harassment and his douchebag partner having the nerve to call me by my last name like he knows me and I’m some big annoyance to him. Oh, and let’s not forget Vargas, that elitist prick. The other guy, however, I had no problem with. In fact, I don’t even think he spoke, nor did the Uniforms. No worries, though. Asshole away!

  “Come on guys, if this is a heart attack, where the hell is her soap? Seriously, there is nothing here for her to wash herself with. I thought that was usually the point of taking a bath.”

  Anderson looked annoyed, as did Detective Cockpill. The two uniforms looked all bright-eyed and filled with as much wonderment has a toddler seeing the bright glow of a television screen for the first time. Elitist Prick Vargas, however, looked amused, and I thought I even caught him rolling his eyes. How could anyone question his opinion? Watch this, Douche!

  “Fine, don’t take me seriously, but where is her towel? I don’t know about you, but I like to dry off after a bath. I bet there aren’t any towels in the cabinet here either.” I went to the cabinet in the bathroom to make my grand reveal, please don’t be there, please don’t be there. “See, no towels!” Where’s her toothbrush and toothpaste? Her hairbrush? Where is anything that indicates she uses this bathroom on a regular basis? I bet if we go into the other bathroom we will find all this stuff.” I had their attention now. I pressed on. “She wasn’t taking a bath here, she was dumped here. This is the most pathetic crime scene I’ve ever seen. This is fucking network-TV-cop-show bad. Dumbed down for the mass audience. Seriously, fucking David Caruso could have figured this one out. And I’m not even talking about his character on his shitty show, I mean the real fucking David Caruso who was so fucking stupid he left NYPD Blue to focus on his crappy fucking film career! Remember Jade and Kiss of Death?! Yeah, didn’t think so! Well that same fucking asshole could have put this shit toget
her!” That ought to sting a bit. Nobody likes David Caruso. Anderson looked furious, but I couldn’t tell if he was mad at me or mad at himself. Prick and Boner looked in shock. Uniforms, still toddling away. Mystery Man just stood there. Seriously, what the hell is this guy doing here? “Do me a favor, Vargas.”

  “Um, sure.”

  “I’ve seen Michael Clayton, too. Check in between her toes for a syringe marking. My guess is a succinylcholine injection in the webbing between her toes then dropped into the wrong bathtub in the wrong bathroom. This shit is amateur hour and it shows.”

  Vargas pulled Amanda’s stiff-as-a-board left leg out the tub and examined the foot. The skin hung off it like a mummy’s wrappings. Nothing. Then he tried the other foot. Disco! “My god, he’s right. Looks like we’ve got us a murder scene here, boys.”

  Always the smart one, Anderson jumped at the chance to accuse me of yet another murder, “And it looks like we’ve got a pretty good suspect right here.”

  “Give it up, Detective,” I said. “Do you really think I would have blown all of your assholes out with my discoveries if I did this? Let it go, you guys were about to wrap this shit up with a heart attack and never think twice about it. Stop the circle jerk and let’s gets busy.”

  Extra-Inch interrupted, “I don’t know, man, this all sounds like bullshit to me.”

  “Blow it out your ass, Smiling Bob! Shouldn’t you be in a magical tree somewhere making cookies?” I turned my gaze towards Anderson “Don’t listen to this pinky-dick asshole, Detective. You know this feels right. I was hired by Amanda Colley to find her missing daughter, and now she turns up murdered. I’m going to find out why. I would appreciate your help. I did not kill my wife, I was cleared, and the ballistics on my gun was negative, remember? Get the fuck over it and let’s solve this thing.”