parted.
I didn’t talk to him for the next four days. Whenever I saw him, he pretended to be busy and said, he will talk to me later. Rather quickly, I realised it is because he didn’t have the motive he had promised to present. Naturally, I tried to cheer him up… or tease and ridicule him – a bit of everything, I guess.
During my free time I also did a fair bit of thinking and brainstorming about the little puzzle. I even looked up old newspaper articles from the editions the prison staff had left for the library. At first, there weren’t much to read – a small note among stolen TVs, fights on the streets, lost wallets and the like. Later on, however, some bigger stories had been printed on the matter. Most had interviewed the locals, who were all very troubled and concerned for their safety. Except for a man named Tālivaldis, who had, apparently, told the journalist that he does not own a car, and, in fact feels safer now because there’s always a police patrol nearby. A few of the newspapers even had details that Crutch did not mention – probably because he didn’t know them either. For instance, a passage from one of the articles pointed out a very interesting fact:
[…] The police reports suggest that until the first extensive neighbourhood watch patrols, the offender targeted only newer car models. The officials, however, have refused to confirm or deny this claim, merely stating that the investigation is underway and currently they are looking at multiple possible scenarios.
Meanwhile another paper had discovered that quite near the hotspot, a family is rising a 17-year-old, who is mentally handicapped and has a record for vandalising other’s property. Though, when the author of the article showed up on the family’s doorstep, “the mother (through a gap in the door) claimed that they watch over their son, and that he is always at home when the crimes are being committed, before slamming the door shot.” The paper had even tried to call the father, but to no avail.
When Crutch finally approached me, I was drawing a rough map of the neighbourhood and, taking the articles about the vandalisms as timeline, had tried to mark the events, hoping to find a pattern. But, as far as I could make out, there was none.
“Have you read any of these articles?” I asked.
“No, I don’t usually read the news, why?”
“Well, you should have. They’ve got quite a few interesting points. Take a look.” I tossed the longer articles in his direction. He looked at me for a second or two, sat down on a chair by the table and began reading them.
“Tālivaldis,” Crutch mumbled. “Tālivaldis… I don’t know him. Probably one of those, who never leave their house. Nor do I have any idea, who the retard is.”
“It was a long shot anyway, I guess.”
“As for the jackass targeting new cars first, I didn’t notice it, but now that it says here… yeah, I suppose they are right. It might have been a coincidence, no? Especially if that 17-year-old lunatic is behind it.”
“I doubt the boy is behind it and his role in this is merely to attract readership.”
“How so?” Crutch asked.
“The whole thing is just… so purposeful, so systematic and so determined. Surely, the doctors, if not anyone else, would have spotted the signs should there be any.”
“You might be wrong…”
“I know.”
There was a longer pause in our conversation.
“Okay, maybe the store owner is not guilty.” The Crutch stated.
“Oh, after all?” I laughed.
“Enough already. Yes, I admit that it doesn’t make sense for him to demolish cars. Unless he is secretly selling car parts in the basement.” Crutch laughed.
“Wait, what?!” I exclaimed.
“What?” His voice sounded unsure of what I was on about.
“Selling car parts?! Ha! I think this case is much simpler than anyone could have imagined.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“The car park owner you told me about. What was his name?”
“Dmitri? I don’t think I mentioned his name.”
“Oh, doesn’t matter. How’s his business these days? Booming?”
“You don’t think…” Crutch gasped. “But I’ve known him for years. He is such a nice, old man!”
“No, not the old one. You said his son is running the place now, right? I understood that he took over some months before the parking lot was completed.”
A number of curses burst out of the colossal man’s mouth. “Of course more owners are using the parking lot because it’s safer than leaving the car on the street! Practically no one used it when there was enough space right below our windows. He’d have gone bust soon.”
“That would explain everything. Targeting the newer, more expensive cars first because they cost more and the owners are wealthier, and then causing mayhem only to make the area less safe. Especially if he has got the skills needed to quickly get away. It will be hard to prove any of that, though, unless he is caught in the act.”
“Oh, don’t worry about justice being served. I’ll take care of that.”
“Before you do, let me first contact an acquaintance of mine to check if there is something in the legal documents that might indicate that the business is in rough times.”
“Just be quick. I want to be the one, who gets him!”
“Right. You are stuck here for about a month anyway.”
“Twenty-three days.” He corrected me.
“And when will you be coming back afterwards?”
“I’m not. Albert, I’m changing my life around. I will find other way to deal with him. See, my children love me because they are told to, but when I look in their eyes, I see that to them I am just a man, who once in a while eats at the same table and sleeps in mommy’s bedroom. They are almost relieved, when I’m taken away and they don’t have to pretend anymore. I’m tired of it.” His face was stern.
This was the third time I had heard him say something along these lines. First it was his wife, then his older brother, now – his daughters. Yet, he always returned sooner rather than later. So, I simply nodded. As we parted, I promised to let him know whenever I find out more.
It took me a fortnight to finally piece together the information I was after. At first, I hoped Rebecca would help me, but she was busy chasing a con man from Lithuania. It meant I had to take care of the final pieces myself. Fortunately, these days it has become incredibly easy to have someone dig out sensitive information for you even if you are in prison for multiple murders. As a matter of fact, these people will happily do all the work for you because their professional ambitions and living wage are intertwined with filth and scum that surface as they shred other people’s private lives. I, of course, mean those who call themselves investigative journalists. With so many media websites that demand exclusive investigative pieces, their competition is fierce and, thus, they will bite everything that sounds at least a little mysterious and enticing. All I had to do was send an anonymous email that explained my suspicions on the mystery vandal, and wrap the blank spots in my story with made up lies and question marks. Unless, the journalist is not an absolute amateur, he or she would most certainly check the facts before moving on to publishing the article. In other words, they would investigate the claims I made, which is exactly what I needed.
In two weeks I had gathered everything I needed to feel certain about the guilt of the car park owner’s son called Gregors Smiltiņš. A twenty-four year old, who happens to be a retired sprinter (who could run 100 meters well under 11 seconds). When he was nineteen, he was banned from sport for the use of anabolic steroids. That marked the end of his stint as a professional athlete, so he got a degree in business administration. The journalist in her article did not confirm my assumption about bankruptcy or enormous loans, but she had dug up that the Smiltiņš’ family had owned three such car lots around the city, but had already shut down the other two and sold the land. Furthermore, she had confronted the police about this theory, but the police officer, who wished to remain anonymous, explained that
there are no actual evidence that would support such claims.
“I talked to my wife the other day, she says the car park is full, the police is patrolling the area twenty-four hours a day, and car vandalisms have died down completely. They would be practically impossible now anyway. But, after that article, people are very pissed. Everyone believes it was him, but they are not entirely certain because there was a lot of other crap on the media about other people and theories as well. Like the stories on the handicapped boy. Which is why Gregors is safe.” Crutch said as we met.
I had told him about the article as soon as I had read it myself.
“I believe you entirely, though. Thanks, Alberts. You have done a hell of a job!” He sounded genuinely thankful.
“Yes, but the culprit has achieved his goal, hasn’t he? And the police will not be able to charge him, unless they get him in the act. But they won’t because, he will not commit any crimes now that his business is thriving, and the police is nearby. Too much risk and no additional gain. The police, however, will not patrol with this intensity forever and he could resume if he needs to.” I explained.
“Don’t worry about that, friend. I have no interest in working in tandem with the force. My interests are my own.”
“I bet the one-vandal-marketing-department did not expect to run into you.”
“I’ll send him my propositions, then.” He laughed.
Crutch had not wasted a second once he got out. A week later I was eating breakfast when the dining room doors opened and I saw the colossal figure marching between his two escorts to his prison cell. For a brief moment the room went utterly silent, only to burst in satirical cheers and welcome greetings a moment later. As if he had just returned home from war after being perceived dead.
The reception had made him smile, but, as his gaze met mine, he quickly showed me thumbs-up.
The Colossal Crutch Page 3