by Eric Juneau
Before she could formulate a question, though, Tallis said, “We are in harmony, are we not, my friends? We will find Boots’ killer and destroy them.”
“But not eat them,” Rigel cautioned.
“Humans are not edible,” Tallis said.
Dee felt torn. “I also want to find Boots’ murderer,” she started.
“Then we are in harmony,” Tallis said.
Dee held up her hand. “But in human society, the victim’s friends do not investigate murders.”
“We are VIPs,” Rigel said. “The police will be honored by our help.”
Dee imagined the headlines: ALIENS HELP POLICE INVESTIGATE MURDER. She thought it would sell well with the public, but she wasn’t as sure about the police. “I’m not sure they will see it that way.”
Rigel stood up. “Find a way to persuade them. I’m going upstairs. Tallis?”
Tallis jumped off his chair. “Coming.”
Alone, Dee melted back into the sofa. One of these days, the aliens were going to demand she do something impossible. Today might be that day. But she would try.
¤
Late that afternoon, Dee firmly chained herself to reality by putting on her working clothes—a navy blue suit with a red blouse and a heavy gold necklace. She hoped the responsibility the clothes represented would keep her from being pulled back into this morning’s horror.
When Detective Martinez arrived, she ushered him over to the sitting area, where they sat on opposite ends of the same sofa.
Detective Martinez removed a tablet from his pocket. “Officer Zavala was very impressed with the alien’s observations. Can you explain their senses to me?”
Dee leaned back. “Rigel—the fastmouth that was the model for the fallen sculpture—uses his long straight tail to transmit and receive infrared signals. He also has a keen sense of smell and can anticipate earthquakes. In fact, when he was on the Art for Aliens reality TV show, he predicted an earthquake during the show and saved Boots from a falling sculpture.”
“And the flying alien?”
“Tallis emits sound and radio frequency signals and collects the responses to map his surroundings. Kinda like a bat. He can also detect radiation.”
“Radiation? Like a Geiger counter?”
“That’s right.”
Detective Martinez put his tablet back into his pocket. “Thanks for the explanation. Now I’d like to talk to them.”
Dee leaned forward. “I hope you will consider allowing them to help you investigate. They were good friends with Boots and are eager to help solve this murder.”
Detective Martinez shook his head. “We cannot allow friends to help investigate cases.”
Inwardly, Dee cursed herself. Martinez was clearly a by-the-book kinda guy, and wanting to help was not a good business case. Outwardly, Dee smiled. “Please think about it. Working with our alien friends could be good publicity for the HPD.”
“That depends upon how the press spins it. They could use it against us and say we were too incompetent to solve this case without alien help. I think we can solve this case.” He rose from his seat. “Now if I could talk to the aliens?”
Dee jumped up. “Of course. Let’s go upstairs to Tallis’ favorite room.”
Dee led Detective Martinez up to the rooftop terrace. Surrounded by a stunning view of downtown Houston and an impressive collection of plants, Rigel sat on a wooden bench and Tallis perched on an outdoor curule chair. Facing them were two empty chairs.
Detective Martinez let out a low whistle as he sat down. “Nice view. I can see why this is your favorite room.”
Tallis sang, and a tablet installed on the wall translated. “It’s not my favorite room for the view. It’s my favorite room because I can jump off the railing and fly around downtown.”
Detective Martinez tapped on his tablet. “You had some insightful observations about the scene this morning. You know Boots’ habits well; in retrospect, is there anything else you noticed that seemed wrong?”
Dee thought everything had been wrong. She pulled her suit jacket tighter around herself.
Tallis said, “No. Did you find anything else there?”
“Forensics is still working on it. Is there anything we should look for?”
“Have you found the sculpture’s missing tail or the missing gold?” Tallis asked.
“No.” Detective Martinez turned to Rigel. “Did anything else smell wrong to you?”
“Boots smelled wrong. Do you know how he died?”
“The medical examiner is working on that.”
Dee felt like she was watching a tennis game with the right to question bouncing from side to side.
Detective Martinez changed subjects. “Did Boots have any money problems? I understand he was on reality TV, but I also know that doesn’t always make people as rich as they’d hoped.”
Since the aliens didn’t get the point of money, Dee answered, “I got the impression Boots got a few extra customers from being on reality TV, but not enough to affect his lifestyle. I think he got a lot more out of selling his California studio and moving here.”
Detective Martinez laughed. “Housing prices in California are insane. How about drugs? Did he use them?”
“I don’t think so.”
Rigel lifted his head. “Was that the funny smell? Drugs?”
“Forensics is working on it.”
“If you let me smell these drugs, I could tell you if Boots had the same smell.”
Detective Martinez wrote something on his tablet. “Without smelling Boots again?”
“I have an excellent smell memory.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I’m down to my last few questions. What other people were important in Boots’ life? Did he have any family?”
Tallis answered, “Only Flint, his nephew. He’s studying theology at the University of St. Thomas.”
“And no other close family?”
“No.”
“What about friends? Who else did you see around Boots’ studio?”
Rigel said, “We often saw Yen Lin, the sculptor who lived across the street. She admired Boots’ work.”
“She admired Boots,” Dee corrected. “We also saw a lot of Barrett Kass, who lives in the other half of Boots’ warehouse. Barrett wanted to paint Rigel and Tallis, so he often visited when we were there.”
“But I can’t see paintings,” Rigel said. “They’re meaningless in IR.”
“And I can’t see them either,” Tallis added. “No echoes.”
Dee shuddered. “And that’s lucky for both of you. Barrett’s paintings are hideous.”
Detective Martinez nodded. “But back to Yen—she was interested in Boots? Was he interested in her?”
Dee shook her head. “No, he was interested in another neighbor, Ancelin Minjonet.”
“And was Ancelin interested in Boots?”
Dee sighed. “No, Ancelin was interested in Barrett.”
Detective Martinez tapped on his pad. “Any other regular visitors? Customers? Suppliers?”
“We sometimes saw his delivery boy, Cricket, bringing in his groceries,” Tallis said.
“Cricket Ericson?”
“Yes, do you know him?” Rigel’s nostrils twitched.
Detective Martinez’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you smelling me?”
“Why does Cricket make you smell interesting?”
“We know he delivers more than groceries. You say you have an excellent smell memory. Did you ever smell the same smell on Cricket that you smelled in Boots’ studio?”
Rigel thought. “Cricket himself, no. But Cricket’s delivery van,” he nodded, “yes, it smelled like Boots’ pockets, but not Boots or his wheelchair.”
“Another question: would any of these people have had the keys to Boots’ studio?”
Dee sighed. “All of them. Boots didn’t want to get out of his sling for visitors, so anyone who came frequently had a key. Including us.”
“One last question: whe
re were you Sunday evening?”
Tallis squawked. Rigel showed his teeth.
“We were at Minute Maid Park watching the Astros lose after fifteen innings,” Dee said.
“That was a painful game.” Detective Martinez stood up and put his tablet back into his pocket. “Your observations have been very useful. I’d like to make you honorary detectives, but I’m afraid I can’t while you yourselves are officially suspects in the case.”
Rigel jumped off his chair and raised his head, showing his teeth. Tallis raised his upper wings and lowered his body into his launch position.
Realizing how threatening the two aliens looked, Dee stood up and stepped between them and Detective Martinez to defuse the situation.
Detective Martinez held up his hands. “The persons who discover a body are always on the suspect list. I don’t think you did it, and I think you’ve been incredibly helpful. I’d like to make you honorary detectives, but in this case, I can’t. So I’d like to make you unofficial detectives. Keep observing. Remember smells. Flint Johnson is planning a memorial for Boots. Perhaps you could help him.”
Rigel and Tallis did not soften their postures.
Dee gestured towards the stairs. “I’ll see you out,” she said.
¤
When Dee returned to the aliens, Rigel was pacing around the terrace, showing his teeth. “How can I possibly be a suspect?” he asked. “Fastmouths can kill, oh yes. But fastmouths kill to eat or for revenge. Boots was not eaten, and I had no reason to be angry with him. This makes no sense, Dee!”
Before Dee could try to explain, Tallis squawked. “It makes even less sense to me. Two-tails do not kill to eat. We only kill to restore harmony. I was in harmony with Boots, so I would not have killed him.”
Dee tried to redirect their focus. “Please try to understand. Being on the list is a formality. In fact, Detective Martinez said he didn’t think you did it, and he asked you to be unofficial detectives. I think we should concentrate on figuring out who did it and how. That sculpture did not fall over just because someone removed the tail and some of the grass. So how did they get Boots under the sculpture and keep him under the sculpture while they made it fall over? I think, once the police are gone, we need to get back to the studio and see if we can figure that out.
“But first, I think we should visit Boots’ nephew, Flint. He needs our support, and we should get his permission to enter the studio again.”
Tallis emitted a mournful tune. “He is alone.”
“Exactly, Tallis. And if you think you don’t like being on the suspect list, think about how Flint must feel to be on it.”
Both aliens were shocked. “Why would Flint be on it?”
“Because very often family members are responsible for human murders. After drugs, it is the most likely explanation.”
“But Flint is studying to be a priest. From what he’s told me, he could not kill Boots and stay in harmony with himself.”
“Some people are not in harmony with themselves, but I agree Flint is not in that category. Like with us, it is only a formality. I think he would welcome our support and help.”
Tallis sang. “Flint lost his father and his uncle. He will gain us.”
Dee started tapping on her tablet. “I’ll send him a message and arrange to meet him tomorrow.”
¤
Flint’s apartment was a typical student efficiency apartment: small and full of clutter. A Catholic priest who Flint introduced as Father Matthew Nyakuni sat at one end of a dinner table. Flint sat at the other end and gestured for Dee and the aliens to sit as well.
Dee was glad Flint was getting support from his church. She sat in one of the two remaining chairs, Rigel sat on the floor between her and Flint, and Tallis stood behind Rigel. Dee laid her translation tablet on the table.
“We were telling stories about Boots,” Father Nyakuni said.
Dee had told Rigel and Tallis to expect to share stories, and she anxiously waited to see what they would say.
Tallis had composed a song in memory of Boots. He sang about meeting Boots on the Art for Aliens reality TV show, sharing flight with Boots in a hot air balloon, and admiring Boots’ sculptures and the joy of motion they captured.
Rigel remembered setting up Boots’ Houston studio and testing Boots’ sling for him. “I enjoyed flying around in Boots’ sling,” he finished. “But Boots thought I got a little wild. He was always more cautious when he was in the sling.”
“Uncle Boots was careful in many ways,” Flint said. “He took care of people. When you predicted that earthquake during the Art for Aliens filming, he made sure everyone else got out of his warehouse before leaving himself. And I have you, Rigel, to thank for saving him then. If you hadn’t pushed him out from underneath the sculpture, he would have been crushed, and he wouldn’t have been able to move here to take care of me when Dad died.” Flint’s voice trailed off as his eyes welled up.
Dee blinked and looked at the ceiling to keep herself from crying with him.
Flint choked back his tears. “Thank you, Rigel. I am so grateful I had this time with him.”
“It is ironic a falling sculpture killed him in the end,” Rigel said.
Flint looked up at Rigel. “A human being killed him. They just used his sculpture as a weapon. The police told me this morning they think the murderer knocked out Uncle Boots, dragged him under the sculpture, and toppled the sculpture on top of him.”
Dee winced. It sounded as gruesome as it had looked.
Rigel asked, “Why do they think he was knocked out?”
“They found evidence of chloroform on his face and in his lungs.”
“I knew that wasn’t a death-smell,” said Rigel. “It was on his chair as well. But it didn’t kill him?”
“The police thought he was still alive when the,” Flint choked up, “when the sculpture hit him.” Flint put his arms on the table, put his face on his arms, and sobbed.
Dee laid a hand on his back as a lump grew in her throat. She closed her eyes, and the tears leaked out. A whirlpool of grief was sucking them in.
Rigel stepped over next to Flint’s chair and leaned against him.
Tallis sang a tune full of righteous anger. He finished the song with the same threat he had made the day before: the ones out of tune would be destroyed.
Flint raised his tear-stained face and glared at Tallis. “You. Will. Not. Kill. Them.”
Tallis emitted a confused chord.
“They must have an opportunity to confess, to repent, and to receive forgiveness.” Intense pain filled Flint’s voice. “I must have the opportunity to forgive them.”
Tallis hopped up and down. “I do not understand. In our society, we destroy those who fall out of tune so they will not drag our whole society into cacophony.”
“And in our society, only governments exercise that power. It would harm us to do so.” Flint held his hands open toward Tallis. “We have discussed this philosophy before, my friend. Now you can see that I will practice what I preach.”
Tallis hummed. “I will respect your wishes. I will not kill the evil ones. But we will find them.”
“The police are working on that. They seem to think Uncle Boots’ murder had something to do with drugs. Apparently, he had marijuana in his pockets? What else did I not know about him?” Flint sounded puzzled.
Rigel’s nostrils twitched. “I smelled something in his pockets. I hadn’t smelled that smell on Boots before.”
Flint relaxed.
“But I had smelled it in Cricket’s van,” Rigel added.
Flint tensed back up. “Cricket is coming to Uncle Boots’ studio tomorrow morning to deliver food for the memorial reception. What if he killed Uncle Boots? Could he be trying to cover up something?”
“I could smell him for you,” Rigel said.
Dee imagined the headline: ALIEN FINDS MURDERER BY SMELL. Not bad. “Are you going to hold the reception in Boots’ studio?” she asked.
“Yes, I
want people to see his art,” Flint said.
“We could come over and help you get everything set up,” Dee offered.
“Thanks, that would be great. I’ve hired some crime-scene cleaners to clean up the place today, but I’ll need help to get the place set up for the reception. Can you be there at 10 AM tomorrow?”
“We would be glad to come and help. But now I think we should be leaving.” She stood.
Standing as well, Flint hugged her. “Thanks. I’ll see you in the morning.”
¤
The next morning, Dee, Rigel, and Tallis arrived at Boots’ studio. Seeing Boots’ studio without Boots was like stepping back into the universe of wrong. The studio was no longer the space of a working artist. It was a museum. To their right, a row of gallery benches was cordoned off from the row of Boots’ completed sculptures. The fallen fastmouth lay at the far end of the row, surrounded by Flint, Barrett, and Father Nyakuni. Boots’ unfinished piece of Rigel and Tallis sat in the middle of the studio, hiding the workspace beyond it. To their left was the museum café, with long tables against the wall and two rows of round tables, all covered with black tablecloths.
At least there wasn’t a gift shop. The front office was still just an office.
Yen and Ancelin sat at one of the round tables sorting through photographs of Boots and his art.
Dee walked over to Flint and froze in front of the fastmouth sculpture. The hook from Boot’s sling crane dangled above it. What would they find underneath it?
Flint patted her on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Dee. The police already moved it away from Uncle Boots, and the crime-scene cleaners assure me it’s clean. But they were unwilling to set it back up because it looks so unbalanced.”
Flint paused to watch Barrett and Father Nyakuni clip chains onto the crane hook.
“Uncle Boots was very proud of this sculpture, and I want to show the world the sculpture’s design was not the cause of Uncle Boots’ death.”
Dee admired his dedication to his uncle’s work. “How can we help?”
“We’re going to use Boots’ sling crane to lift the front of the fastmouth until its weight shifts back over the base. Then it should stay balanced.”