The Klumps Mysteries: Season One (Episodes 1 through 7)

by DL Cook

  1 cup sugar, confused for salt

  Directions

  Combine ingredients with two quarts of water in pressure cooker. Cook until burnt on the bottom. Leave in trunk of car for three days. Serve immediately.

  *Editor's note. WARNING: Do not attempt to eat. Not fit for human consumption. May protect against vampires.

  Episode Six

  “Travis and Chester”

  Monday

  The siren drew closer. Travis stopped chasing the fat cop who stole his play things. He leaned against a tree and fired his last round. If only he had one of those movie guns that never ran out of ammo.

  He ran back the way he came. His bare feet stung from the rocks and twigs, but that didn't bother him. The cold against his wet skin did nothing to ruin his enjoyment. His senses were as taut as his muscles. Travis was aware of everything. The beetles crawling over dead leaves. The gentle breathing of sleeping squirrels. He was a god and it was exhilarating.

  He was peaking. It would be all downhill from here. Had he captured his prey... His own escape was most important now, and an excitement of a different order.

  Two fat meat bags got to his trailer before he did. From the shadows he watched them enter his home. He could kill the woman cop easily. The male too, if each were alone. Together they posed a problem. The police force around these parts accidentally discharged their firearms and landed lucky shots all the time. Travis knew that from experience. Nearby sirens announced more pigs. He put his phone on vibrate. He must have taken it out of habit when he left the trailer.

  The car was off, locked even. The coffin, however.... Travis swung it open and slithered inside. He'd smelled worse stinks before. In his car an hour earlier, for example.

  Travis lay on top of the corpse for a long time. The voices came and went. Eventually the car started and he was bounced around as the casket tottered on the light rack.

  The car stopped some time later and its occupants got out. It'd be better to remain still, but he had almost removed the corpse's clothes. He had trouble with the shirt. His tugging made the coffin creak.

  “Mettler, I think the ghost is in there.” Whoever spoke had his mouth inches away from Travis' ear.

  “Oh stop it with the ghosts already,” replied another male voice, farther off.

  “But the coffin was moving.”

  The other man sighed loudly. “Do you want me to open it and show you there's nothing in there except a dead politician?”

  Travis tensed.

  “No. That's alright. The ghost, though...”

  “Klump, if you are so afraid of this ghost—what can it do to you? You think it can hurt you? You think it can kill you? Yeah? Well then let it. Then you'll have all the powers it has. And you can kick its ass. Alright? Nothing to be afraid of. You got that Klump? Attaboy.”

  Travis relaxed.

  “So anyway, can I have mushrooms on my pizza pie?”

  “A pie, Klump? What am I, made out of money? You can have a regular slice, which you'll share with the girls.”

  “Oh, okay,” came the dejected reply.

  A female voice mumbled something.

  “I'm just having a bit of fun,” said the male voice. Then louder, “you hear that Klump? We're getting you a salad.”

  The voices trailed off. Travis lifted the lid. He looked out into a parking lot next to a pizza place. He watched the three cops and his two girls in the brightly lit restaurant for a moment. The corpse's clothes were too wide and not long enough, but they would do for now.

  An old man sat in his car. It wasn't every day that a cop car had a coffin on it. Rarer still was a naked man getting out of the coffin with a phone in his mouth. Understandably enough, the old man sat there slack jawed as Travis approached. Travis got in, pointed his gun, and told him to drive.

  Wednesday

  They were no closer to finding Travis Quinton. Peggy organized her notes, preparing to brief Don and the rest of the staff.

  “How does a naked guy, with no food, water, or means of transportation not get found?” Don began the meeting. “This is not a rhetorical question, people. What have we missed?”

  Everyone stared at the table, unable to meet his gaze. When Don sighed Peggy cleared her throat.

  “What have you got for us, Peggy?”

  “We've made some progress with all of the bodies we have in our possession. I'll begin with the warehouse.”

  Don nodded and took out his “Warehouse Klews” folder.

  Peggy was surprised he hadn't made a big fuss about not being able to find it. Then she recalled the reason.

  “Arthur's been getting in the way there. Mort and I feel that he's impeding our work and may corrupt the evidence.”

  Don scribbled furiously and for a second Peggy thought that maybe he paid her no attention at all. Then he raised his eyes in a scowl. “He's over there? I was wondering why it was so pleasant here this morning.” He raised his head and his eyes narrowed. He uttered a quiet “god damn it,” and then said, “please continue about your investigation.”

  “Despite some interference,” Peggy cast her eyes on the janitor, who'd just entered and began raising a dust storm with his broom, “we've managed to make some progress. As there's no space at the morgue—Mort said 'there's no vacancy'—we're keeping the bodies in their freezers. Mort said it's an ingenious device. I tend to agree.”

  Peggy shuffled her notes. “We're about ready to start identifying the bodies. We're running their fingerprints through the database, so far nothing. It would be nice if we could get that facial recognition software I've mentioned previously.” She paused as Don heaved a sigh. “In the meantime, the missing persons bulletin board might be helpful in that regard.”

  “We have one of those?”

  “Yep. It's right next to your desk.”

  Don got up to check. “Vegan hemp milk and garlic,” he said. “Orange and wheat grass shots. Thanksgiving shopping list. What is all this crap?”

  “Um, that's Marcy's stuff.” Peggy closed her eyes and rubbed her temples preemptively. “That'll have to be taken down. The missing persons' pictures are under all of the, er, 'recipes.'”

  “I object,” Marcy bounced up from her chair like a lawyer in a made for TV movie. “Those are very important recipes. They're good for health and soul. And they're for good luck, what with the curse unleashed by exhuming that suicide victim's body. Those nice Indian gents are still sick. I made them some mushroom risotto to make them feel better. But the curse is so strong. If you believe it, they got even sicker.”

  “Indeed,” Don sighed and turned to Lucus. The poor man nodded. He got up and ushered Marcy out, telling her about some metaphysical emergency near the station's front entrance (one of the Halloween decorations was crooked). Peggy thought everyone would be better off if they simply didn't allow Marcy into the building, but she understood Don's reluctance. He lived in the same house as Marcy and she was his mother in law.

  “Where was I?”

  “The bulletin board pictures,” Don said, grimacing at the recipes.

  Peggy thanked God Marcy stopped using the station's kitchen. Sometimes the building stank so bad she had to wear a respirator to get from the front door to her office.

  “Kirk, do you mind taking these down?” Don didn't want to get in trouble with Libby's mom.

  “Sure thing, boss,” Kurt grunted.

  “Go ahead, Peggy.”

  “Right, so as I was saying, those pictures will hopefully help us identify some of the victims. If not, it doesn't hurt too much to try. Despite the interference,” Peggy said as Arthur moved her back and forth in an attempt to dislodge his broom from the spokes of her wheelchair, “we found some prints. It looks like the place was cleaned regularly, so we were lucky to find the ones we did. One set matches Charlene Atkinson, the dead girl found in Duey McCaliker's trailer. The other has no match.”

  “Did you find any DNA? Hair follicles, skin flakes...” Don asked when he finished writing. />
  Peggy stared at Arthur. “Unfortunately a certain someone came in and started sweeping before we could do a thorough search.”

  “I'm sorry. I was just trying to be helpful,” Arthur replied with a tone of deep indignation.

  “Do you mind? Would you please stop moving me?” Peggy's self control waned.

  “My word,” Arthur left the room with his nose fixed at the ceiling.

  Peggy continued, “most of the victims had something removed from their bodies, expertly. Whoever did this, or an accomplice, also made ice sculptures from the bodies. A kind of ice death mask. Sick stuff. We recovered an ice pick. I recommend we bring in a psychologist to draw up a profile.”

  “That's going to be a problem,” Don said. “They're cutting our budget to the bone because crime is up.”

  Peggy shook her head. “That's stupid. And it's not even up. Everything was just suicide before Mort replaced Marcy.”

  “I agree with you, though I don't think we should blame everything on Mort. Some of these killings happened more recently,” Don said. “Speaking of suicide, what have we got on Douglas Hadiger?” He looked around for Lucus.

  “I have Deputy Chalmers' report right here,” Peggy said.

  Tuesday

  Lucus parked beside the Medical Examiner's building. Tom stayed outside to “guard the entrance.”

  Lucus shook his head and chuckled. The big guy was such a wuss sometimes. He took the elevator down to the basement and then went through the double doors. Mort Freeman had done the work but left an underling to give the report. Lucus sought that person now, walking through the silent and dimly lit hall.

  He hadn't been down here in a long time and so was unfamiliar with the layout. A handwritten sign with an arrow pointed to where “the bodies” were kept, but Lucus wasn't sure that was where he had to go. Where did the weird people who worked here hang out when they weren't dissecting someone? A door creaked behind him and a mop fell out. He jumped.

  “Stupid,” he muttered, telling himself that the goosebumps on his arms were from the cold. Just some careless janitor. He backtracked and returned the broom to the closet. He closed the door and found himself face to face with a zombie. He screamed. The zombie screamed too.

  Lucus drew his gun. He realized it was Arthur.

  “I didn't see you there. You scared me,” the janitor uttered his familiar refrain. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry about that Mr. Jackson. You scared me too,” Lucus holstered his weapon. “You happen to know where Clyde is? I'm supposed to meet him to collect some paperwork.”

  Arthur's crooked finger mimicked the bodies sign.

  “Thanks,” Lucus continued on his way. He rounded the corner and nearly bumped into the janitor.

  Lucus jumped. Arthur screamed.

  “What the—weren't you just back there?”

  “Oh my. You scared me,” Arthur replied and started sweeping.

  After some difficulty Lucus got around him. He continued down the hall and through the double doors leading to the fridges. He didn't know the actual name for them, but that's what they were if you thought about it. He shivered.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” His shoes crunched on the tiled floor as he passed a stainless steel table. On the next one sat a scale with something in it. Curiosity got the better of him and he peered into the bowel shaped pan. He wished he hadn't. “Ugggh,” Lucus stepped back and suppressed a retch. He didn't know what that was, but it was nasty. White, slimy, and round.

  Apart from a couple of other shiny metal tables and various equipment, the room was empty. Lucus turned toward the doors. Arthur stared at him through the windows.

  Lucus yelped.

  A grating attracted him toward the fridges. One of them opened. By itself. Gravity maybe? The wind? There was no wind and gravity would've made that thing open long ago. A broken lock, maybe? Lucus wished Tom had come with him.

  He felt obliged to close the door. The body that rolled out would spoil and hamper an investigation. His heart raced as he approached.

  Just push it in, lock the damn thing, and get the hell out of here. Freeman's assistant would email him whatever he needed, and the rest he'd get over the phone.

  Arthur's face was gone from the window. Maybe Lucus was seeing things.

  He looked back at the body. It sat up. It smiled at him.

  Lucus yelped again and drew his gun. “Aim for the head,” he told himself.

  “Whoa. Whoa there buddy,” the corpse jumped down from the gurney. “I'm Clyde Lee. Deputy Chalmers?”

  “Yeah...” Lucus lowered the gun halfway. “What's going on here?”

  “Sorry to frighten you like that. I was just taking a nap. I find the vibrations very soothing.”

  “Okay...” Lucus relaxed his arm, but held on to the gun.

  The doors opened a crack and Arthur stuck his head inside. “May I come in?”

  “No,” Clyde sneered. “We're busy in here.” He made a face at the janitor. “And we have a cleaning crew already. Go back to the police station.” He waited half a second then told Lucus, “I hate that guy.” He said it loud enough for Arthur to hear, no doubt on purpose. “Can't get rid of him. No matter what we try he slips by the security guard.”

  Lucus put his gun away. Perhaps Clyde wasn't so bad after all. “I didn't see a security guard.”

  “Must be on break. Would you like something to drink?” Clyde took a jar from another refrigerated drawer. It had a white thing on the bottom that looked just like the one Lucus saw on the scale.

  “What is that?”

  “Kombucha. Very refreshing. Lots of health benefits.” He poured a cup.

  “No thanks,” Lucus couldn't help but wrinkle his nose.

  “Your loss,” the man drank and smacked his lips. “It's Libby's recipe.”

  “What's that white thing in the jar and over there?”

  “Brains,” Clyde said, his voice serious. “Oh, look at your face. Priceless. No, it's a SCOBY. Yeast and bacteria.”

  Lucus thought that was no better.

  Clyde laughed again. “Yeah, I know. It looks like something Marcy would cook. But it's pretty awesome. Don refuses to try it too. So on to business.” He opened a desk drawer and removed a file. He read the number on the corner and opened the bigger drawer of the refrigerated section. A body rolled out, all but the head was covered. “Douglas Hadiger. Didn't know the former councilman was a nudist. Anyway, saved us the trouble. Don wanted us to test for poisons. We found it. Matches the one that killed Swinton.”

  “Nudist?”

  “Yeah. He was buried nude, unless someone took the clothes. I wouldn't put it past Arthur, but this room is locked when there's no one in here.”

  “Any idea how it was administered? The poison?”

  “Sorry,” Clyde shook his head. “The body's too badly decomposed. It could've been injected or put in the councilman's food. Marcy's already been here protesting. Sometimes I miss that lady. Didn't have to do a single thing when she was my boss. Sucks that I didn't replace her, but what you gonna do? I guess I need more experience or whatever.”

  “You happen to test Godfrey Leser's body for the poison as well?”

  “That curator guy? Yeah. No poison. Looks like a regular old heart attack.”

  “Alright, thanks.” Lucus collected the report. “While I'm here, you want to tell me about the dead women that came in?”

  “Sure, hold on.” Clyde slid Hadiger away. He got a couple of other files out of the drawer. He went through the particulars of Charlene Atkinson and Maggie Swinton. “We've concluded that both were killed by Travis Quinton. And if he didn't do it, he was involved. His semen is in both women. We got a DNA match from prison records.” He explained that the causes of death were different, however. Mrs. Swinton died from a part of her brain being removed. Charlene died from blunt trauma.

  “Anything else I can do for you?” Clyde sipped his Kombucha.

  “We didn't find any brain
matter at the scene as far as I know. Any idea what happened to it?”

  “He ate it probably. But I don't know. Maybe if you catch the guy he can tell you.”

  “Well, thanks.” Lucus went to leave. “Stay cool.”

  “Will do,” the man called back, his arm raised in a half wave as he drank more of his beverage.

  Chalmers shuddered as he stepped out into the fall sun. Tom thought about what Libby practiced with him. This seemed to fit the bill. He sent Mettler one last email from InfoWars, this one about the impending collapse of all civilization, orchestrated by the evil offshore banks that ruled the world. He cast his eyes firmly on Chalmers' forehead.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. That place just gives me the creeps,” his partner said.

  “That's why I stayed out here,” Tom said.

  “No,” Chalmers stretched the word out for some reason, “and I thought you were guarding the door to prevent anyone from coming in.”

  “Ha ha. I tricked you,” Tom said.

  “Yeah... Actually I kind of missed you in there. Met your uncle. He's some piece of work.”

  “Oh yeah,” Tom restrained himself from clapping. “He's got all sorts of mental problems.”

  After they got in the car and Chalmers finished telling him what he learned from the Assistant Medical Examiner Tom asked, “so where are we going now?”

  “We're going to stop by the county clerk's office and look at some property records. You know how I've been telling you about Hadiger's file that you dug up at Town Hall? Well it looks like he was using his position as budget chair to pressure the zoning committee. I want to see which properties were affected and whom they belonged to. One area stands out. The committee approved a rezoning for zone E, that's where the warehouse with all the bodies is. Councilwoman Williams filed an objection. So I'm wondering what other properties were affected besides the warehouse.”

  “I see,” Tom said.

  “And before you ask, yes we can stop for pizza.”

  “Excellent. Can we also get pastries?”

  “Sure.”

  Monday

  Travis soon realized that the old man didn't know where he was going. He probably didn't even know his own name. What other reason was there for the guy to address him as “Bob, my dear son”?