Keyport Cthulhu

by Armand Rosamilia

  The witness was a teenage junkie female, who looked at Briggs on more than a few occasions during the brief interrogation. I was sure the two knew each other. When this is over I'll head to Chief Russo and give him my concerns about Briggs again. Not that it will do any good, I thought. Half the guys in the squad partook of the cheap street gear.

  "What did you see?" I asked. I had no time for small talk. I wasn't worried about a killer rampaging the Lower East Side. I wanted to get home and be done with this long day already. And it wasn't even lunchtime.

  "I saw that thing that did that to that guy," she mumbled.

  She might've been a pretty girl before her teenage years and the needle had clashed. She couldn't look me in the eye and continued to glance at Briggs. I was smelling something fishy, like a convenient setup to name a perp Briggs had a hard-on for or something equally sleazy.

  "What did he look like?"

  "He looked really sick," she said.

  "So does everyone else out here, honey. Including yourself." I glanced at Briggs, who was staring at the girl. Sick bastard. "I need to know what he did and where he went. Then you can go."

  "He came up on that guy and took out a big knife and put his arms around that guy's neck and sliced his throat up. That guy just sat there while that other guy did that."

  This was going nowhere. "Did the guy who did the slicing have any distinguishing marks? Tattoos? Wearing a skinhead uniform or have a shaved head? Was he black? White? Green?"

  She visibly shuddered. "He looked very green. His skin was wet like he just came out of a pool. Bumps on the arms. That guy was a mess."

  Leave it to drug addicts to make fun of anyone else, I thought. "Besides his green hue, anything else to make him stand out?"

  "He took that guy's lockbox key from around his neck."

  "You know it was a lockbox key?" I asked.

  She nodded, staring at Briggs. "I used to have one myself." She touched her pale neck. "And had it on a thin chain around my neck, too. Everything I owned was in it. I had money and my birth certificate and baby bonds and my trust fund paperwork." She put her head down. "It's all gone."

  Probably traded for a fix. "Thank you. You've been very helpful," I said. I turned to Briggs. "You have two hours to clean yourself up. Stay away from this underage girl and meet me back at the precinct in two hours."

  * * * * *

  I wasn't surprised when Briggs didn't arrive at the precinct. It was just another note I would take about the detective when I went before Chief Russo and tried to get his shield removed. The guy was worthless.

  It didn't take long before the dead family had given up the ghost: they had a banking account three blocks from their apartment. I was sure their perp had gone straight there to retrieve the contents. He had a jump on me, but it didn't matter. Surveillance cameras or a bank employee who actually cared would help.

  The banking building, located on Avenue A, was busy with customers in and out. I decided nice but firm would be the quickest way to get information. My British accent always helped as well, especially with the women. Not that I was a good-looking guy, but it made me infinitely more interesting once I smiled and began to speak.

  The bank manager, a Miss Harriet, was like all the rest. When I'd flashed my shield she frowned. As soon as I began speaking, adding an extra layer of my homeland on for good measure, she invited me to her desk with a smile.

  "We're looking for a man, perhaps who looks sickly, recently stopping into your fine establishment to procure the contents of a lockbox. All within the last few hours," I said.

  "The privacy of our customers is of upmost importance to us, as I'm sure you understand," Miss Harriet said.

  "And three gruesome murders not far from this spot would dictate I have not only the law behind me but common sense, as well as a Higher Power," I said, glancing at the ceiling. I'd noticed the bank manager's cross on the chain around her neck and matching small cross earrings. Religious folk always got scared when you brought Him into the equation, as if they'd be struck dead if they didn't do His bidding. It was quite convenient for an atheist like me. I put his hand in my inner jacket pocket, which was empty. "Should I share with you the pictures of the murder scene, dear? Several of my colleagues passed out when they entered the apartment, and not from the nauseous smell of death, either. It was the murders themselves and what was left of the bodies."

  I almost felt bad doing this... almost. If I had to waste time going through the proper channels, inciting a judge to write a search warrant, jump through so many bureaucratic hoops like a trained seal, the killer would get away. It was better to cut a few corners for the end result than worry about all the proper steps getting there.

  Miss Harriet was shaken enough to call in one of her lackeys, explain what I was looking for, and make pretend she had paperwork to do. She didn't make eye contact with me again until she handed me the man's address from the copy of his license.

  I thanked her, making sure my smile was big and friendly. She didn't return it.

  When I stepped outside and looked closer at the photocopy I stopped smiling.

  Brendon Marsh. I had no idea who he was, but I did know he lived in Keyport. New Jersey. Quite a ride for me to take just to see if the guy had gone home.

  I toyed with sending a couple of uniformed men down to do my dirty work, but decided I'd have to do it myself. There was something wrong with this entire scene and I wanted to solve this puzzle myself.

  I got back into my sedan and started it up just as the police radio squawked.

  "Detective Kirkpatrick? Graeme, old chap?" It was Briggs trying to be funny with a horribly mocking accent. I assumed he'd found a fix and was high as a kite right now. "Where are you?"

  "I'm on my way to the Jersey shore," I said.

  "Now, why would you do that? Already time for a little vacation?" Briggs asked.

  I didn't want to keep chatting over the police band so everyone could hear us, and switching channels meant every busy-body on the force would switch with us.

  "Meet me at the diner in thirty," I said.

  "Which diner?" Briggs asked. He knew damn well what diner I meant.

  * * * * *

  We rode to Keyport in silence. Briggs stared out the window like a lost puppy while I tried not to lose it. I couldn't stand working with the guy, and for some reason the fact he always got involved in every one of my cases drove me mad.

  I also knew we were wasting time. Brendon Marsh wasn't going to kill someone, steal whatever he was after, and calmly drive back home to relax. He was hiding somewhere, more than likely back in New York City. This was a wild goose chase, and to make matters worse I had to do it with Briggs.

  When we pulled into Keyport it was like we'd gone back in time. I didn't see a fast food joint or a video store, one of those places where you could rent a VHS tape. Technology was beyond me. I still preferred a movie experience at the theater. Who wanted to watch a movie on your tiny television at home?

  The few locals on the streets stopped and watched as we drove by, blatantly staring.

  "Friendly town," Briggs said, finally coming down off wherever he'd been. I knew in another three or four hours he'd be ornery. Within six or seven hours he'd need another fix or I'd leave him wherever we were.

  Broad Street to East Front Street and then left onto Beers Street and Walling Terrace was on my left, a maze of streets with older homes, perfect manicured lawns and more than a few white picket fences.

  "This must be what they mean by living in the suburbs," Briggs said. "Very quaint. And creepy."

  I found the address, and I have to admit I was both impressed by the size of it and also shaken by the dark cloud hanging over it. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. The house looked like every other one on the block and in town, with an aging porch and big bay windows. It had been painted in the last few years, and you might pass along on the road without noticing it.

  But now that I was parked on the street next to it,
I couldn't look away. It was as if the house was a mask, and something ominous was hidden inside.

  Briggs opened his door and stepped out. "You coming?"

  I shook off the dread and followed, each step closer to the porch and the front door like a lead weight tied to my shoes.

  By the time I got to the door I was sweating and even Briggs noticed something was wrong, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

  I knocked, three quick strikes, the sound like a shotgun. I thought the wooden door would split, even though I hadn't knocked hard.

  Briggs tired to peek into the windows overlooking the porch, but the blinds were all drawn.

  I don't know if I expected Brendon Marsh to open the door with a smile and the contents of the mysterious lockbox in hand.

  "Now what?" Briggs asked, taking off his jacket.

  "We take the long ride home," I said loudly. I had no intention of leaving just yet, though. I don't know how I knew, but there was someone inside. Holding their breath, waiting for us to leave.

  I motioned for Briggs to go to the car and wait for me. Surprisingly, he understood and went down the steps and strolled back to the car.

  I put an ear to the door and listened.

  Something tapped lightly, twice, inside. I banged on the door again. "I know you're in there. This is the police. Open up." I felt ridiculous saying such cliché lines, but they always seemed to work. I pounded on the wood again. "I'm not going to leave until you open up. We only want to talk to you, Mister Marsh."

  I walked around the house, but the large windows were set too high for me to look in. They were all covered with blinds, anyway. I knocked on the back door but finally had to give up. If anyone had opened the front, Briggs would've seen it. If he were paying attention and not passed out in the vehicle.

  Briggs was standing in front of the car with the hood up. When I approached he shook his head. "The battery is dead."

  "How is that possible? What did you do?" I knew next to nothing about cars so when I stared at the engine all I saw was dirty parts connected chaotically. It took me a moment to see where the battery was.

  I didn't believe Briggs. I got into the car and turned the key. Nothing happened. When I got back out I wanted to punch Briggs. "How did you know it wouldn't start? I told you to go sit in the car."

  "It was getting warm and I wanted to crank the air conditioning. I don't have it in my car. I figured you'd be right back and we could drive home," Briggs said.

  I looked up and down the street and back at the Marsh home. I was sure someone was watching us from behind the curtains. "Lock the car. We'll walk to the main road and find a payphone."

  * * * * *

  I was feeling generous and trying to keep calm, so I bought Briggs dinner. A seafood combination took me back twelve bucks apiece, but it was worth it. We stood near the docks, overlooking the bay, and ate while the fishing boats came and went. For a small town the docks were busy. This was a village that lived and died on their fishing.

  As the sun started to fall over the horizon, I sighed. The car had been towed to the local garage but they couldn't get us a battery and wiring until the morning. An expensive call to the precinct with the last of my change had told me what I didn't want to hear: we were to stay in Keyport, do some digging and find Brendon Marsh. They didn't want the car left behind, didn't have the resources to send someone to pick us up, and Chief Russo had been vague about reimbursing us for a hotel room.

  Since there were no leads in New York City and Brendon Marsh hadn't been spotted, the assumption was he'd used the lead time to come back to Keyport or he was in the wind.

  My gut feeling was he was hiding in the house, but we needed to put some eyes on it. "I'm going to find us a room at the hotel a few blocks away. Lucky for us this is a small town and we can walk everywhere."

  "What am I going to do?" Briggs asked. He was looking like garbage again and he'd have no chance of finding a fix in this town. I hoped for his sake he'd brought something with him, or it would be a long night.

  "I need you to go over to the local police station and let them know who we are and what we're doing in town. Have them call Chief Russo, too. We'll need their help. We need to make sure Marsh doesn't slip away in the middle of the night. But finish your scallops first," I said.

  After dinner we went our separate ways. I was hoping a visit to the local police would keep Briggs busy and out of trouble. I doubted he'd be able to score drugs in a town like this, but every drug addict I'd ever dealt with was pretty resourceful.

  A quick walk around town told me a few things: I'd stepped out of the 1980's and into the early 1950's. This was a town caught in a moment of time, like a Norman Rockwell painting. Only, under the cute picture was something strange and maybe ugly. The townsfolk smiled at me but it was an act. I caught more than a few of them watching my moves from across the street. Even the few cars on the road slowed down, as if I had two heads.

  I found myself back in front of the Marsh house.

  The blinds on all the windows were still closed and the uneasy feeling came over me again, and I was already on edge from all eyes on me in Keyport.

  I went up the walkway and steps and banged on the door, knowing it was a waste of time.

  I also felt like this was a game and I was losing.

  When I walked away I got two houses away before I stopped and turned suddenly, and I wasn't surprised to see the slightest flutter of a curtain in the front window.

  * * * * *

  Briggs didn't return that night. I sat on the bed alone in the motel, listening to the sounds of something in the walls and rain on the thin roof above me. The television looked like an antique and didn't get more than two fuzzy channels in. I turned it off within five minutes of trying to get the news.

  I must've finally fallen asleep because a soft tap on the room door had me up and reaching for my service revolver before I'd opened my eyes fully.

  I hoped it was Briggs, wandering in after a long night at the nearest bar, but I knew it wasn't going to be him.

  There was a faint shadow under the door. I tried to slip off the bed as quietly as I could but it creaked and the shadow fled.

  By the time I got to the door and threw it open the parking lot was empty save the steady drum of the rain. I stepped out and scanned the parking lot for movement. I could see into the motel office and the old woman who'd reluctantly checked me in was still sitting in the same spot staring into space. I was sure she wouldn't have seen anyone, even if she had. I was a foreigner with an accent flashing a New York police badge. Too many strikes in a small town like this, especially across the river.

  A cop car hiding in the shadows at the far end of the parking lot caught my attention. I braved the weather and walked up, but the unit was empty.

  "Hello?" I yelled. I was done with Keyport and Brendon Marsh and whatever the contents of the lockbox were. When no one answered except for more rain I retired to my room, but I wasn't alone.

  There was a single sheet of paper, neatly folded, waiting for me as I opened my room door. It had been slipped under the wide expanse between the door and the floor and it was dry. In the few moments I'd had my back to the room someone had done it. I sat on the edge of the bed and read it.

  Stop following me and leave Keyport.

  Simple, direct and to the point. If it was supposed to deter me from finding Brendan Marsh it had the opposite effect. Now I wanted to capture the bastard and drag him back to NYC and charge him with murder and anything else.

  I heard a car engine but by the time I rose and threw open the door I caught taillights of the police cruiser leaving the parking lot.

  Great. Even the local police were in on this. They were circling the wagons around one of their own, and I knew the only way I was getting Marsh out of Keyport was to smuggle the perp out. Without a car and Briggs backing me up it was so much harder now. And they'd all be watching me, unless I acted quickly.

  I went back inside and turned the dim li
ght on next to the bed as well as the static television, then climbed out of the small bathroom window and circled the block. I ducked into bushes when a police car cruised by slowly, inching past the motel to make sure I was staying put.

  It was slow going in the rain and I hid on more than one occasion when a local came into view. I didn't know who I could trust and didn't believe any of them was the right answer. It wasn't so much my cop instincts as it was my survival ones, and I remembered all too well growing up poor on the streets of Birmingham as a smallish child. The strong survived and the weak learned to run fast. I was still pretty fast even though I'd filled out over the years.

  I walked past the garage the car was supposed to be at and wasn't surprised to see it not in the lot, and when I peered through the bay windows I saw it was absent. They weren't going to let me leave easily, and I had a chilling thought it was more than just me not being thwarted from catching Marsh. I wondered how far they'd go to stop me.

  If I was smart I would've walked out of Keyport, hitched a ride to the nearest payphone or simply north and back home, but I'm stubborn in a bad way. If I walked into the chief's office without the car, Marsh or Briggs I'd get my ass handed to me.

  Instead I was soaked by the time I arrived at the dark front steps of the Marsh residence. I took my time traversing the rickety steps, hoping the pounding rain would mask my movements.

  The lights were out but I could see a flickering light in the front room.

  Headlights appeared from down the block and I ducked, but the porch offered no real cover. If it was the nosy cop I'd be seen. I didn't think jumping off the steps would help because the lawn had no bushes or trees on this side.

  The door suddenly opened and two bloodshot eyes peered at me, the figure stooped. "Come inside before they see you."

  I didn't hesitate as the man moved and let me gain entrance. We both went to the blinds and peeked out just as the police cruiser went past.

  "Thank you," I mumbled and turned to see him fully. "Brendon Marsh I presume."