Arkham Detective Agency: A Lovecraftian-Noir Tribute to C. J. Henderson

by C. J. Henderson

  “Give you twenty if you go in before the others get here.”

  “You really are off, Jackson.”

  “Technically, we were both off twenty minutes ago, and here we are.”

  Suarez smirked and pointed as the first door opened.

  “Looks like the natives are awake,” Suarez said.

  “Guess we should talk to them.”

  “Think we can get some coffee delivered?” Suarez asked.

  “You should have went down the hole when you had the chance,” Jackson said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Access Hollywood, TMZ, Fox.” He pointed down the road as news vans started to roll up right behind the police. “Lots of money on this street,” Jackson said. “Get you a book deal, maybe get you laid.”

  “Another night on street detail,” Suarez sighed

  - - -

  A row of sawhorses crossed both ends of the street. Yellow warning tape was stretched and tied to lamp posts. The perimeter of the hole was lined with fire engines and cruisers. Jackson and Suarez stood in back of the saw horses, making sure no one got through. Reporters were packed in front of the yellow and black barrier; flashbulbs strobed almost in time to the lights on the fire trucks. People shouted and pointed and theorized. Jackson yawned and checked his watch.

  “Bet that yawn makes the morning news,” Suarez said.

  “They should have brought coffee.” As if the heavens were listening for once, two large coffees were offered up, one to each. “Thank the gods.”

  “God,” Suarez said. “There’s only one.”

  “You haven’t been in Arkham long, have you?” Jackson smiled and closed his eyes, taking the first sip. Suarez looked over his shoulder at the detectives interviewing some of the locals who claimed to have witnessed the event. “Don’t stare at the suits too long, kid, they get nervous.”

  “We were here first. We should be talking to people.”

  “Protect and Serve, Eddie. Not interview and look pretty.”

  After a couple hours the press started to thin; the local hotels would fill with news crews. Witnesses were sent back to their homes and most of the detectives left. A tent was set up over the hole, blocking it from the public eye. In the age of cell phones and tablets, the thing was already viral, spread across the web with theories and conspiracies.

  “What do you think happened, kid?” Jackson asked.

  Suarez shrugged. “Not that you care. There was no smell afterward, so it’s doubtful it was gas or chemicals. Aside from the edge of the crater glowing, there was no heat.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be discussing my case,” Detective Rand said, coming over.

  “Just stating the facts and I’m sure this is already viral.”

  “Don’t state them so loud,” Rand said looking at the remaining press. “Chief will be by in the morning to give a quick conference. I have replacements coming for you two.”

  “Thanks, Rand.” Jackson said.

  “You two head out. Get back to the station, grab some shut-eye.” Jackson and Suarez headed back toward the car. Suarez stopped, reaching for the handle.

  “I’m going to stay. I’ll get a ride back.”

  “Don’t be too late, going to need you alert tomorrow.”

  “What’s tomorrow?” Suarez asked.

  “Another night in Arkham.”

  - - -

  Suarez walked over to the tent when his replacement arrived. Jackson was right; he hadn’t been in Arkham long but he was already eyeing a detective’s position. Jackson was a lifer on the streets, probably end up back at the station in a few years processing paperwork or working records. He opened the flap and stepped in.

  A team of men in sealed suits were excavating around the bottom of the pit. Suarez watched for a minute, then left the tent. People would be waking for the morning commute soon. “But why is there a hazmat team in there?” he whispered. Stepping back to the line of cruisers, he leaned against one and waited for a ride.

  He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. A solid-looking man approached with salt and pepper hair. He made small talk with the officers on duty and approached Suarez.

  “Evening,” he said.

  “What can I do for you? More importantly why did they let you across the police line?”

  He patted down his pockets and pulled out a business card.

  “Frank Nardi, Nardi Security.” Nardi forced his best “smile.” Suarez didn’t take the offered card. “Mind if I ask you a couple questions?”

  “Chief is giving a statement in the morning.”

  “That’s all well and fine, but I have some very concerned clients.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t say anything. And if you are what I think, you know that.”

  “Which is?”

  “Retired cop?”

  Nardi nodded and slipped the card back in his pocket. “Answer me one question, kid.” Suarez nodded. “Did you go down into the hole?”

  - - -

  Suarez rolled out of bed. Light streamed in through the cracked blinds of his bedroom. The bedside clock read 7 a.m. Less than five hours of sleep, and he was still wired from the large coffee and the happenings of the night before. Nardi’s card sat on his bedside table, he didn’t remember taking it. Maybe he had slipped one in his pocket. Suarez did his morning routine of exercises, shower, shaving and breakfast.

  By 9 a.m. he was finished. His shift didn’t start for another five hours. Two to midnight. He was never sure how he got it, but he liked it. He sat at the table, pushing a spoon around an empty coffee mug. Nardi had been the second person to him about going down in the hole. What had he missed? The same question nagged at him. Why the hazmat team?

  Suarez threw on jeans and a t-shirt and grabbed his duffle for work. He stopped in his bedroom and stuffed Nardi’s card in his pocket. If nothing else, he wanted to know how he planted the card on him.

  - - -

  Suarez parked five blocks away from the scene and slipped easily under the police ribbon, flashing his badge to officers on scene. There was an angry mob on both ends of the road. Morning traffic had been detoured, and the people who lived on the street were trapped in their houses; most of the driveways were blocked by emergency and hazmat vehicles.

  There was a flurry of activity at the large white tent over the crater. People were coming and going carrying plastic trays loaded with dirt. Someone else carried sections of the ceramic pipe. Suarez risked a look in the tent. The hazmat team was gone; now it looked like a full-on excavation. They must have raided the archaeology students from Miskatonic. Suarez noticed a familiar face in the people lining the street.

  “You’re here early, officer.”

  “You were here earlier, Nardi.”

  “Let’s chat.” They walked across the street and found a quiet spot near a willow tree on a meticulously manicured lawn. “How’d you get the card on me?” Nardi held up his hands, business cards in each palm.

  “Tricks of the trade, kid.”

  “What do you know? You have a better rep around here than I do.”

  “Not much, really.” Nardi put his hands in his coat pockets. “How long you been on the force?”

  “A year in Arkham, five years total. How long were you a cop?”

  “Twenty years, NYC.”

  “And now you’re a private detective in Arkham.” Nardi nodded. “You know how many private detectives there are in Arkham?”

  “One of the things I noticed when we opened up shop here. Let’s walk.” They stayed on the grass, going from yard to yard, dodging bushes and sprinkler systems. They stopped at the end of the street. “Take a good look at these houses, son.” They weren’t the average well-to-do cookie-cutter houses. They looked old. Old and full of rich families. “They all have something in common. Let’s hear your theory.”

  “Aside from old money?” Nardi nodded. “Most, I’m going to say are—”

  “Cleaned by my agency,” Nardi interupted.

&nb
sp; “I thought you were a detective, not house cleaning.”

  “Spiritual cleaning. Getting all the bad mojo out. I have an intimate knowledge of each of these homes.”

  “So you’re a ghostbuster?”

  “Amongst other things. You’ll learn quick that things aren’t so straight and narrow here.” Suarez watched Nardi’s left eye tic a little. There was some movement in his pocket, like he was clenching and unclenching his right hand.

  “My shift starts soon. What do you want?”

  “There was something very specific at the bottom of that hole, Officer. What did you see when you got here?”

  “The edge was glowing red. That was it. I’m sure the captain said something in his statement.”

  “I know when he’s lying.” Nardi started walking again, toward Suarez’s car. “He wrote it off as a gas main explosion. Only there’s no gas main where it happened. That satisfied some of the press.”

  “It’s not a sinkhole; there was no pipe except for that old ceramic one.”

  “There was some residue on the bottom of the hole.” Suarez stopped, Nardi didn’t. “I have better contacts than you do, kid.” He stopped at Eddie’s car and leaned against the hood. “I know you can’t get me reports, and I don’t want you to. Here’s my real question: what do you know about witch fire?”

  - - -

  Suarez stared at the computer screen scrolling through page after page on the web. He was hours early to work, and the conversation with Nardi had him riled. He jumped when Jackson walked up behind him.

  “What you reading, kid?” Suarez closed the browser before his partner saw what he was looking at. “Little early in the afternoon for porn, isn’t it?” Jackson smiled and sat on the edge of the desk.

  “That’s why I use someone else’s station.” Suarez cleared the browser history.

  “You know the IT guys can pull up a log of all that shit.”

  “Yeah, but this way, no one else needs to know.”

  “What kind of filth were you looking at?”

  “City records.” Suarez stood and pushed the chair in. “Ready to roll, partner?”

  - - -

  They were parked outside the crime scene. The tent was still up and security high. The press had all but disappeared. Local reporters still clung to the story.

  “We here all day?” Suarez asked.

  “Until they send us away.”

  “How are we so lucky?”

  “Call it fate. Go make yourself look busy, Eddie. I’m going to hit the coffee shop.”

  - - -

  Suarez took out his notepad and gold pen. The one he’d gotten as a gift for graduating from the academy. He wrote down Nardi and Witch Fire. The only thing he knew was something funky was happening on his beat. He went to the tent, tried to look like he was guarding it and tried to remember.

  There was nothing else that sprang to mind. The hole was already cooling when they got there. Was it really hot? We never checked. Strike one. We didn’t get the chance to interview anyone. Strike two. Nardi knew more about the scene than they did. Strike three.

  “I should have went down the hole.” Suarez looked up and down the street. People were gathered in clumps. Close enough to see what was going on and far enough away to not be in the way. He could only imagine the gossip. He walked toward them and flipped to an empty page in the notebook.

  “Good afternoon,” he called. A few of them whispered something and walked off. “Mind if I ask you a couple questions?” Two of the six gossipers remained. An elderly man, who identified himself as Stanley Rothington and a woman easily twenty years his junior claiming to be Mrs. Rothington.

  “We’ve already spoken to the police and the local news,” said Mrs. Rothington.

  “Are you refusing to speak to the police again?” Suarez asked.

  Mrs. Rothington oozed pretentiousness: the fake pomposity that comes with marrying into money.

  Stanley Rothington cleared his throat, “What can we do for you, officer?”

  “Did you witness what happened last night?”

  Mrs. Rothington squeezed his arm.

  “From the beginning to the present.”

  “And can you tell me what that was?” Suarez asked. Stanley shifted his footing.

  “Last night around 12:30 there was an explosion.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “There was no debris, sir.”

  “I couldn’t sleep and I like to watch the street through our bedroom window.” He pointed at the house in back of him. Suarez nodded at how colossal it was. “And yes, before you ask, I have binoculars.” Suarez scribbled notes. “I was watching some cars go slow down the street; people love to look at the old houses out here. I noticed a flash on the street. Just a quick green burst. Then nothing.”

  “A green flash?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. Then everything exploded, I guess. The street and the buildings were bathed in a sort of prismatic light. The center of it being greens and reds and golds. Like that abhorrent Christmas display in the park along the river come winter. It was blinding, so I set the binoculars down and watched what I could. When it was all over, that hole was there and shortly after, you and your partner.”

  Suarez pondered as he wrote. “Do you think any of your neighbors would talk to me?”

  “You mean the ones that ran away at the very sight of the police?” Mrs. Rothington asked sarcastically.

  “Good call, ma’am.”

  “Did you just call me ma’am?”

  “Settle down, Alice.” Mr. Rothington said.

  “Thank you for your help.” Suarez went to hand them a card for the police station and noticed it was another one of Nardi’s. He fished through his pockets and found the correct one. “If you think of anything else, please call. My work cell is on the back.”

  - - -

  Suarez went from group to group. The ones that didn’t run off gave similar stories. Two hours into the shift and Jackson still wasn’t back. Eddie read from his notes and tried to put the pieces together. There was something else missing.

  “Find everything you want?”

  He jumped at the question. Nardi stood there, a little more casual than yesterday, maybe trying to blend in with the locals. Too many people in town knew him: it didn’t work.

  “What are you, a freaking ninja?”

  “The rich folks hate cops and detectives. You want answers, you have to learn to sneak up on them.”

  “What do you know, Nardi?”

  “Bunch of old timers saw a light show, then this hole appeared out of thin air and took a scoop out of the street.”

  “Anything useful?”

  “What did you find out about witch fire?” Nardi asked.

  “Nothing.” Suarez replied.

  “You’re looking in the wrong spots, kid.” Nardi looked around and then headed off toward the street.

  - - -

  “Took you long enough to get back,” Suarez said. Jackson walked over carrying two large takeout bags.

  “Ran an errand or two.” He set the bags on the ground and dug through them. “What’d you find out?”

  “Everyone on this street is a snotty asshole.”

  “Welcome to Arkham.” Jackson handed him a foil-wrapped sandwich. “Hope you like Mexican.”

  “You’re so racist.” They ate for a few moments in silence, watching the people trying to sneak glances into the tent. “Have you been in the tent?”

  “No need to.”

  “Curious?”

  “Nope.” Jackson took a drink of water and looked at his partner deep in thought about something. “Look kid, if you want to know, I can ask. We’re here for another ten hours; let’s eat and deal with John Q. Public.” Suarez wiped his mouth and stuffed the napkin in his pocket. He felt Nardi’s card.

  “I met someone.”

  “Good for you, kid, your first date in Arkham.”

  “Do you know Frank Nardi?”

  Jackson choked on his burrito. “Answers that q
uestion.”

  “Guy is a burnout, a nut job. Takes a lot of the ‘special’ cases out here. Has a townie psychic on staff and a couple other retired detectives. Stay away from him.”

  “Next question then.” Suarez chewed his lunch thinking the best way to phrase things. When nothing came to mind. “What about witch fire?”

  - - -

  “Listen to me, Jackson,” Suarez said, following him around the crime scene. Jackson was doing his best to escape and failing. Suarez kept his voice low so remaining press and police detectives wouldn’t hear. “We have an explosion with no sound, no debris. They’re blaming an old ceramic pipe that probably wasn’t hooked up or used in a century.”

  “Kid, we’re here for crowd control. It’s not our case.”

  “Whose then, Rand? All he’s doing is sitting at the precinct. What about the hazmat team?”

  “I ain’t CSI, kid. And I don’t know anything about witch fire. Google it.” Jackson stalked off, rubbing his forehead.

  “Google has nothing, already tried.”

  “Why are you still here, Officer Suarez?” Rand asked.

  “Trying to puzzle out a few things.” Suarez and Jackson’s shift had ended, and Jackson took off with the cruiser with not so much as a wave, leaving Eddie stranded at the crime scene.

  “It’s not your case,” Rand said.

  “No, sir. But I’m involved and I’d like to see it through.”

  Rand motioned him over to a parked cruiser and leaned against the trunk.

  “Look, you’re new-ish in town. Want to make a mark on the chief, looking for the fast path to detective.” Rand paused for a reaction. Suarez’s face was stone. “I’ll give you something.” Rand looked around, playing it up like he was about to give out a national secret. “We found residue at the bottom of the hole. Human residue. It’s gone in for DNA testing now.” Suarez perked up. “Check the police regs, this is no longer an ‘anomaly,’” Rand said making air quotes. It’s a murder scene. And yes, there is an anomaly section in the regs booklet.”

  - - -

  Suarez sat at his kitchen table. He had to have over a dozen of Nardi’s cards from his brief encounters with him. Nardi knew what was going on, and now that the anomaly, as Rand called it, was a homicide, there’d be no getting. Jackson didn’t give two shits, as long as the case didn’t interrupt his napping and eating schedule.