Done Rubbed Out: Reightman & Bailey Book One

by Jeffery Craig

  Melba stood in the open closet door and perused her limited wardrobe choices, trying to decide what jacket to wear. It was going to be hot as blazes today, but still, she liked the extra pockets a jacket gave her. She flipped through the hanging clothes with a sigh. She really needed some new things, but didn’t know how she would stretch her dollars. She finally decided to just wear the navy jacket that went with the slacks since finding something else to coordinate seems like too much effort. As she dug out a pair of shoes from the floor of her closet, she realized she’d just reviewed all she had. Nothing else was in process, waiting on tests, needing additional examination or follow-up. There was nothing else to go on. She was in trouble, and desperately needed something to break.

  ♦♦♦

  When Reightman reached the office, she stashed her purse in the bottom desk drawer and headed to the breakroom to grab a cup of hot water. She spied Sam hovering near the coffee pot with a couple of others as they waited for the brew to finish. There was a half empty box of donuts on the small table against the wall. “Junkies,” she commented, gesturing to the now sputtering machine.

  “Pour you a cup, Reightman?” Jackson held up the pot expectantly. He looked crisp and well turned out, as he always did. Some days she hated Sam.

  “Nope, I’m just getting some hot water.”

  “You sick or something?” He poured himself a mug and put the pot back down on the extra burner. He yanked out the brewing basket, emptied the old grounds and reloaded. Coffee went fast around here, even though it was pretty awful. “You usually don’t turn down a cup, if it’s fresh,” he observed. “And this is fresh. I just made it myself.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m just getting some hot water.” She reached around him to fill her cup from the spigot attached to the hot water reservoir. “I’ll pass on that sludge.”

  “You implying I don’t make a good cup of ‘joe’?”

  “Not implying a thing, Jackson. You make the worst coffee in the entire southeastern part of the United States.”

  “Do not.”

  “Do too.” Her cup was full. She pulled a teabag out of her jacket pocket and dunked it in the cup, holding the string with one hand. Immediately, the delicious jasmine scent filled the air. Everyone in the room turned her way, sniffing. It sounded like a room full of pug dogs.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Jones from his place in line. “Smells like some fancy perfume. Got a hot date tonight, Reightman?” he grinned.

  She grinned back – she liked Detective Vince Jones. “Hotter than anything you’ll ever handle, Jones.” Amid the hoots and hollers that followed, Nancy entered the room, teetering in on unbelievably high platform shoes. She catwalked to the refrigerator to stow her lunch. “What’s that smell? Did somebody get flowers?”

  “Reightman did, from the hot Monday night date she has lined up.” Detective Jones sometimes didn’t know when to stop.

  “I don’t have a date.” That set the room off again, because the thought of Reightman having a romantic evening out was hilarious. She ignored them all and dunked the bag a couple of times. “It’s tea.”

  “Tea?” Nancy asked.

  “Tea,” answered Reightman.

  “Tea?” asked about a half dozen of the cops in the room, in tones ranging from disbelief to outright horror.

  “Tea,” Reightman answered again. “Tea that was given to me by a friend. It has jasmine in it. “

  Now, the comments flew fast and furious around the room. “Oh la la.” “Fancy pant-cee.” “What kind of friend, Reightman? “A ‘special’ friend?” “Hey, do you put out on first dates, Reightman?” Cops could be such juvenile asses.

  She caught Sam’s grin from across the room and rolled her eyes in disgust. He just laughed at her expression. Deciding to just ignore them, she turned to Kelly’s admin. “Nancy, does the Chief have any time this morning?”

  “I’m not sure, Melba. I’ll check his calendar when I get to my desk and try to find you a spare couple of minutes if I can, and give you a ring.” She smacked her gum. “I stopped here first to drop of my lunch. I didn’t want the yogurt to get warm.” The room started up again, discussing just how awful yogurt must be. Some of the comparisons were pretty gross. Nancy faced the room and slowly shot the group a finger before striding out of the breakroom on her towering shoes, not giving the wolf whistles any notice. She did glance longingly at the donuts though. This might be a bad week for the diet.

  Reightman pulled her teabag out of the cup and tossed it in the trash. “Come on, Jackson. We’ve got better things to do than hang out with the kids.” The room reacted with a few good natured jokes and a couple of smart-ass remarks as she made her way out of room, followed by Jackson.

  “When did you take up tea, Melba?” Sam asked as they settled into their desks.

  Melba picked up her cup. “Umm…Friday, I think. Zhou gave it to me.”

  Sam snorted coffee out of his nose. Brushing off his shirt with a napkin, he looked quizzically across the table. “Are you referring to a certain Madame Zhou Li, the old, harmless looking attorney who chewed us up and spit us out last week?” At Melba’s nod, he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “When did you two get to the gift giving stage, Reightman?”

  “We’re not at the gift giving stage, Jackson.” When her partner gestured towards her still steeping tea, she added, “It’s not like that, Sam. She asked me to stop by for a chat. I did. We discussed things. She assured me of her cooperation and that of Toby Bailey – who you have to admit has been helpful.”

  “Yes. Mr. Bailey’s been very helpful. Still, I can’t see you getting all buddy-buddy with old lady Zhou.”

  “She was just looking out for her client, Sam, and did a damn fine job. I’ve decided she’s…” Melba hated to say it. “She’s not too bad.”

  Sam sat up in his chair. “Now I know you’re sick.”

  She picked up the stack of messages on the corner of the desk. “I’m just trying to be fair.” She crumpled up a couple of pink slips and dropped them into her trash can. “I wonder if Lieberman made it in today.”

  “I know he did, Melba – bright and early. A little bird told me the Chief ran into him on the golf course this weekend.” Sam tapped the side of his nose. “Word is he bit him right on the ass, and you know the Chief bites hard.”

  “I do indeed. Wonder when they’ll be done with Guzman?”

  “I have no idea. Want me to call and see if I can find out?”

  “No, I’ll do it. Riley owes me a couple of favors.”

  “My great-aunt Louise, who was four times widowed under somewhat questionable circumstances, always did say it was good when a coroner owed you favors.”

  “You’re a nutcase, Sam. You didn’t have a great-aunt Louise,” she said good-naturedly as she picked up the phone. “And besides, it’s the assistant coroner who owes me favors. The actual coroner hates my guts.” She quickly dialed the interoffice number to the morgue. The extension rang several times. Frowning, she hit the release button and tried again.

  This time it only rang twice before it was picked up. “City morgue, Assistant Coroner Riley speaking.” He sounded out of breath.

  “Hey, Riley – it’s Reightman. How’s it going?”

  “Okay, I guess.” Riley didn’t sound too sure. "Are you alright, Detective?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  That was weird. “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Riley gave a relieved sigh, and then caught himself. “I…I was just being polite.

  “You sound a little frazzled this morning. Is Lieberman giving you shit?” Reightman heard him catch his breath.

  “How’d you guess?” he asked after a second.

  “I know Lieberman, Riley. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “I try not to, but man! He’s on a tear today. He wasn’t happy about me sending the Guzman samples out for toxicology reports. He’s been on my ass all morning about absolutely ever
ything.”

  “Just let it roll off your back if you can. It won’t last.”

  “That’s what I usually tell myself…Good morning, City Morgue. What can I help you with, Detective Reightman?” His voice was suddenly very formal. Lieberman must have walked in on the call.

  Reightman played along. “I was calling to check on the status of the Guzman autopsy. Any idea when the coroner will be done?”

  “Not for sure, ma’am. I think we should be finished by the end of the day.”

  “That would be good. I’ve had inquiries related to the release of the body, and I wanted to provide an update. You think you’ll be wrapped up and able to release it in the next day or so?

  “That should be fine, Detective.”

  “He still listening?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell him that you called.” She heard him sigh with relief. Lieberman must have gone. “Detective Reightman, he is being really, really weird.”

  “Weird how, Riley?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure. He’s jumpy and really secretive. He’s keeping all information related to this autopsy really close to his chest. He’s even sending me off on stupid errands when I should be helping. He’s not letting me do my job.”

  Reightman was silent, thinking about what that might mean. Lieberman was always a pain in the ass, but at least she didn’t have to deal with him on a daily basis. “It’s probably nothing, Riley. He’s been out sick for a day or so. Maybe he’s just not feeling well.”

  “That’s not it! I think he’s – Yes, ma’am.” He switched back into professional mode again. “Yes, we’ll call you as soon as we’re through, and have the results ready. It should be sometime later this afternoon. I’ll give you a call.” Riley hung up without even a goodbye.

  “What’s up, Melba?” Jackson asked when he noticed the crease in her forehead.

  “I don’t know. Things seem a little tense down in the morgue.” She tapped a pen against the edge of her desk.

  “Things are always tense down in the morgue, Melba. All those dead people don’t make for a restful work environment. “

  “You’d think they would, wouldn’t you? After all, being dead, they don’t talk all the time. Unlike you.”

  Jackson shook his head sadly at her feeble attempt to bait him. “Just finish your tea, Detective.” As Melba tilted the cup back and drained it, he asked, “What’s on the to-do list for today?”

  “Well, since I haven’t heard from Nancy yet, I have to assume the Chief is swamped and won’t be able to fit us in this morning. We could head down to Capital Street and interview the other shop owners. It’s a long shot, but they might have seen something.” She looked at him across the table. “We just can’t sit here working crossword puzzles all day.”

  Jackson put the puzzle book in his top desk drawer. “It’s Sudoku.”

  “Whatever.” She stood up, checked her weapon and pulled her purse out of the desk drawer. “Ready?”

  “Ready when you are,” Jackson confirmed as he pulled his jacket off of the back of his chair and slung it over his shoulder.

  As they made their way through the maze of hallways leading out of the building and to the parking lot, they happened upon Lieberman in the middle of a hushed and hurried conversation with Helliman. Both men looked up at their approach and Helliman scurried away, leaving Lieberman alone in the hall. The coroner didn’t look too good.

  “Doctor,” said Jackson. “Good to see you back at work. Hope you’re feeling better.”

  Reightman watched the fleshy doctor closely. A few drops of sweat were popping out on his forehead. She knew the feeling.

  “I’m fine, Detective Jackson.” He didn’t look fine, he looked a wreck. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

  “Yes, you do, Doctor,” Reightman decided to sharply remind him exactly how much he had to do today. “I’m anxiously awaiting your findings on the Guzman case, and I’d appreciate them sooner, rather than later. I can’t accept any further delays.”

  The doctor’s red face paled at her strident tone. “Well…yes – I’d better get back downstairs then. Excuse me.”

  They watched as he plodded down the hall. Sam grunted. “I think he’s scared of you, Reightman, but that doesn’t surprise me.” Sam shook his head slowly as he watched the coroner move down the hall. “Something makes me really hate that guy, Melba. Not sure why, but I just can’t stand him.”

  “I know what you mean, Sam. Something about him just rubs me the wrong way.” Reightman snorted in disgust. “Hey, I just remembered something. I need to pick up Guzman’s personal affects. I told Mr. Bailey I’d drop them by.”

  “Good thing you remembered before we left. I wouldn’t want to turn around again and come back for them. I don’t know if I could stand your driving for that long.”

  “Sam, you…are…an…ass. Besides, my driving’s not that bad.”

  “If you say so, Melba.”

  “I do say so, Sam. So shut up and come on.”

  About fifteen minutes after the two detectives left the building, a uniformed desk officer laid a white sealed envelope on Reightman’s desk, right on top of the remaining pink message slips.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ON MONDAY MORNING, Toby slept in. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He’d toss and turn, and when he finally did sleep, he’d wake a few hours later from a bad dream or maybe just restless energy. Sunday night he’d only been able to drift down into sleep sometime after two in the morning. He was still asleep – dreaming of the past.

  “Keep your eyes shut, Toby Bailey.”

  “But I’m blindfolded. I couldn’t see even if I did open ‘em,” Toby protested.

  “Well, be that as it may…don’t let me catch you peaking!” Gram admonished as Geri led him by the hand, laughing at Toby’s awkward progress. He kept his eyes shut, even though he didn’t care for surprises. But, to make his Grams happy, he’d play along.

  Geri carefully pulled him along, telling him when there was a rock or uneven patch in the gravel driveway and keeping him from stumbling too badly. Finally, after what seemed a long time, they stopped. He felt Geri’s hands on his shoulders, turning him around.

  “Alright Toby Bailey, you can take the blindfold off!” Grams called out, giving him permission to look.

  He carefully slipped the knotted dish towel from his eyes and pulled it over his nose and down around his neck. He opened his eyes, blinking in the sudden brightness of the afternoon sunlight. He focused his eyes and then stared at what was in front of him.

  “Don’t you like it? Grams asked him after a minute, sounding worried. “If you don’t, you can blame Geri here, since he helped pick it out.”

  Sitting at the end of the gravel driveway right in front of the detached garage where Grams parked her car, was…his car?

  Toby walked over to the four-door sedan, running his hands down the metallic silver sides. He walked all the way around before he looked back at Grams and Geri. “Is this for me?”

  “Of course it is, Toby!” After a moment had passed where he didn’t say anything, Grams added “It’s a used car. Didn’t see any point in buying a brand new one. Besides, your Gramps wouldn’t have approved. He always said a low mileage used car was a better deal, because it had already proven its worth, plus the tags didn’t cost as much. It’s pretty nice though. It’ll do what’s needed.”

  “What do you mean, Grams?” he asked, not understanding.

  “It will take you away when it’s time for you to go, and bring you back again whenever you need to be here, at home. Even just for a little bit…”

  …and the dream shifted…

  “What do you want to do for a living Geri? I mean, when the summer is over.” They were sitting at a picnic table under a big pin oak tree in the city park. Geri twirled a leafy twig in his hands.

  “Don’t know. I guess I haven’t thought about it much.”

  “Don’t you think it i
s time to think about it? It’s gonna’ be August in another ten days. Summer is more than half over.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Are you planning to go back to Florida?” Toby asked, afraid to know, but having to know all at the same time.

  “No!” Geri threw down the twig with force. A few of the narrow dark green leaves flew off the now broken twig and lay in the dirt. “I’ll never go back there.” He jumped out of his seat and took off towards the pond.

  Toby stood up and brushed off his shorts. He made his way slowly down to the water’s edge, where Geri sat on a rock pitching pebbles into the water. Each time a pebble hit with a ‘plonk’ little ripples of water ran across the pond’s surface. Geri waited until the water stilled before throwing in another. Toby crouched down near the water and scooped up a hand of pebbles for himself. He joined his friend in tossing a pebble and then watching the ripples.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asked without looking at Geri. “About why you won’t ever go back there.”

  “No.” Plonk. Ripple. “Well, maybe.” Geri picked up a few more small rocks. “There’s nothing for me back there.”

  Plonk.

  ”My mom doesn’t want me – never really did,” he said dejectedly, keeping his face turned toward the pond. “The man she’s been with for the last six years is a mean bastard. Unlike her, he wants me too much ...if you know what I mean.”

  Plonk. Ripple…plonk.

  “He started to get more insistent a few months ago, making suggestive comments and touching me all the time. One night when my mom was out scoring a hit of something, I was trying to fix some dinner, and he…came up behind me. Before I knew it, he managed to grab my arms and twisted me down to the floor. He held me down on the scuffed linoleum floor and he…..”