Fortunately for me, I had an alibi.
“I was out on a date with a beautiful young woman,” I said. “Don’t be jealous.”
“I’ll try to contain my lamentations of envy,” he said. “This beautiful young woman with obvious poor taste got a name?”
I gave him Ginny’s name, home address, and work and cell numbers. As usual, Glenn did not write this information down. Maybe Glenn was a Metahuman who never forgot anything he heard. Perhaps his brain was expanding as it overflowed with information, making his eyes bulge.
“I picked Ginny up at her place at 6:30 p.m.,” I said. “We had dinner reservations at that Burmese place on Water Street at 7:15 p.m. The maître d’ can no doubt confirm I was there then. How could he have missed someone as dashing I?”
Glenn made a face.
“How indeed?” he said. “What time did you leave?”
“Ginny and I left the restaurant sometime after 9 p.m. We went back to her place. I spent the night there and returned to my own home around 7 a.m. today.”
“Let me guess,” Glenn said with a smirk. “You and Ginny spent the night watching Spanish soap operas and telling each other how dreamy the male actors were.” Though the smirk was not quite a smile, it was close. I was not sure I had ever seen Glenn smile before. I did not think he knew how. I thought the smirk might make his face crack and peel away like an eggshell.
“Ginny said someone was dreamy, all right. But, she wasn’t talking about a soap star,” I said.
Glenn rolled his prominent eyes.
“Before you go,” Glenn said in obvious dismissal, “is there anything you can do to help us sort out this mess?”
“I’ve told you everything I can,” I said. At any rate, I had told him everything I was prepared to tell him at that point.
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, you know—” George waggled his fingers in front of himself like he was putting a hex on someone.
My superheroic dignity was wounded.
“I don’t wave my hands around like that,” I protested. “I’m a superhero, not a magician.”
CHAPTER 13
After leaving George’s apartment, I called Eileen from the car. She was in her office, so I immediately drove to see her. I wanted to find out if she had anything to do with George’s death.
“Oh my God,” Eileen said when I told her. She clasped her hands to her mouth. Her eyes began to well up with tears. If Eileen already knew of George’s death and was acting like she did not, she was doing a mighty fine job of it. I was partially convinced she had nothing to do with George’s death simply from her reaction to it.
We were sitting in her university office. She was behind her desk and I was in one of the chairs in front of it. Eileen reached for a box of tissues that sat on the corner of her desk. She wiped her eyes. Her efforts were to little avail, though, as she was weeping freely then.
“Do the police know who did this to him?” she asked.
“No. But, they are going to be taking a hard look at everyone who was being blackmailed by George. Those people are the ones with the obvious motive,” I said. I paused, looking at Eileen carefully to gauge her reaction. “That includes you.”
“Me?” Eileen seemed genuinely shocked at the suggestion. “I had nothing to do with George’s death. Yes, I wanted him to stop threatening me, but I didn’t want this.” She continued to cry and wipe her eyes. She shook her head. “You know, it’s crazy: I love my husband and I hated what George was trying to do to me. And I know I was not the only woman he was sleeping with. But, I kind of loved George too. I can’t believe he’s dead!”
Eileen closed her eyes and lowered her head. Eileen’s crying degenerated into sobs, low gut-wrenching half-moans that shook her shoulders and touched my heart. I had seen a lot of people grieve over the years. Too many. Eileen’s grief appeared genuine. Perhaps it was genuine even if she had been involved in George’s murder, though. The ability to kill did not preclude the ability to grieve over the killed. People were complicated creatures.
I waited a while for Eileen to get herself together. I felt like a voyeur to her sorrow. There were many things I loved about being a Hero and a detective. This was not one of them.
After a while Eileen composed herself. She was a mess. Her make-up was running and her eyes were red.
“I have to ask this,” I said. “Because, if I don’t, the police will. Did you have anything to do with George’s death?”
Eileen looked shocked.
“Of course not!” she said. “Do they think I did?”
I shook my head.
“Right now, the police have no idea you are connected to this thing. I refused to tell them. Also, the evidence I told you about I found in George’s apartment is gone, presumably taken by his killer. But, the lead detective on this thing is smart and dogged. I have little doubt that eventually he’ll tie you to this,” I said. “Where were you last night when George was shot?”
“I was giving a speech to a group of university donors,” she said. “The event started at 6:30 p.m., and I did not wind up getting out of there until almost midnight. Literally hundreds of people saw me there.”
If that was true, Eileen could not have shot George.
“What about your husband?” I asked.
“Paul? He didn’t know anything about me and George. I haven’t told him. He couldn’t have shot George,” Eileen said.
“It wouldn’t be the first time a husband was aware of something the wife didn’t know about,” I said. “So, where was he last night?”
“Paul came with me to the event last night. He was my date. We drove over and left there together,” she said.
We both fell silent for bit. I would check into Eileen story. If I had to put money on it, though, I would bet she was telling the truth. I would not go so far as to say Eileen was not capable of killing someone. I had learned over the years that people are capable of doing almost anything under the right circumstances. But, my gut was telling me Eileen had not done this.
After a short time, Eileen spoke again.
“So is your involvement in this over?” she asked.
I shrugged.
“You hired me to keep George from blackmailing you. Since George is dead, there does not seem to be anything more for me to do,” I said.
“Do you think the police will find his killer?”
I shrugged again. It seemed to be all I was good for lately.
“Like I said, the detective in charge of the investigation is good at what he does. But, almost a third of murders go unsolved,” I said.
Eileen nodded thoughtfully. She had shoved her shock and grief temporarily to the side. Now she was a calm executive assessing a situation.
“And what are the chances of my name coming up in the course of the police’s investigation of George’s murder?” she asked.
“The chances of them getting your name from me are zero,” I said. “But, unless Detective Pearson and his men make an arrest soon, they will poke around in George’s life looking for leads. Eventually they’ll talk to somebody who saw you two together. It might take a while, but it will happen.”
“That is kind of what I thought,” Eileen said. “So, it is in my best interest to see George’s killer’s found as soon as possible. Plus, I did care for him. Even though he was trying to extort money from me, I feel like I owe it to him to help find his killer. If I continue to pay you, will you stay on to help catch the killer?”
I thought of the two men who had tried to scare me into staying away from George. I did not like being told what to do. Besides, I did not want anyone to think I could be scared off of something. It was bad for business. More importantly, it was bad for my own self-regard.
I also thought of George and how much I had liked him. I thought about how I did not like to walk away from an unresolved situation. Finally, I thought about how, had Eileen not offered to pay me to find George’s killer, I would have done it for free.
“Sure
,” I said.
CHAPTER 14
I checked out Eileen’s story. She had been telling me the truth. She and her husband had been at an event with hundreds of people the night George had been shot. Talking to each and every one of the people in attendance would have been impossible, not to mention overkill. But, I did speak to enough of them to verify Eileen and Paul had been at the event the entire time. Unless Eileen had hired someone to do the dirty work for her, she was not involved with George’s death.
So, I needed to look for George’s killer elsewhere. I decided to start with David Hoff, the guy who owned the car Laurel and Hardy had driven to my office the day they unsuccessfully tried to scare me away from George.
I already had Hoff’s address, so I did not have to use my almost supernatural detection skills to locate him. I drove to his address early one afternoon. It was located on the outskirts of the city in an industrial area full of warehouses and small factories.
I pulled into an unpaved parking lot at the address. In front of me was a trailer sitting on blocks in the middle of a small field. Construction equipment was scattered through the field. A tall chain-link fence with razor wire on the top of it surrounded the field. A sign read Hoff Contracting, Inc. with the address I had gotten through running Laurel and Hardy’s license plate printed on the bottom. My keenly honed detective abilities told me I was in the right place.
I got out of my car. There was a small gate built into the fence. I opened it and went inside. I walked to the trailer in the middle of the field. I stretched out my awareness. My powers told me there was only one person inside.
I knocked on the trailer door.
“It’s open,” came a man’s gruff voice.
I opened the door and stepped up the makeshift steps into the trailer. The interior of the trailer was all one big room. Ahead of me and slightly to the right was a cheap looking wooden desk with three folding chairs in front of it. Behind the desk sat a man who looked like an extra in a Mafia movie. He was big and bulky, like a bear. His head looked like a big block of softened butter. He had a florid face with a red nose. The broken capillaries in his nose were a sure sign of years of over-drinking. He had greasy black hair that was slightly balding on the top.
The man peered at me suspiciously.
“What do you want?” he said. What a rude welcome. For all he knew, I was a potential customer for his company. Customer service was a dying art.
“Are you David Hoff?” I asked.
“Who wants to know?” he said. I took that as a yes.
“My name is Truman Lord,” I said. “Two men who I suspect work for you drove to my office in a car registered to you and tried to scare me. They were unsuccessful. I’m here to ask why you sent them to me.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” the man said. “I never heard of Truman Lord and I didn’t send men to do anything to anybody.” His lips said he didn’t know who I was, but his eyes said he did. They had widened slightly in recognition when I said my name.
His eyes were not the only thing that moved. His right arm was moving slightly. He was trying to stealthily open the top right drawer of the desk.
I stepped forward quickly. In an instant I was behind the desk to the man’s right. With my left hand, I grabbed the back of the man’s neck. I pushed him forward, slamming his head against the desk. At the same time, I shoved my hip against the partially opened desk drawer. It hurt my hip to do so, but it hurt the man’s hand worse as his hand was halfway inside of the drawer. The drawer slammed shut on his hand. The man howled in pain. I wasn’t sure what had hurt him more, having his hand caught in the desk or having his head slammed on top of the desk. I did not care. What I cared about was not getting shot. I suspected the man had been reaching for a gun in that drawer.
The man struggled to stand as I continued to hold his head down and to keep his hand wedged in the partially closed desk drawer. Still holding his neck down, I took a step back to give myself room. Before the man could free his hand, I punched him with my right fist. Though I was at the wrong angle to put my full weight into it, it was still a hard jab to his lower ribcage. I was aiming for a liver shot to temporarily incapacitate him.
My aim was true. The man let out a wet groan that sounded like air escaping from a slashed tire. Though he was still struggling weakly, he was no longer trying to get to his feet.
Still holding the back of the man’s head, I grabbed his right wrist and pulled his hand free from the drawer. I then opened the drawer and glanced inside. As I guessed, a gun was there. I grabbed it. I flicked on the safety with my free hand and slipped the gun into my pocket.
I grabbed the man’s right arm and twisted it up behind his back while I continued to hold his neck down. He howled again and squirmed weakly in my grasp.
“Were you raised in a zoo? Where in the world did you learn manners?” I asked. “I come in to ask a few simple questions, and you try to pull a gun on me. What is the world coming to?” The man simply groaned in pain again and did not answer. I did not mind. It was a rhetorical question anyway.
“Let’s start over,” I said. “Are you David Hoff?” It was no rhetorical question this time. The man still did not respond, though. His face was turned to the side. His lips opened and closed like that of a fish out of water. I increased the upward pressure on his right arm a bit. I lifted his head up by his neck some, and then slammed his head back down on the top of the desk with a loud thump. The man cried out again.
“I can do this all day,” I said. “Are you David Hoff?”
The man nodded his head. His free left arm was reaching back and weakly clutching at my clothes. Both my own gun and the one I had confiscated from the man were on the right side of my body, so his left hand did not concern me overly.
“Did you send two men to my office a few days ago?” I asked.
The man nodded yes again.
“Why?” I demanded.
This time the man shook his head in silent refusal. I thumped his head against the desk again. He still shook his head.
What was an inquisitive detective with unanswered questions to do? I had twisted David’s arm as hard as I dared without risking breaking it. Also, I was worried if I kept slamming his head against the desk, I would seriously hurt him. That was the problem with doing what I did while still following the rules that I did: unless my life or that of another was in danger, I tried to avoid seriously hurting people. Yet, I still wanted people to think I was capable of seriously hurting them. If they did not, they would never tell me anything. The threat of violence was a potent weapon.
Still holding the man, I glanced around the trailer, looking for something to help me force David to talk. To the left of us against the back wall was a countertop. A tiny refrigerator was on the floor. Above it was a sink and a faucet. The sink was full of stale, filthy water and a few dishes. My powers had made me vaguely aware of the water when I entered the trailer, but I had been too busy making sure I did not get shot to be fully conscious of it before.
I triggered my powers, increasing the temperature of the standing water in the sink. Within seconds, the water was boiling.
I dragged David to his feet. He was a big man, but I was much stronger than he. I did not work out as much as I did for show. Plus, I had leverage over David and he was still reeling from my punch to his liver and the blows to his head.
I wrestled David over to the sink. I bent him over it and started to lower his head towards the boiling water. David’s struggling in my grasp intensified.
“I’m going to ask you again,” I said as I held David’s head over the boiling water. The steam hitting his face must have hurt like hell. “If you don’t answer this time, I’m going to boil your head like it’s a lobster. Why did you send your men to my office?”
“George Chase,” David gasped. “Someone hired me to get you off his back.”
“Did you have anything to do with George’s murder?” I asked.
The
man stopped struggling in my arms for a moment.
“Chase is dead?” David said. He sounded genuinely surprised. “I had nothing to do with that!”
David sounded like he was telling me the truth, but I made it a point to never take the word of someone who tried to pull a gun on me at face value.
“Who hired you?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you,” the man gasped. “Let me up. You’re burning my face!”
I sighed. I pushed David’s face further towards the roiling surface of the water. He screamed.
“I can’t tell you!” he cried again. “She’ll kill me!”
“I would worry more about me if I were you,” I said. “Give me the name.”
“I can’t! She’ll kill me!” he said. He repeated it over and over like it was a mantra. Whoever “she” was, David was more afraid of her than he was of me sticking his head into boiling water. That had been true of me with my mother back when she was still living, but somehow I did not think David was talking about her.
Short of actually dunking David’s head into the water, it was clear he was not going to give up the name of the woman. I stopped using my powers on the water. It was like removing a boiling pot from a stove. The water immediately stopped boiling, though it was still hot. I let go of David and took a few quick steps back in case David was inclined to try something. David slumped against the counter. He turned partially towards me. His face was redder than usual due to exertion, fear, and steam.
I looked David in the eye.
“If you or your men ever come after me again, I’ll be back. If I find out you’ve lied to me, I’ll be back. And the next time, I won’t just give you a steam bath,” I said.
David panted as he leaned against the counter. He nodded his head weakly. The fight was gone out of him. Even so, I did not turn my back to him as I stepped back towards the door. Turning your back on an opponent was a good way to get shot or stabbed. I opened the door while still keeping an eye on David. Though David was a big man, he now seemed small. It was as if he had shrunk in on himself.
Superhero Detective Series (Book 1): Superhero Detective For Hire Page 9