Sick Man

by Paul Spencer

  “Okay, how’s this? Elder Robbins was murdered Thursday night. I spent the last couple of days locked up because the police thought I did it. It’s hard to call you from a jail cell.”

  “Oh my god! Seriously? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Thank goodness. Hey, I found out more about the church. Those faith healing deaths might have been the tip of the iceberg. Can we get together soon and talk?”

  “Sure,” I said. Seeing Linda again appealed to me, but I still had Robin on my mind. “I’m beat right now. How about dinner tomorrow?”

  “That sounds great.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you when I get off work.”

  We arrived back at my place and headed inside. I was looking forward to a nice, long, hot shower. I needed to wash the Detention Center funk off me. Two days in a cell might not sound like much, but it leaves a mark. I opened my apartment door. What I saw made me stop suddenly, and Tony bumped into my back.

  “What is it, man?”

  “Look,” I said, and pointed at the carpet in front of me. There was another Holman’s coaster on the floor.

  “Holy shit! Is there something written on it?” Tony reached for the coaster, but I put an arm out to stop him.

  “Don’t touch it.”

  I squatted down, slid my key under the edge of the coaster, and flipped it over. Sure enough, there was a message on the back. The handwriting was the same, but there were four words this time.

  “I’m coming for you.”

  My knees went weak, and I put out a hand to steady myself. Larsen wasn’t backing off after all. I took a deep breath.

  Tony pushed past me and went over to the desk. “I’ve gotta see what we got. This could be huge.”

  While he worked at the keyboard, I took a closer look at the coaster. There was a beer stain on the back, as though it had been used the wrong way up at some point. I used the key to flip it face up again. There was a dark red mark on one corner. Not blood – even fresh blood would have been darker. I didn’t know what it could be, though.

  “Mick, check this out,” Tony said.

  I stood up and looked over his shoulder at the screen. The black and white footage showed someone coming down the hall towards my apartment, moving in jerky one-second increments. He was medium height, squat, dressed in jeans and a dark leather biker jacket. He wore sunglasses and a knit cap, but I could still see a good part of his face. He looked familiar. When he reached my door, he took something out of his pocket and messed with the lock. After a moment, he opened my door and came inside. A short while later he reappeared. He took something out of his pocket, put it on the floor, then closed the door. He turned and went back down the hall, seemingly unhurried and calm. As he walked away, I saw that he wore an old backpack. One strap had obviously broken at some point, because it was held together by what looked like checkerboard pattern duct tape.

  “What the hell was that about?” Tony said.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “If he wanted to kill me, and he’s that good with locks, why didn’t he just let himself in and wait for me to come home?”

  “Beats me. Maybe he didn’t want to do it here. Maybe he was afraid of getting caught.”

  “No, that’s not it. He could have done it quietly enough if he wanted to.” While I was saying that, my imagination had come up with a dozen ways for the intruder to lay in wait and kill me silently. Then another thought occurred to me.

  “Tony, what’s the timestamp on that video?”

  Tony looked at the screen. “Saturday. A little after one AM.”

  “That’s why he didn’t wait. He knew I wasn’t coming home.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Larsen always seems to be one step ahead of us. He knew I was locked up, and that I wouldn’t be home for a while. There’s something going on, Tony. Some connection between Larsen and the investigation. How else could he know I wouldn’t be home?”

  “That sounds paranoid, but there’s enough crazy shit going on right now that you might just be right. So why did he come here?”

  “It’s got to be related to why Larsen wants me dead. I’ll bet he came looking for whatever it is that Larsen thinks I have on him.”

  “So what’s missing?”

  “I’m about to find out. Sit down. This might take a while.”

  I went through my apartment carefully. I opened every drawer, searched in my closet, checked every little hiding place I could think of. Even though my place was tiny, it took me almost half an hour. Eventually, I gave up.

  “Nothing missing that I can see,” I said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Tony said. “I watched the video again a couple more times while you were searching. He was in here less than two minutes. Unless he knew exactly where to look for something, I don’t know what he could have taken. Watch.”

  Tony beckoned me over, and I looked at the screen. Sure enough, the timer at the bottom left of the picture advanced one minute fifty five seconds during the time the intruder was in my place. Then something else occurred to me.

  “Run the video again,” I said. “Start from where he arrives at my door.”

  Tony messed with the mouse, and we watched the intruder again. When he was closest to my door, right before he opened it, I pointed to the screen.

  “Stop it there.”

  Tony hit the mouse again, and the video paused.

  “Does he look familiar to you?” I said

  “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “I’ll give you a clue. Kissers.”

  “Shit, you’re right. It’s that dude Larsen was with when we first went to the church. The one with the wife and kids.”

  “Yeah, I think so,” I said.

  “This is great! Now we know Larsen is behind it all. Not that we needed proof.”

  “I guess I should call Buchanan.”

  “You should be happy, man. This is a big break.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.”

  “Wait,” Tony said “Before you make the call, have you got a flash drive?”

  “There should be a couple in the desk drawer. Why?”

  Tony didn’t answer. He opened the drawer, grabbed a couple of flash drives, and plugged them in to the USB ports on the side of the laptop. He worked at the keyboard for a moment, then pulled the flash drives out. He pocketed one and tossed the other to me.

  “Okay, now we’ve both got copies of the video. Make the call.”

  I took out my phone and dialed. Buchanan answered quickly.

  “Buchanan here. Who is this?”

  “Detective Buchanan, it’s Mick Wray. I need to talk to you. I think I have something you’ll want to see.”

  “What is it now? I’m busy, so make it quick.”

  “Someone just left me another message. And I have him on video.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. We hooked another computer up to the web cam in my door. Caught the guy leaving another note for me.”

  “When?”

  “Early Saturday morning.”

  “You’re home now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I’m coming over. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t touch anything.”

  “It’s my apartment –” I started to say, but he had already hung up.

  “Let’s run the video a couple more times before he gets here,” I said, “See if we can find anything else.”

  Tony wound the video back to just before ten fifteen, and we watched again as the mystery caller came and put the coaster under my door. I couldn’t believe how calm and confident he seemed. No nervous glances, no hurried movements. He just walked to my door, picked the lock, and came in side, as though burgling an apartment and leaving death threats was the most normal thing in the world. That worried me more than any message could.

  We made it through the video another three times without noticing anything else before I heard a knock on my door. I opened it, to see Buc
hanan and Malone standing outside. I held out a hand to stop them from coming in.

  “Be careful,” I said. “The coaster is right there, where we found it.”

  Buchanan pulled on rubber gloves and knelt down to examine the coaster. He turned it over a couple of times, then put it in an evidence bag.

  “That’s it?” he said. “He didn’t leave anything else?”

  “No, that’s it.”

  “Okay, show me the video.” He came into the apartment. Malone followed him, then did a double-take when he saw Tony at my desk.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” he snapped.

  “I’m just helping a friend, Detective,” Tony said. “Is there a law against that?”

  “I told you to stay away from this case, da Costa.” He pointed at me. “You don’t want to be standing too close to this guy when the shit starts to fly. You might end up back out at Snake River penitentiary with your beaner buddies.”

  Tony stood up sharply. “I don’t need to –”

  “Okay, okay,” Buchanan said, and held his palms up. “Knock it off, both of you. Just show us the video.”

  Tony frowned, then sat back down and cued up the video. We watched it through in silence.

  “How do we know it wasn’t just you or da Costa on that video?” Malone said when it was done.

  “Because the guy was white and half my size,” I said. “I think that rules us both out.”

  “You paid one of your drinking buddies five bucks to walk down a hall. I’m not buying it.”

  “Jesus Christ, Malone. We’re trying to help you here.”

  “That’s enough,” Buchanan said. He waved his hand at the laptop. “Play it again.”

  Tony restarted the video. When we got to the part where the guy walked away from my door, Buchanan pointed at the screen.

  “Pause it there.”

  Tony did so. Buchanan leaned in and took a close look at the backpack. “That’s interesting,” he said, and tapped the screen.

  “What’s interesting?” I said.

  “That duct tape on his backpack. Same pattern as the tape used on Jones and Robbins.”

  “And there’s more,” I said. “You know how you were busting my balls about being at the Servants of Christ Church on Tuesday? Well, guess what. We saw this guy talking to Arnold Larsen.”

  “Right,” Malone said. “Convenient for you, huh, Mick?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Think about it, genius. Robbins is dead. We have multiple witnesses saying you threatened him. We have you on video stalking his church the night he died. And now you want us to take your word that this guy is behind it?”

  “What about the death threats?”

  “Yeah, what about them? Notes written on Holman’s coasters. You spend more time there than you do in your apartment. I told you before. At least you could have written them on something less obvious.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! What motive could I possibly have for killing Robbins?” I turned to Buchanan, my arms spread wide. “Don’t tell me you believe this horseshit?”

  “We’re going to need a copy of that video file,” he said.

  “Is that it?”

  “It’s not looking good for you, Mick. Now give me the computer.”

  “No, fuck that. Here’s the video,” I said, and handed him one of the flash drives. “The computer stays. Now get out.”

  Buchanan glared at me. “Don’t push your luck. We know where to find you.”

  “Maybe I’m not the one you should be looking for.”

  I held the door open and waved them towards it. They both gave me their best filthy look, but they left. I slammed the door behind them.

  “Fuck, this is like some crazy nightmare,” I said. I headed for the fridge. “You want a beer?”

  “Sure,” Tony replied.

  I grabbed two bottles from the fridge and sat on the couch. Tony came over and sat at the other end, and I handed one of the bottles to him.

  “What now?” he said.

  “First we need to get a copy of that video to Casey.”

  “I can do that in the morning. What else?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You know what? I don’t even know any more. My plan is to have a couple of beers, go to bed, go to work in the morning, and have dinner with Linda tomorrow night. All I know for sure is that some crazy shit will come along and fuck that plan up.”

  Chapter 27 – I Don’t Like Mondays

  I’ve never been a fan of alarm clocks, and Monday morning did nothing to change my view. I slapped the alarm button to shut off the screeching, then sat up and rubbed my face. The tail end of a vaguely pleasant dream slipped out of my grasp as the cold morning pulled me into the waking world. I stretched, got out of bed, and headed for the bathroom.

  How the hell do regular people function in the mornings? To me, the simple act of getting ready for work in the morning felt like breaking rocks on a chain gang. I ran a hot shower and stood under it, letting the stinging water warm me and wake me at the same time. I washed, shut off the water, and got out. I tried to shave, but my shaky hands and the fogged-up mirror meant that I cut myself with every other stroke. In the end I decided to skip it. After all, it’s not like fashion was a high priority where I worked.

  The drive down to work was uneventful, which was fine with me. Spending the weekend locked up doesn’t exactly leave you fresh for the week ahead. Still, I made it on time and managed to punch in and get through an hour or two of bolting things together without hurting myself. Times like this, it helped to have a job that wasn’t mentally demanding.

  I finished up the torque checks on one assembly and slid it down the line. Before I could grab the next one, my supervisor walked over to me.

  “Hey Mick,” he said, “do you have a minute? I need to talk to you.” He didn’t meet my eye.

  “Sure, Dave. What’s up?”

  “Let’s go in my office, okay?” He turned and walked away, again without looking at me.

  I followed Dave over to his office, which was really just a desk under the stairs up to the management suite, partitioned off from the factory floor by a couple of filing cabinets. Dave leaned on the edge of his desk and folded his arms.

  “Where were you on Friday?” he said.

  I thought about feigning illness again, but I just couldn’t do it. “Look, I’m sorry about that. I’ve had some personal stuff going on. It should be done now, though.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I don’t want to do this, Mick, but I’ve got to let you go.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Repeated absenteeism.” He grabbed an envelope from his desk and handed it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your final paycheck. Sorry, Mick.”

  “I don’t get it. I know I missed a couple of days last week, but that’s nothing compared to some of those lazy assholes.” I waved my arm at the factory floor.

  “It wasn’t my decision.” Dave sighed and pushed himself up from the desk. “If I had my way, you’d still be working here. When you get an interview for your next job, tell them to call me. I’ll give you a good reference.”

  He held out his hand.

  I wanted to punch him. Common sense prevailed. I shook his hand and headed for the locker room. On my way out I tossed my hard hat and gloves in the corner. I didn’t stop at my locker. There wasn’t anything in it that I particularly wanted to keep.

  I drove home in shock. Something must have happened since Friday. I knew I had been on thin ice, but I showed up Monday like a good soldier. What had changed? Maybe it was just some management whim, or petty ass-covering. I couldn’t help but think it was more than that, though. Did someone know I was in trouble with the law? All I knew was that I had to get another job quickly, or I’d be out on the street.

  Driving north up 99, I took out my phone and called Tony.

  “Hey Mick, what’s up?”


  “I just got fired.”

  “You’re shitting me!”

  “I wish I was. Meet me at Holman’s?”

  Tony hesitated. “It’s early, don’t you think?”

  “Who gives a shit?” I said. “It’s not like I’ve got to go to work tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, okay, see you there.”

  I hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Jesus, what a shitty Monday. At least now there was nothing to stop me spending my time making damn sure the police caught whoever had killed Aaron and Robbins. If I could put that mess behind me, maybe I could get another job and get on with my life.

  I drove up through inner Southeast, making good time in the light traffic. It’s amazing how easily you can get around a city when most people are at work. I turned right off Burnside onto 28th. There weren’t any spots outside Holman’s, so I turned onto Ankeny and looked for a spot. As I did, Tony’s car came the other way. We waved at each other, then I parallel parked in a spot across the street from my apartment. I shook my head. Something had gone my way today.

  I grabbed my phone, got out of the car and locked it, and headed for Holman’s. Then something crashed into the back of my head and the world went black.

  Chapter 28 - Headache

  I came to lying on something cold and hard. Blinding pain coursed through my head, so strong I couldn’t think. The back of my head felt like a bomb site, and my mouth tasted of blood. I didn’t dare open my eyes. I tried to curl into a ball, but my arms weren’t moving right. Something held them behind my back. My legs were stuck together too, and that cold hard floor was vibrating. Something was stuck over my mouth. Realization forced its way through the haze of pain. I was in a moving vehicle, gagged and bound hand and foot.

  I gathered up the courage to open my eyes. Fortunately, it was dark. Cracks of light appeared at the edges of blacked-out windows, providing just enough illumination for me to make out my surroundings. The back of a van, stripped bare. We hit a bump of some sort, and my head slammed into the metal floor. A fresh rose of pain bloomed between my ears.

  I tried to sit up. It was difficult without my arms to help me, but I managed it. Just as I did, we turned a corner and I toppled over. My head hit the floor again. I let out a muffled shout, then lay there for a moment, breathing hard through my nose as pain rattled my skull. When my head had cleared enough, I struggled into a sitting position again, and scooted over to press my back against the side of the van. Then I slid along until I came to a corner, and wedged myself in so that I wouldn’t topple the next time we took a turn.