To Annie
One of the joys granted a writer is the dedication of a completed work.I have written poems to express my love and stories to entertain and amuse. I have given them with happiness to whomever inspired me. Perhaps I have been fortunate in having so many different Muses in my life although my heart says no whenever I must find another.
This is dedicated to all the Annie’s of the world. To all the future muses for all the future writers. It is dedicated especially to those muses who, for whatever sad reason, never have the chance to weave their magic, like Annie.
Chapter 1
I hate St. Patrick's Day. I hope I never see another one. Knowing what I now know, I can thank the spirits that this past one just may be my last.Rachel, my favorite beertender, was quite disturbed that I wanted to buy a bottle of her best vodka. I suppose my social faux pas of buying Russian when I should be buying Irish bothered her but not as much as her knowledge that it had been nearly seven years since my last vodka spree and there I was looking for a whole jug. I suppose I should point out that I'm an alcoholic. To her, I was an alcoholic whose countless meetings and milestones were apparently forgotten. There also could have been something in my appearance that alarmed her because I had started to become curmudgeonly.
I seemed to be more argumentative; especially about the parasites that infest our capitol cities; and I paid less attention to my attire and hair length. I had also begun whining about illegal aliens, "woke" stupidity and just about every other story that hit the front page or evening news. That’s on top of my existing whines and rants.
You tend to get that way spending your formative years being a goalie. Not playing goal; like some kind of a job. I mean being a goalie. It was this and spending the ensuing forty-odd years living in the mountains having minimal contact with my fellow residents. Generally, I only met my neighbors at the town hall and dump… err ... transfer station. Plus; if it isn't winter, it's tourist season; July and a part of August; so everyone is lying low, trying to avoid the flat landers (tourists).
When people do meet in Dunkertown, they usually discuss what they say to their co-workers, children and/or animals. It's a sign that you're getting curmudgeonly if you also relate what the animals and kids said in return. Even more so if you talked about the ensuing argument and I was often telling Rachel how void of logic my cat Scooter was.
Well, she finally sold me the bottle after I promised her that I had no intention of drinking it or even opening it. At least not on that night.
It probably sounds strange for an alcoholic to hang around a bar buying drinks but Rachel was the only woman I ever remember feeling truly comfortable talking with and just being around. I suppose if I'd been a little younger; in better shape; a little less ugly or whatever, I might have dared to ask her out.
Fortunately for her and us, I spared myself the humiliation and her the joy/sorrow of that potentially horrific moment. I'm sure it preserved our friendship. I guess that's why I spent large sums of money on tomato juice with a stick of celery in it. But I did appreciate someone to talk to that didn't chew on my slippers or cough up a hairball at the most inopportune moment.
At least Rachel hadn't yet.
Mostly, I felt safe knowing that if I ever had thoughts of drinking, she is the one person who could probably have talked me out of it.
Not my step brother; Wayne from Maine as he's known in the fishing villages all along the east coast. It would certainly not be my sponsor, Janet. Not even Jay; my lifelong hockey pal who twice tried to talk me out of marriage and at least once out of suicide although I'm still not sure I've forgiven him for his failures on the former or his success on the latter.
But Rachel could probably have talked me out of or into just about anything.
However, that holiday was one of those nights when I barely noticed her and her mystical powers over me were temporarily suspended. I was simply there to think. While all those ideas were dancing in my head, I took a sip of my Virgin Mary {there, I said it} and finished scrawling a handwritten label for the bottle she sold me and taped it across the front. I asked Rachel to find a nice far away spot on the shelf and leave it there until it was time to open it up. All it said in bold letters was Annie. Not
Annie preferred that name above all the others and the more times we met convinced me that she was completely right. Most Annie’s I've met, regardless of age, have that enticing teenage sparkle in their eyes and their "I'm going to live forever" demeanor is what makes people want to be around them. They exude a lust for life. Age, gender, politics all seem irrelevant in their presence. This Annie earned money in the summer by singing at most of the festivals in the surrounding counties. Singing is really not appropriate. She had the most beautiful a capella voice I'd ever heard. I'm sure that in my drinking days I had visited most of the Irish/English/Scottish/Welsh pubs in the Northeast and the Maritimes and I never heard a voice as clear or able to pluck at your heart. Her rendition of 'Ready for the Storm' always brought everyone to tears. Even the most curmudgeonly of us.
Jay's niece Annie also possessed that truly disarming naiveté that is so rare in children these days. Did I tell you I am also getting cynical? On one hand, she could explain the theory of relativity; at least some of it. On the other, she couldn't grasp ethnic cleansing or why rape wasn't an act of sex.
After Annie's real parents divorced, she and her mother moved in a few roads away from Jay. Like I said, I had not met her that many times but since it was right in the middle of the hockey season, we bumped into each other more often and she kind of grew on me. Jay had a daughter that was close in age and the cousins ended up in some of the same classes at high school. I also got the impression that Annie's home life left something to be desired but since Jay's sister; her mother; and I never got along it wasn't a topic I was willing to bring up. So the girls were happy to have a cold soda and listen to our hockey tales, again and again. One time, each showed us their new tattoo, Annie chose a sunset while Lisha chose the sunrise. It was a way they could be ‘sisters’. Had the tattoos been a little lower on their abdomens, I would have been unable to see them without considering myself a pervert. Jay seemed unconcerned.
Those days he and I were content to watch an occasional game with a couple hot dogs, a bottle of pop {"and none of that stinkin' root beer"} and a discussion of how overpaid the 'kids' were or who had the brain cramps that resulted in adding a second referee or playing four on four in overtime.
It had been a couple of decades since we were both members of championship teams at three levels, high school, college and the old Northeastern Professional Hockey League. The league itself had folded and been reborn several times so we were now just footnotes in media guides and yearbooks. I should point out that we were hometown boys that were NHL hopefuls. You know the drill. We used to kid ourselves into believing that had we played when there were more than twenty-one teams in the league, we might have made it. Not that we didn't make our money and grab our proverbial fifteen minutes of fame. A championship team is a championship team; even if the endorsements you get are for the local hardware store or car dealership. We each had a chance to play with the 'big boys'. We just weren't in the right place at the right time. C'est la guerre!
It had even been a long time since he had introduced me by saying that he scored more goals in his rookie game than I did in my entire career. Of course he was right. His first hat trick {of many} certainly turned the local arena into a circus on the first opening night of the Dunkertown Devils. But I don't feel bad for scoring only two goals in my thirteen years. That's not too shabby for a goalie. I even did it before Ron what's his name from the Philadelphia Flyers.
But the call that I got from him last St. Patrick's Day had no mention of pucks, nets or referees. There was no discussion of past trophies and honors. There wasn't even talk of the current season {we followed seven leagues}. Nope. That brief and horrific call was what brought me to Rachel's place to ignore her. It was what brought me to the bottle.
Some bastards had killed Annie. That innocent bundle of life and joy that had only recently been injected into my life had been slaughtered like a dumb cow in an abattoir. Not an accident with a car in the parking lot or on a skateboard at the park. I'm talking kidnapping, torture, the whole Jeffrey Dahmer / News of the World kind of horror story. And now my best friend was counting on me to find out why.
What really petrified me was my thinking that I wasn't up to the task.
The reason Jay called is because I gave some thought to police work when I hung up the blades but the Gestapo mentality I encountered at the state police academy dramatically changed my opinion. My classmates weren't the local; walk the beat, community policing and know your neighbor kind of troopers. I certainly didn't say anything about my paranoia; just that I didn't think I was up to the uniform. And let's face it. At nearly thirty, I wasn't a rookie any more. Whatever I said would be eventually attributed to age and my increasing waistline.
I decided to go freelance and completed the requisite education to get my PI badge. Around Dunkertown and in the big cities of Lewiston and Norway, being a private detective is primarily following cheating husbands or checking their interest in pornography {most wives are right} or wayward wives {most husbands are wrong} and the occasional thieving employee. But, Jay agreed about the local police and didn't think they were putting enough effort into it. I was really out of my league but what else could I do?
While at the academy, I made and had since maintained contact with two or three of the other recruits; mostly the ones that didn't smile during the suspect restraint training; and several had advanced in their respective departments during the intervening years. Whenever I needed help on a case, one or another would usually let me take a peek at the file or spill some of the details over drinks. (You really have to be sober to appreciate how deviously alcohol works.) I didn't really want to look at this case but if I was going to be any good to Jay, I needed to know all the details. Even the ones they omit publicly or play down to minimize the risk of scaring or offending the community. Since her body had been dumped within city limits, the police department [two officers] had primary jurisdiction although the county and state forces were trying to share in the spotlight while maintaining adequate distance to avoid any blame.
I'm one of those people who would rather be sick for a week than throw up. Even the night of Jay's bachelor party; when an Englishman who played hockey for Scotland in the Superleague introduced us to tub-thumping; I refused to allow myself to hurl. But at the police station, I didn't have any choice. Twice.
Those black and white police photographs have a knack of making bad situations look a lot worse and they didn't even need help on this one. I was astounded that such a petite girl would have so much blood. After my second trip to the bathroom, I began realizing that whatever inklings I'd had at the academy must have had some basis because those fools were making jokes about the placement of the ropes and the shapes of cigarette burn marks and definitely saying too many derogatory statements about Annie's tattoo and her post-pubescent but lifeless body. They were also joking about my heaves and sweats but I've been booed by the best of them. Why there were two obnoxious Portland Privateer fans in section Q that made these guys look like amateurs.
Sorry to rant! It was a rough time, okay! Not really an instant replay I care to see again.
It's not easy for an iron man like me to admit such weakness. In thirteen years, the only game I started and didn't finish was one in high school where we were ahead seven to nothing in the third and two different players tried to decapitate me. {"Old time hockey, eh?"} Tonight, I couldn't sit in a chair and keep my stomach in check while some twit in an overstarched blue shirt and a too-wide tie flipped through a few snapshots.
I'll spare you the details of Annie's folder and whether you believe it or not, you'll thank me in the morning for your undisturbed sleep tonight.
Chapter 2
I hope the spirits are kind to Rachel when she joins them. I barely had time to hang up my coat and hat before my usual refreshment was waiting for me. I never figured out why she wasn't married. I guess because she owns the bar and works six days a week from four p.m. until she throws out the last customer; usually me.Don't laugh. She can do it. I remember when some mental midget tried to rob her with a knife just before closing. She must have missed his groin with her first shot by no less than an inch. Intentionally. She even announced it to him first. Of course the second shot into the corner was just to encourage his already rapid retreat. I guess when that tale made the rounds, it intimidated most of the men but me. Give me the lady that is willing to trade shots! I'm sorry to say I gave up being Sir Whatever not long after I finished puberty. I readily admit that if there is anyone I'd defend; it's Rachel. Fortunately for both of us, it wasn't necessary.
She asked how I was progressing and I recounted my findings as dispassionately as I could.
Annie's infectious and pleasant demeanor made it exceptionally easy to track her movement on the day she disappeared. She left school that Thursday afternoon as she had every other day; by walking across town. This was when she finished her detention. Apparently, bad behavior was a recent addition to her repertoire and was no doubt a defense mechanism to delay her return to the shanty she shared with her mother, younger brother and her new 'uncle', Al. He was just the latest in a long line of abusive but employed boyfriends her mother accumulated. This allowed her to have both a provider of drugs and alcohol as well as a monthly welfare check. Although Annie was offered a ride home by the assistant vice-principal, she declined.
Her first stop was to chat with the crossing guard at the elementary school down the street. She had no idea that the fool with the orange attire that readily discussed soccer {her sport} and music, was coked up from sunup to sundown. Everyone but the children knew and some of them probably suspected. But at least the adult's knew to be cautious when Carly was 'on patrol' as he called it.
Annie stopped next at the re-election office of the local state senator and picked up a couple of pins and apparently barged in on the candidate unannounced. Since she was under voting age, she was quickly escorted out by a couple of men. Roughly, according to Doris over at the local washateria. She remembered making a mental note to vote against that ‘heathen’ in the next election because of his violent henchmen.
She was seen at the public library about an hour later; returning "Our Bodies, Our Selves"; "Romeo and Juliet" {for the seventh time} and a really old Nancy Drew mystery. One individual claims she saw Annie accessing an adult Internet site but no records exist of her logging onto the library computers that day. A check of her previous computer use showed nothing out of the ordinary for a teenager. Her musical interests seemed to be Marilyn Manson; who I discovered is not the illegitimate son of Marilyn Monroe and Charles Manson; Tori Amos and a couple of groups whose name were either random letters, numbers or both.
She also visited a number of ecology sites; some U. S. Womens' Soccer team tributes; a site discussing the wrangling between California and Nevada over water rights and the customary here today, gone when you visit again home pages. There were lots of those. No doubt made by students whose interests turned from web design to rocket science or “ecstasy”.
I must admit that it was nearly impossible to garner this information until I was finally able to convince the new librarian that even Democrats and Greens become private investigators. I can't remember what I told him my affiliation was but I'm sure his world would have collapsed had I mentioned Libertarian, Constitutionalist, Republican, or worse, Anarchist.
That was one of those moments when I was grateful to be childless. I gleefully suffered through two divorces because I was a romantic fool but I couldn't imagine leaving my child in the custody of that idiot. He was someone who thought children should have complete and free access to whatever sexual material they wanted on the 'net' yet restricted their ability to access the Federalist Papers and Anti-Federalist Papers for fear it would ‘give them ideas’.
Annie was next seen purchasing an afternoon snack at the local grocery store. A few of the regulars commented to me on how much she had developed since the last time they saw her {perverts!} but hopefully, she was oblivious to their lewd comments. They were all quite capable of telling me that she was headed across the bridge separating us from Pugleyville. I bought the 'boys' a round of Nastygansett or whatever they were swilling and walked on wishing I had brought the car.
Next, she stopped by the Hawke’s farm to pet the free kittens for half an hour and talk with Mrs. Hawkes about the meteor shower later in the month. That was less than a half-mile from the road to her humble abode. Less than five minutes from safety; even at an old fart's pace. Or at least a home that gave the appearance of safety.
Her mother was unconvincingly feigning grief when we talked. I think she was more concerned about the reduction in her monthly payments than actually losing her daughter but that may have been the large quantities of something she had injected just before I arrived. Many of the track marks she hid so poorly appeared recent. All she could repeat was how little trouble Annie had been. You know, getting good grades and volunteering around town. I'm quite sure she had no idea that Annie had the finest voice in the northeast. I tried to keep the conversation on Annie and out of the past in hopes she wouldn't remember how much we disliked each other. After fifteen or twenty minutes, I decided that I knew Annie better. She seemed dejected that I only offered her my hand and heartfelt condolences when I left. Even though the urge for a cold one was almost always present, my visit to her was a sobering experience. Pun intended.
Mrs. Hawkes was kind enough to have a glass of iced apple cider waiting when I passed on the way back to Dunkertown and we chatted about the good old days. We dated a few times in high school but we never really traveled in the same circles. For me, it was lust at first sight although her current physique after four children and twenty or so years harvesting vegetables made that difficult to picture. I guess for her it was the notoriety of being out with a local hero. {Hey, I’m trying to be modest.} Neither of us ended up where we wanted or expected to be but we decided we made out all right. She remembered seeing a few vehicles but none that seemed unusual. The assistant vice-principal had driven by; no doubt checking up on our Annie; as had two of the senator's aides; probably soliciting support and at least two pickups that belonged to residents of the road.
I decided that the assistant vice principal was probably the best candidate. The most exercise I had beside the walk appeared to be my jumping to that conclusion but I figured the politico's staff car occupants probably hit every house scavenging for votes. The same thing applied looking for the driver of the pickup. Of the nine houses using the road, I would have been able to skip one. And only because their truck had been over to Lenny's Garage; getting ready for the next state inspection sticker.
After my legs stopped aching and I was about ready to leave, Deputy Copp pulled up and asked if I'd like a ride over to Rachel's. It must be bizarre going through life with a last name that relates to your profession. Every time I see him I'm eternally grateful my name isn't Proctor.
It was highly unusual for any of the local constabulary to give anyone a ride that didn't terminate at the county lockup so I wasn't surprised when he asked me outright why I was 'sticking my nose where it didn't belong'. My lack of reaction must have been noticeable because he quickly apologized for his tactless approach and rambled on about how impotent his colleagues felt. He had obviously been well coached because he used at least four words of three syllables. That beat last month's total by three.
I sheepishly let him know that this was more a favor to an old chum than an ongoing investigation and the obvious candidate for questioning was the vice-principal. When I then asked if he'd be able to keep me posted, I'm sure he was convinced I was not a threat because he dropped me off more than a few buildings away from the bar. He'd thought he got what he wanted so I was dismissed. I thanked the spirits that they sent such a boy to do a man’s job.
Without realizing it, the young fool had already confirmed my suspicion that this was not a random act by some crazed tourist. We like to joke that in my area, if you’re murdered, it’s usually by someone you know and love. Kind of sick humor but true. In the whole state, we average less than two murders a month and most of those are domestic disputes or druggies fighting over the last pill/needle/bottle. It also pointed to someone with enough money or influence to have the locals at his/her beck and call.
I was surprised that I was on my third drink after these few details. Since it was Tuesday, I paid my weekly tab. It must have been a quiet week because it was less than $50.00. I decided that I'd better get to work researching those web sites and checking up on the vice-principal but something told me it would have to be done discreetly. Someone, somewhere did not like my questions. And I had spoken to less than a dozen people.
Chapter 3
It took me a long time to learn about the Internet until Janet showed me. Before she became my sponsor, I'd aimlessly surf going from link to link until I became bored. She showed me how to use a search engine and I realized I could get the latest scores for all the leagues I like in ten minutes instead of two hours. By the time I was through with my first coffee, I'd already have the standings in front of me. I was also able to stay on top of the other hockey news; which teams were moving or folding; who got traded and on rare occasions, who got arrested. The arrests were usually in the minor leagues and were almost always for lewd behavior or related to driving and drinking. They probably have never heard of Pelle Lindbergh.But now I was armed with the skills to find what I needed to know about the websites Annie had visited that last day of her life. I thought most of the information was useless in finding the killer or killers but some of it was still interesting.
I learned that Marilyn Manson and I take the same blood pressure medication and he must be even lonelier than I am to have gotten breast implants and then have them removed. Worse than that, I actually liked some of his music.
I learned that Tori Amos needs much more psychological help than Marilyn Manson.
I can actually listen to Smash Mouth and Rage Against the Machine but Kid Cowboy needs to go away. 'N Sync reminds me too much of the Bay City Rollers and Milli Vinilli. They seem to be more of a marketing gimmick than real music.
I admit I lost it when I found out that we both listened to Vanessa Mae. I call her the Virgil Fox of the violin. For all you young pups out there, Virgil Fox was a concert organist who thought that Bach; Beethoven; etc. would really want their music played loudly and in today’s fashion. Of course his fashion was circa 1970. I had the pleasure of hearing him play at the Kotschmar organ down in Portland. At the time, it was the second largest pipe organ in the world. Vanessa Mae followed his ‘modern’ philosophy with her violin skills and did so beautifully starting in the last decade of the last century.
It was also difficult for me to see she had visited a Steeleye Span tribute site. It reminded me of my times in England during those boring off-seasons and I realized that she would never be able to reminisce. During your declining years; you not only think of what will be and what is but also all the wonderful times that have already been. Those places I'd seen in my first few years out of college were still waiting for future visitors but one had been stolen from them.
I didn't really think getting maudlin would help so I quickly moved through the half dozen ecology sites. I was astounded at the amount of misinformation available. I guess I never noticed at which point in our history it became acceptable to use whatever means available to get your point out, including outright lies and fabrications. And I thought Annie was naïve.
There was the traditional gruel about second-hand smoke; the murderous Utilities who build their cancer causing power lines in the most ludicrous places; like near their clients. I barely remember the other lies and half-truths that I ambled through on those sites. The only amusing part was when I went to www.peta.com. It turned out to be "People Eating Tasty Animals" which I thought hilarious.
Since that time, some socialist judge without a sense of humor has decided that "Pets for the Ethical Treatment of Animals" should own the site. Don't get me wrong. I love animals. I don't ever remember a time in my life when I didn't live with at least one or two cats. But all of them knew the same thing I knew. If push came to shove and one of us was going to become a meal … well let's just leave it with a quote from Scooter. “There's more than one way to skin a cat and none of them are pleasant.”
The few government sites she visited dealt with a law suit between two western states; one with lots and lots of people and no natural resources and another with just the reverse. The federal government was involved as arbiter but this looked like a long and protracted case where only the lawyers were benefiting. It was a little like the states that sued the tobacco companies. Less than fifteen cents on the dollar went to the states with most of that pissed away on vote-getting schemes. The other eighty-five went to the parasites at Ambulance-Chasers-R-Us.
Some of the personal web pages she had visited were still active. [A dozen or so were not.] The first was a page I bookmarked for later use. Along with some movie reviews about love stories; a humor page; an astronomy page and a page on cats; there were all the hockey standings and statistics I'd ever want to see. The second page was an adult site that had only been on-line for a few days so whatever was there originally had disappeared into the ether. It disgusted me that everything on the page seemed to scream ‘Teens’. I wondered if the perverts who killed Annie had visited.
Other than the flashback to England and hockey numbers; I didn't see anything I considered too useful but I saved most of the pages while I was there; just in case. Well, I did download a few pictures of Mia Hamm and Brandy Chastain. They were amazing athletes and beautiful women! What can I say?
It’s amazes me how much of our lives are laid out in neat little packages by people who have no idea who we are. Their only interest is how much money it’s worth. I went to one of the search sites and for the small fee of $39.95, I found out all I needed to know about the vice-principal. That was after I found my one credit card without an overdue balance. One of these days, I’ve got to get organized.
Now was the part I'd really begun to hate the last few years; the leg work.
Or; in my case, car work. My joints were still aching from my walk around town and I figured I needed another couple of days to recuperate so I drove over to the regional school.
It was not difficult to meet with the vice-principal. When he came out of his office, he took a condescending tone until I mentioned that I had a few questions about his previous ‘job’. He was suddenly meek and asked me into his office. From my search, I discovered that he had been fired from a college teaching position for the common flaw of interpreting co-ed advances as love instead of a desire for a better grade. It was not a major crime in my book since the students were old enough to make such foolish decisions. Although no laws were broken, I was sure this was not something he wanted discussed in the halls of the school.
After he showed me a photo of the student as well as their eventual divorce decree, I figured that it was exactly as it seemed, a lonely old man is taken in by a young woman and forgets how absurd that notion is. Beauty is only skin-deep, or so the saying goes, but nastiness goes right to the core. Even though the marriage lasted less than a year, he left penniless and she left with a great degree and everything else. I remember feeling grateful the neither of my exes had her lawyer.
Another dead end but at least I got the joy of passing by the trophy case. It was heart-warming to look at the old black and white photo of yours truly surrounded by a bunch of lanky kids in skates looking as happy as if they had just had sex. I took a few minutes to enjoy the moment until a girl tugged on my sleeve. She could have been another Annie.
“You look very happy and proud”, she said. “And you look a little like the goalie in that picture. Are you his grandfather?” Whoever said, “You can never go home” must have been a hockey player.
Chapter 4
After eliminating some theories, I was still nowhere and thought about calling Jay but figured the hour was too late and I really had little to report. The cats were screaming for food or attention or something so I had to tend to them first. The nightly ritual of waiting for me to sit so they could fight for my lap took my mind off things for a few minutes. Believe it or not, purring is a sedative. With one cat on my lap and the other in my arms, I was almost happy. I didn’t even want a drink.Then the phone rang. It was too late for bill collectors or telemarketers so I was hoping it might be another case. It was Jay. He sounded as sad as anyone I’d met. His daughter had not returned to school since Annie disappeared and it seemed the family was devastated. He was hoping for something … anything to give them hope. I wished I had better news. I told him about the trip around town and the meeting with the vice-principal. All efforts so far were dead ends but at least some people had been eliminated. I mentioned that I would probably visit each of the homes on her road but did not really expect anything there. Then I apologized that I had nothing worthy to report.
After a brief silence, I asked if he had told anyone about asking me to look into Annie’s murder. I guess it was not too big a shock when he said no. So someone else had tipped off the police and asked them to intervene. That ruled out the drugged crossing guard and the wino’s at the village store. Then it dawned on me. Perhaps it was time to visit the esteemed senator and see if his staff was aware of anything unusual the day Annie disappeared.
Talk about a difficult task. In all my years here, I have spoken to three politicians. I called two of them parasites and one of them a weasel. Believe it or not, I was sober all three times. In my youth, I got to spend time with my aunt on one of the reservations. She told me much about my tribal origins and the concept of a bunch of overpaid, fat, old, white men dictating things from afar was never part of it. That and seeing our local tax rates at or near the top nationally gave me little reason to appreciate them. I remember asking each of them the same question and getting the same stupid look without a response. “What have you done to improve this place before you were elected that did not involve spending someone else’s money.” Try it and you’ll be amazed. They all seem to think stealing your money and giving it someone else is a good thing.
But the next day, I made my way to the senator’s re-election office and asked about the canvassers. The receptionist was quite upset when I showed her my badge and disappeared to the rear of the room. I took a seat by the window and expected to see the police show up at any moment. I was met by a very beautiful Japanese woman who introduced herself as the campaign manager. I was struck at how much she looked like my ex-wife but forgot whether that was ex number one or two. I guess after number two, I really hit the bottle so I hope you’ll forgive my poor memory. She was curious about my questions and escorted me into a small office saying that she would help me in any way she could. She asked what the police wanted with a couple of volunteers.
I didn’t want to but I had to admit that I was NOT the police. Then we talked about Annie’s abduction and murder. I ended by saying that all I wanted was to see if the aides noticed anything unusual when they went out that day. She rummaged through some papers and wrote down two names and addresses. Before she passed it to me, she asked that if I had any information that would be at all embarrassing, to please call her. I thought it was a very odd thing for an innocent person to say, but she was his campaign manager.
I had to chuckle when I remembered an old quote from Will Rogers. “Every now and then an innocent man is elected to Congress”. I love Will Rogers but he was an optimist.
As I headed to the car, I pretended not to notice Deputy Copp sitting in the driveway down the street. I did not really want to play cat and mouse with that moron so I got in my car and drove home. Since I’m the only one stupid enough to live so far from civilization, I knew he would stop tailing me when we reached the town limits.
Thankfully, the cats didn’t care if my day went well or not. The older cat, Nermal, was happy to show me the decapitated bird she had caught and proudly dropped it at my feet. I never found out exactly what she did with the heads of her victims but I suppose that somewhere she has a hidden trophy case of them. The kitten looked unimpressed and hungry. Time to feed and cuddle I guess. It’s comically sad but Rachel once said it was good that I had the cats because it was probably the only pussy I was getting. Sometimes I wonder if it wasn’t an invitation from her but who knows. She must get plenty lonely too.
At first, I thought about a walk into town through the woods to avoid any contact except for the deer and fox but decided my legs weren’t up to it. Damned arthritis. I also wanted to give the brown-shirt in the squad car some time to finish amusing himself or get bored so I flipped on the television and turned to one of the news channels for some background noise.
The cats got bored, especially when the sun came out and a couple of warm spots appeared on the deck. I lit a pipe in hopes the spirit of Sherlock Holmes would visit. The only thought that cropped up was whether I had found every half empty bottle on the property. Then I remembered my first anniversary of sobriety. Janet came over with half a dozen friends and had a great party to celebrate. I guess I’m not much of a detective because they found one bottle in the cellar behind the furnace and one under my mattress. I’m glad she found them before I did. Then she mimicked the woman from Poltergeist and declared the house clean. At times like this, I wish she hadn’t been so good.
In between the near libelous ads for the upcoming election was a story about some new evidence in the murder of a girl in western Maine so I listened intently while the newscasters paid homage to the camera. The new information seemed to be the questioning of a crossing guard near the school. Along with drugs and related paraphernalia, a search of his apartment also revealed lots of pornography. Most of it dealt with beastiality. At first I was thoroughly disgusted as I’m sure most of the viewers were. Then I realized that all the perverts I had investigated for wives were very systematic and specific. Those who enjoyed ‘kiddie porn’ would find nothing appealing about nudes photos of Madonna {does anyone?}. Similarly, the people downloading bestiality rarely had any interest in other practices like bondage or snuff.
Carly’s questioning was a great stunt if you’re involved in the murder. His drug use and interest in dirty pictures gave the public someone to hate and blame while lowering the heat on the constabulary to actually solve the case. I almost felt sad for the poor bastard. Almost …
It also frightened me to know that someone could even pull strings with the media. Cops are easy with a little political pressure or the appropriate payoffs but television channels usually tried to at least appear neutral. Since there would be some reduction in the community concerns, it made my job a little more difficult and certainly more visible. Thankfully, it gave me a way to approach things without continuing to alarm anyone. The cats seemed completely disinterested in me so I grabbed a fresh pack of cigarettes and a bottle of something wet and headed to the car.
One of the good things about being a drunk is that you soon learn that the disease affects everyone. Just like the fans of Annie’s singing, income, politics, religion all seem irrelevant to alcoholism. I remembered meeting a few people that were somewhat famous at a few meetings, including a couple of published writers. One person I met was the system operator of the only Internet Service Provider for the mountain area. Of course the schools and library were on dedicated lines but the rest of us were still limited to dial-up connections.
The web site looked quite professional and there were different e-mail addresses for billing, signing up, technical support but they all went to the same mailbox. I stopped at a phone booth and dialed the number for tech support and asked for Peter even though I knew he was the only employee.
We chatted for a few minutes about upcoming meetings and anniversaries and then I cut to the chase. I told him that Carly had been taken in and that I thought he was being railroaded. Since he wasn’t a member of our group, there was nothing we could do but I was hoping Peter might have some contacts in the area of narcotics. I asked if I could stop by the office; a small room attached to his house, no doubt for IRS purposes, and hung up, confident I might be able to get some information from him.
The room was larger than I expected since the rest of his house was a small ranch and I sat in the guest chair while he shuffled though a bunch of papers looking for information on groups for cocaine addicts.
After I neatly folded the papers and put them away, I told him the real purpose of my visit. To see if I could learn anything about Carly’s Internet visits. I repeated my belief that he was being targeted simply because of his habits but without some clue to his activities, I didn’t want to put my foot in the groin of the police without some backup.
Peter had done some time in jail for growing and distributing marijuana and I knew he would not need much convincing to show the police as nothing more than annoyances. In reality, he had grown a single plant for his girlfriend who had been diagnosed with cancer. When she was pulled over for stopping at a green light, she spoke enough for the police to conduct a search. In Maine, any amount over an ounce was considered evidence of selling. Peter pointed out that he had already given the information to the authorities and was sure parts of it would be leaked to the media whenever the D.A. or police felt it necessary.
He gave me what amounted to a small book with entries going back thirty-six months. Peter once held the data for much longer but after the passage of the UnPatriot Act {as he called it}, he started to delete entries using lack of storage as a excuse.
It looked quite comprehensive and based on the size of the file he gave me, it seems that Carly did little else besides surf, snort and stand around on the corner wearing a bright orange vest. I did not want to appear rude so I chatted with Peter about computers {he did all the talking}, my own Internet use {he suggested a few hockey sites and some sites I’m not going to discuss} and a general bitch session about the police, politicians and whatever happened to the radicals from the sixties.
At the point I thought I could take no more, the phone rang and I was grateful that it was a marginally literate customer who had lost their dial-up settings and needed help. I bowed and waved thanks to Peter and used that as an excuse to escape. When I talk about lonely, I think about Rachel or myself but this poor guy was stuck in a room with nothing but machines. I wondered what sites he visited after hours.
As I got into the car, I hid the folder behind the rear seat and headed back into town to stop by and see Rachel and get a cold one. After thinking about Carly’s activities and being reminded of how Annie had been slaughtered, I needed some sanity for a bit. Thankfully, she was ready for me and it took just a few seconds to pour some tomato juice into a glass for me. I was all prepared to give her a response to ‘How goes the chase’ when the door virtually burst open and in walked Deputy Copp. He looked upset which is never a good thing when a man carries a gun and mace, especially when he also has a badge. I pretended not to notice and with the sheer blouse that Rachel was wearing, that wasn’t too difficult.
He sat next to me and asked for a glass of water which Rachel gladly provided.
“Seems you’ve been a busy devil for such an unimportant case!” he blurted between sips. I took a long haul on the tomato juice figuring my time at the bar was short and said, “Yeah. I guess I don’t have enough to do around the house.”
“There are a few people that think your badge ought to be yanked and I’m one of them.”
I supposed that was as close to a threat as he was willing to make in front of witnesses so I felt like antagonizing him a little. “And the reason would be?” I asked.
He looked like he spent the better part of the day learning his lines and I had just ad-libbed on him. After a few minutes of silence he said, “The state police want to talk to you and so does the sheriff and my boss”.
I was tempted to ask him to make an appointment during business hours but decided I better not piss him off too much if I wanted to continue my inquiries. I asked him when was a good time and he just put down his glass and got off the stool. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to wait for me or drag me along. I gulped the last of the juice and decided to make the decision for him and let him show me the way to the car.
When I got to the county lockup, I was frisked and I heard the person behind the desk whisper “he doesn’t have anything with him” into the phone. I was led upstairs to the main lobby and saw more police than I care to ever see again. I was ushered into an office where the chief, sheriff and two lieutenants from the state police were already sitting. Even though I wasn’t asked to sit, I did.
“No one invited you to sit”, a voice behind my head yelled. My only response was to laugh and asked, “Shall I play twenty questions with you twits or tell you to piss off?”. Nobody else seemed to mind my sitting.
“Deputy Copp tells us you visited Peter this afternoon. We’re rather curious why you’d be bothering with that pothead? Certainly you aren’t working for him”. I’m not sure which of the police said that. I guess it didn’t really matter.
I just responded to the room. “Now you know that twelve step programs are anonymous! I can’t tell you whom we were discussing without violating that. Let’s just say one of our members has had a slip recently and we’re concerned about him. It seems like a classic case of substituting one drug for another and Peter has the information about other groups and a few friends who run rehab units. That’s about it.” None of them looked like they wanted to believe me until I added, “Oh. We also talked about some web stuff too but to be honest, most of that was way over my head.”
After a few glances between them, the chief spoke. “We’re concerned that your interference might compromise an ongoing investigation and we’d like to know what you’ve discovered and where you’re headed.”
I was tempted to ask what he meant by interference but decided that they really weren’t much smarter than the deputy so I acted shocked. “I thought you had Carly for the murder?” I’m just about finished anyway but I didn’t think I needed to talk to anyone. If you’ve got doubts about our perverted crossing guard, maybe I’ll visit the senator’s aides to see if there is anyone else I need to see.”
The reaction to inferring Carly was guilty seemed to calm them a little but just the mention of the aides made all the nervousness reappear.
“Look. This is an ongoing investigation. You have no business talking to anyone we don’t say you can. As far as the senator’s aides, I’ll see to it that the deputy gets you copies of their statements and save you the trouble. After that, you’ll have to let us know before you bring this up again. We’ve just gotten the community calmed down enough for the kids to go back to the playgrounds and we don’t need any more trouble. Got that?”
Another saying we have is “there is safety in numbers”. I can only imagine the reverse of that but with so many uniforms and so many joyless faces, I decided it was best to just agree. I did.
Deputy Copp was smiling the entire ride back to Rachel’s and thankfully we didn’t have to communicate. I was busy thumbing through the few pages he had given me. Nothing is about the best way to describe it. Of course both of the statements were very similar and I presume dictated simultaneously. I tucked them into my pocket for later reference but didn’t think I’d need to look at them again.
When I got to the bar, I decided I better have another drink. If I got into my car first, the moron with the squad car might decide to search it. There were only one or two people in the bar and I was looking forward to some quiet time chatting with Rachel and hopefully seeing some spark of interest in her eyes. As soon as the squad car pulled away, she whispered to me.
“There is a guy in the back that’s been waiting to see you. He arrived about five minutes after you left. It looked pretty serious and if he has a case, it might be a good one because he was wearing an expensive suit.”
I would say the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up but it had been so long since my last haircut that I doubt they could have moved. I grabbed my tomato juice; partially from thirst and partially as a potential weapon and headed back to the game room.
A rather sheepish looking boy of perhaps twenty-two jumped up when I entered and I debated about heading back through the door until he said. “I didn’t know he was going to do it. Now I think they want to kill us all.”
Quite an interesting opening to a conversation but it didn’t take me very long to figure out his was one of the two statements in my jacket pocket. It didn’t matter if it was Tweedle-Di-Di or Tweedle-Di-Dumber. I sat in one of the chairs and pointed to the other that he meticulously wiped with a handkerchief before sitting.
“I had no idea what we were doing. The senator asked us to bring the girl to his office because she had stolen some document and I thought they were just going to get it back and maybe scare her. I guess I should have been a little worried that the police were not called but after we dropped her off, he sent Herbie and me home.” No doubt Herbie’s name was on the other sheet.
“Then Herbie called me up and said he had to go home to Michigan. I tried to call his parents after the girl showed up dead but they had not heard from him.” My guess was that they had but were not going to tell anyone. Herbie must have been the brains of that duo.
“Did the Senator say what document she had stolen or how he knew she had it?” I realized it was not a question that would be answered but certainly had to be asked.
“I had no idea at the time. All I know is the day after she stopped by to get a button, the whole office was turned upside down. Piyori; that’s the campaign manager; said it had something to do with the senator’s investment in some power company out west. I don’t know why it was important, maybe it was a deed or some shares. In any case, the phone kept ringing off the hook and the senator was yelling at everyone he could see.”
“I went home like he said and heard about the girl the next morning. When I got to the office, the senator and everyone seemed as happy as if he had just been re-elected. Whatever they were looking for was found behind a filing cabinet by one of the cleaners. They asked me where Herbie was and I said I’d look for him. I haven’t dared show up since then. My parents have a cottage out by the lake and I was hiding there but this morning I went into the woods for a walk and the next thing I know, the place is burning to the ground. I hope they think I was in it.” The more he talked, the more frightened we both got.
I emptied my wallet and was amazed that I had a couple of dead presidents hidden behind my pictures of my exes. I was disgusted that the presidents' faces seemed more familiar to me than they did.
What I had wasn’t enough to fly first class but more than enough for a Trailways out of the state.
He grabbed his coat and I thought for a minute he was going to hug me but thankfully he didn’t. He just looked around like a trapped rat and ran out of the bar.
I needed a drink but decided that it wasn’t quite time. So I thanked Rachel and let her know that it wasn’t a job I’d be taking and really battled over staring at her or reading Carly’s file. Like a moron, I chose the latter.
When I got outside the bar, the senator’s car was parked behind mine and the aide was sitting in the back with a handkerchief over his nose. Two goons were standing on each side of the senator and I wondered if this was last day for him.
The Senator looked quite cheerful and I noticed Carly’s folder in his hands.
“Good evening, Mr. Aqash. I hope you haven’t been paying too much attention to our friend in the back. He has such a vivid imagination. He’s seeing conspiracies and murders as though he is smart enough to figure things out.” His manner of speaking was no doubt what kept getting him returned every half dozen years and I got a churning feeling in my stomach that suggested Herbie might not have been that smart.
“I’m sorry that you’ve been put through so much trouble for a little tramp. You know the girl that was killed was the daughter of the town slut, didn’t you? I suppose it’s like mother like daughter. She must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did you know that when she visited my office she tried to kiss me?” I didn’t really need a reason to dislike this parasite but he seemed intent on giving me one.
He reached into his jacket and I expected to see a 9mm or similar gun but he just produced an envelope and handed it to me.
“I know jobs like yours can’t be very rewarding, especially if you don’t even have a client to bill so I hope this will cover some of your expenses. I’d like to think that we have the criminal behind bars. Many people have been inconvenienced by this murder and I’d like to see it go through the system. “
“And even if we don’t have the right guy, what’s all the fuss over one little tramp? I’m worried that if you keep mucking around, somebody else might get hurt. Maybe even your friend in the bar.”
One of the goons opened the door for him and then he looked back smiling and said, “Oh. Don’t forget to vote next month.” That was when I knew. One night between now and then, the two of us would have another talk and it wouldn’t be about politics. It would be about Annie.
We would not discuss the town slut or votes or even missing deeds to illegally purchased water rights. We would discuss the budding young singer who brought joy and tears to relatives, friends and neighbors. And even to the town drunk. It would be a long and painful talk about how she never had a chance to move her tassel from one side to the other or sit in the back of a car discovering the joys of youthful sex, or falling in love or meeting Mia Hamm. It would be about all those things that life gives us that are taken away unmercifully.
If someone ever tells you that hunting is okay because it’s just an animal, they’re lying. I’ve seen the eyes of deer, moose and men ready to die and they all say the same thing, “But it is too soon.” Some night, I’ll decide that it’s time to look into the senator’s eyes and enjoy that look, but not tonight.
The good thing about being a celebrity of sorts is that everyone knows your name. The bad thing is they also know your address, habits and all the things needed to kill you. The two goons that seemed to follow him were probably too dangerous for Annie and the poor slob in the rear of the car but not for a pissed off drunk with no drink in sight.
Chapter 5
So now I'm here on the same stool I've occupied since long before the previous owner sold the bar. I would say he did so very poorly but that was during my drinking days so I'm not the best judge. I'm sitting here with the most wonderful person I've known in more years than I care to acknowledge and I'm seeing images of somebody else's future most wonderful person.Dead. Murdered. She was slaughtered senselessly, savagely and much too soon. And I think I'm losing my mind over it.
Rachel noticed that I had assumed the position and started making my traditional quaff. She was even sensitive enough not to ask her traditional 'How goes the chase?' and substituted 'Are you okay? You look like the hunt is really getting to you.' Since the bar was unusually empty; it must have been near the end of the month; I decided to open up one last time.
"It's over", I said. I gave her an unneeded recap and finished with my conclusions on certain well-known individuals and people in general; present company excepted. She agreed that it would be difficult to disagree with my conclusions.
Without commenting on my tale, Rachel turned and took 'Annie' from her position of honor; broke the seal and poured me a double. 'You can yell if I'm wrong but it seems to me like tonight is the night for this', she said as she put the napkin and drink in front of me. I started chuckling and it built into an almost maniacal laugh. It reminded me of one of my favorite anecdotes.
"Do you want to hear one more of my hockey stories", I asked. I knew in advance that she would be accommodating enough to listen. And hey, some of my tales were actually funny the first couple of hundred times you heard them. "Of course" was her anticipated reply.
When I played at the university, we had a full-blooded Wolastoqiyik (Maliseet) on the team. I was the only one he would ever talk to because he knew I am part Lenape (Mi’kmaq). Enough to hate the cowboy and Indian movies I was forced to endure during my childhood but not enough to be accepted by the tribe. He certainly never spoke to anyone in the locker room before, during or after games. Even at that I don't believe we talked more than a few times. His first request; after he decided I was native enough to trust; was how to say some native expletives in French. His second was how to order a meal from room service; again in French and his final request was for something best left between the two of us.
Well, on the night of the championship, we were dressing for the game and out of the clear blue he stood and cleared his throat; no doubt looking for attention.
Everyone was awestruck; knowing how quiet he always was, so the room went silent. He moved to the center of the locker room and started talking! Since he had spoken so little; we were all amazed at his humble eloquence.
"Just before I came here from the reserve, the government people came out to the village and gathered all the men in the Gymnasium of the local school. Then they took all the women to the cafeteria. They had some women talk to us about birth control, sexual diseases and some other things. I'm not sure why they didn't send men but at one point, one of the younger braves tried to embarrass them by asking them about how often he should be having sex. They each turned red and seemed confused and humiliated.
Finally one of them said that frequency depended on many things such as health, age, drug or alcohol use and there really wasn't a specific number for everyone. To prove the point, they would take a survey of the men and see what was said. So they asked how many of the men had sex at least three times a week. About a third of the hands went up. Most of them were young but there were a few older ones. Okay, that helps, she said. Now, how about those who have sex at least once a week. About another third of the hands went into the air. As the frequency got smaller, so did the number of hands being raised. Finally she asked if there was anyone who had sex one night a year.
One of the more respected elders; started jumping up and down on his chair and waving his arms back and forth while yelling 'Over here, Over here.' The government woman waved to let him know she saw him and asked him why he was jumping up and down on his chair acting foolishly if he only had sex one night a year?
The elder showed a kind of teenage sparkle in his eyes and yelled, "Tonight's the night!”
Tonight's the night. Of course we went on to win the first championship at that college since before Christ wore a face mask. It would have been a much better anecdote had we not led the league since the second week of the season but it certainly brings back some happy memories to a curmudgeonly old fart from the mountains. I noticed that the other two patrons seemed to find some humor in my story. I guess I've reached my limit. One's too many and two's not enough. It was almost time to head back into the mountains. As I went for my coat and hat, I felt angry I had swallowed the vodka so quickly but what can I tell you. I'm a drunk. Always have been; always will be.
'So don't you worry about me yelling at you, Rach. You were absolutely right that tonight's the night Tonight's the night. I'll tell you what I want you to do with the rest of the bottle. Whenever someone walks into the bar and seems to you like an nice honest person that just got kicked in the teeth, you give them a shot; pro gratis. If they ask, just tell them that Annie's giving a little bit of her joy and love so they can get over that tough spot.
As I reached the door I silently prayed that Rachel wouldn't clear my spot too quickly and discover the simple 'I Love You' I left scrawled on the napkin. I swear my heart stopped when she called my name. I turned around thinking she would either be laughing at what she might consider another joke or angry for stating what we both knew, but she was simply staring at me; my finished drink undisturbed. "What do you want me to do when the bottle is empty?” she asked.
I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "No one lives forever."
Then I closed the door behind me for the last time. Ayuh! Tonight's the night.