Murder in the First - Day 4

Finding the crime scene wasn't very hard. There are very few alleys in the city that are surrounded by police cars, police tape and people lined up to see what gruesome crime had been committed on their doorsteps - you just have to be willing to drive around long enough to find it. 

Unfortunately I ended up at four different crime scenes before I found the right one, the problems of living in a city with a high crime rate and only two or three competent police men – those being Fred, Harry and a handful of men who still worked in uniform.

So by the time I found the right crime scene, Ellis and Turndune were waiting for me. This wasn’t wholly unexpected after I ended up at the second and third wrong crime scenes, cops talk to each other, and seeing me touring crime scenes when Ryan Barlow was the number 1 suspect in a murder case – doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what I was looking for, or for that matter, what I was doing.

When I stepped out of the car, the first thing that happened was that my door was slammed shut by Turndune and Ellis pushed me up against the car. If it had been anyone else, or almost anyone else; then I would have broken their jaw without a second thought for pushing me up against my car. However with Ellis and Turndune they were both just looking for an excuse to arrest me, and assaulting a police officer was the perfect reason to lock me up so that I was out of the way whilst they steamrolled over Ryan.

So after being threatened, taunted, subjected to Ellis’ terrible halitosis and several references being made about what both of them wanted to do to my deceased mother – they forced me back into my car and had me escorted home by a very loud, and I must say unnecessary, group of police cars.

Of course what neither of them had realised is that the whole time they were taunting me, I wasn’t paying any attention to them, but was instead looking at the crime scene.

What I saw was something that looked remarkably staged and all too familiar, something that jogged some rather unpleasant memories.

In my short number of years on the earth, I have seen some of the worst that humanity has to offer. I won’t say I have seen the worst, as I am pretty sure there is someone out there who is disturbed enough to plunge to new depths of horror without even trying; but never-the-less, there are times when what I have seen before comes back to haunt me in very real ways.

What I began to realise when I actual saw the scene was that firstly Fred and Harry hadn’t seen it and secondly, this crime wasn’t just about Fred and Ryan. It was about me and Harry too. More importantly, it was mostly about Harry.

Harry has always been a ladies’ man, the string of women that he was wined and dined over the years is probably worthy of a Guiness World Record, but not every woman that crossed Harry’s path ended up sleeping with him. Something I am very proud never having stooped to myself.

One of these women that was oblivious to his charms was a girl in her early twenties that had tried to rob Harry’s apartment and had been caught in the act by the owner returning home early as someone may have thrown tomato sauce all over him when he complained about how long it was taking them to make dinner. I still maintain that I slipped.

The girl had been called Amy Barstow and after arresting her, interviewing her and letting her go, Harry had decided to help the unfortunate girl get back on her feet – or to find her feet in the first place. She had run away from home at a tender age and found herself at the mercy of some of the city’s more notorious villains, setting her up for a life of crime that was a vicious circle that would end in incarceration or death.

Having seen this happen many times before, Harry was a man on a mission to save this girl in a way that I have only seen Fred practise before.

Two weeks after Harry had helped her get out of the criminal life she had been found raped and murdered in an alley. The crime scene and positioning of the body had been identical to that of Sonja Lesner. Amy had been murdered as a message to Harry and he hadn’t tried to save anyone else since.

I still couldn’t place where I knew the name Lesner from but I was sure it would come back to me. What was keeping my mind occupied at the moment was who this message was for and how Harry would react when he found out.

I thought it would be best if I told him before Ellis or Turndune brought it up and caused Harry to start a riot in the station. Though it had occurred to me that was exactly what the perp had in mind when he set up the scene. 

Dance Hall

There is something that I have felt is missing from the different places that people have to go out to in this city, and not only in this city, in every city I have ever visited and/or lived in.

There are plenty of cafes, dinners, restaurants, bars, live music pubs and nightclubs but no matter how long I have searched for I have not been able to find what I have been looking for. An old style dance hall. I don't mean somewhere that you can go to dance with lots of sweaty drunk people as there are already plenty of places where you can do that.

What I mean are the halls from the 1930s, 40s and 50s that had live, large bands with brass and strings with large dance floors in the centre of the room surrounded by tables so that dinner came with an evening of entertainment and real dancing.

It's one thing that you see in old movies that makes me wonder whether putting up with one person for the rest of my life might be worth it, if only to go to places like that with them.

Of course the obvious answer as to why they don't exist anymore is that pop music arrived in the 60s and the way that people enjoyed music and evenings out changed dramatically, but surely I cannot be the only person in the world that thinks these places were wonderful and should not have been allowed to die out.

Especially when karaoke bars continue to thrive, though I will admit that whenever I have to go into any of them to find people; interrogate and threaten them, I will always make sure that a fight breaks out to do as much damage as possible to try and reduce noise pollution in the city.

Besides if Fred asked me out to dinner at a dance hall, I'd probably go.

12 Days of Christmas (I found Harry Lee)

On the first day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, upside down hanging from a tree.

On the second day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the third day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, with four laughing teenagers, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, five sheets to the wind, with four laughing teenagers, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, six in the morning, five sheets to the wind, with four laughing teenagers, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, seven hundred pounds poorer, six in the morning, five sheets to the wind, with four laughing teenagers, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, with eight pub bans, seven hundred pounds poorer, six in the morning, five sheets to the wind, with four laughing teenagers, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, with nine broken fingers, eight pub bans, seven hundred pounds poorer, six in the morning, five sheets to the wind, with four laughing teenagers, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, with a ten gallon hat, nine broken fingers, eight pub bans, seven hundred pounds poorer, six in the morning, five sheets to the wind, with four laughing teenagers, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, with eleven girls' phone numbers, a ten gallon hat, nine broken fingers, eight pub bans, seven hundred pounds poorer, six in the morning, five sheets to the wind, with four laughing teenagers, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas I found Harry Lee, whistling twelve tuneless bars, with eleven girls' phone numbers, a ten gallon hat, nine broken fingers, eight pub bans, seven hundred pounds poorer, six in the morning, five sheets to the wind, with four laughing teenagers, three streets over, with two shots of vodka and upside down hanging from a tree.

This is what happens when Fred goes out of town and leaves Harry to fend for himself...and somehow I will still get blamed! What I really want to know though is why those teenagers weren't at home and asleep at 6am!

A day of time wasters

There are days in a private investigators life that really don't seem to get you anywhere. I'm sure it is the same in any profession but when you don't have savings, regular and stable employment or a ridiculously large inheritance to live off it can be a little more than frustrating when you are faced with a day of dealing with time wasters.

Having people constantly phone you and ask if you are offering Black Friday discounts is one thing, but to have people phoning and asking you to work for them and then not paying their bills and refusing any form of contact even to the extent of pretending you don't exist when you are stood a few inches in front of them.

Of course as annoying as that is, it is again but a passing frustration compared to having people coming through your door, asking for quotes for services, shaking their head and sucking air through their teeth whatever number you say and then try and negotiate a deal with you that invariably they then turn around and say "on second thoughts, I don't think I'll bother."

It really is something that more dead bodies aren't found in my office.

When you work for yourself it is always difficult making ends meet (what with people failing to pay their bills on time if they do at all) but when you have people coming through your door and wasting time, it really gets on your last nerve.

Fred tells me that I should be more patient as having a reputation for bad customer service is not a way to run a business. If I was a shop owner than I might agree but in a private investigator people don't want a happy, go lucky, sunny disposition. They want someone who looks like they can survive in the underworld and get them what they need - or at least everyone who seems to bother me wants that.

Harry on the other hand thinks that I should try and branch out into other areas, diversifying my business. I am not entirely convinced that offering to blackmail people to go to birthday parties or family events would be any more lucrative than the time wasters that I have to deal with no. I am also not sure that offering people tours of the crime hotspots of the city will be as popular as say studio backlot tours or maps to the stars homes.

Though I might not get shot at much and reducing my medical bills would be a very big plus...then again I wouldn't get to shoot as many people and where would the fun in that be?

Danger Danger Black Friday

There are many days of the year I dislike – Valentine’s Day, any day dedicated to something trivial like talking like a pirate, dress like a carrot, learn to speak Romulan, open your curtains whilst upside down, PI day (yes I know I have ranted about it before but it annoys me, okay!)  - but there is one day of the year which makes me want rip the phone out of the wall, shoot all television screens, delete the internet and barricade all shops’ doors closed.

Yes, I hate Black Friday.

I have no problem with people going out in hordes to get huge discounts on luxury items – what people choose to spend their time and money doing is their business. I don’t do shopping at the best of times except for visiting the corner store for food and the off license for my whiskey, tequila and other spirits so Black Friday doesn’t really affect my shopping habits.

Five reasons that I hate Black Friday:

1. People spend a week phoning and asking whether I am offering discounts on my services over the Black Friday Weekend
2. Harry turns up at my door every single year with a catalogue in hand trying to convince me that I need a plasma screen TV, surround system and media centre.
3. When I am trying to follow people, the crowds, screaming, random outbreaks of violence and police presence make it very difficult for me to do my job.
4. Fred buys lots of things and then tries to give me lots of useless gifts.
5. My favourite weapons and ammunition specialist shops never seem to hold Black Friday sales.

The number of phone calls I have had this year alone have been enough for me to unplug my phone from the wall. Then when people started arriving at my office and demanding Black Friday discounts I had to chase them out of my office and even had to throw my phone out of the window after them.

When Harry turned up had I had to threaten to shoot him five times and shoot the catalogue out of his hand to make him leave.

Fred then turned up with only five gifts instead of the usual fifty. This year he had bought me a kettle to replace the one that Ryan borrowed and sold for drug money, a microwave to replace the one that exploded, a new phone to replace the one that was now lying down on the street in several hundred thousand pieces, an engraved cigarette case and a sofa bed.

So this year there was only one useless gift that Fred brought with him. When I asked him why the sofa bed, he said he was sick of sleeping on the broken lump of wood and padding that I called a sofa. I told him that he had his own bed in his own home that he could go home to quite easily but for some reason the sofa bed still made its way into my home and my old sofa ended up sharing the street with my phone.

Sometimes I think that Fred is far more manipulative than anyone gives him credit for.

Cancellations

I can't just be me that finds cancellations one of the most annoying things in the world - yes there is something I find more annoying than Fred Barlow and cancellations are it.

The most irritating form it comes in is cheques. This is especially troublesome in my line of work as I deal solely in cash and cheques and there is nothing worse than when someone writes a bad cheque or writes one that will actually clear but then cancels it before I can put it in the bank.

This week alone I have had three, yes three, cheques cancelled on me so quite clearly something needed to be done and being a private investigator it really wasn't hard for me to find out where these deadbeat clients were hiding from me and took even less time for me to beat my money out of them. In my line of work you either get paid or you starve, or get whacked, or get walked all over by scumbags.

It did get me thinking though about other things being cancelled and why it is that you have no control over them. Bus and trains being cancelled are one of the more frustrating things for the general population since they often lead to people having to stand around in the cold and the wet waiting for something that is never going to come and on rare occasions does leave individuals stranded.

I tend to avoid public transport so that doesn't bother me too much though every time I seem to have to take a plane it gets cancelled.

The other form of cancellation that really annoys me is when TV series are cancelled - especially halfway through a series. The one that most people gripe about is Firefly, and yes it was amazing but there are other series like the Visitors, Sports Night, the Magnificent Seven and Caprica that were all cut short in their prime. It's one thing that Fred and Harry never seem to shut up about.

It worries me that most of their conversation seems to be orientated around topics like television and Star Wars and other things that they seem to talk about just to annoy me, but then again it is still better than listening to Rick and Harry discussing which of their female conquests that they have in common.

The case of the missing sock

It may surprise many people to learn that I do my own laundry. Yes, I do know what laundry is and how to operate a washing machine and even a tumble dryer. Even more shocking is the fact that I know where to put the washing powder/liquid and fabric softener so you don't end up with clothes that still have soap in them when you are ready to dry them.

I can even separate my dark clothes from my lights and whites - well I could if I had any white and lights and the same goes for delicate items - hosiery and lingerie have never really been something I'd had much use for, especially when ammo is a much better investment.

Granted blood doesn't really ever wash out and grease can be a pain, but on the whole I manage to keep my clothes clean enough that there isn't a repellent scent of body odor that comes wafting to the nostrils every time I open my wardrobe or my drawers.

Though I do have experience with laundry, I have never really understood why people make such fuss over machines "eating" socks. I mean it had never happened to me and on days when there really didn't seem to be anything else to discuss, Fred and Harry would bleat on about how one of their socks had got lost in the wash, or the machine had mangled one, or someone had put something red in with their whites - oh wait that's something different - but still not only did the sheer dullness of this topic numb my brain, the idea that rational people could blame a machine for losing their sock seemed utterly ridiculous to me.

Of course I voiced these views in a very adult and respectful manner...oh alright, I called them both idiots and told them they deserved shooting for exposing me to firstly boring conversation and secondly for believing that machines for cleaning had developed a consciousness that revolved around depriving them of their socks.

Needless to say it brought an end to the evening.

However the next time I came to do my laundry, I collected it from the washing machine, put it through the dryer, but when it came to pairing my socks I found that two were missing - one white and one black, and I am not talking about the kind of socks that you buy from any normal shop (they only sell really, really, really, really dark blue ones). Oh no this one sock that was part of a pair of priest's socks that Pastor Patrick had given me.

So I searched through the dryer and the washing machine and couldn't find it anywhere. I retraced my steps to see if I had dropped them anywhere, checked my laundry bag and went over my apartment and office with a fine tooth comb when it struck me that it seemed very convenient that I should lose two socks just days after I had ridiculed Mr. Wonderful and Mr. Sleep-with-everything-that-moves over their enjoyment of trivialities.

Both denied all knowledge of stealing my socks, so when a pair of red knickers got mixed in with both Fred and Harry's white shirts, it was complete mystery as to whom they belonged to.

You might call it petty, but pettiness works for me.