Burying Ben (2 page)

I cough to announce
m
y
self, and the big
o
fficer co
m
es to life. Two long steps and he’s in front of
m
e, his eyes drilling into
m
i
ne. “No reporters. This is a cri
m
e scene. If you need infor
m
ation, talk to the PIO.”
He shoves a bent business card at
m
e.

“I’m
Dr. Dot Meyerhoff, the new dep
a
rt
m
ent psychologist.
S
orry you didn’t know I was co
m
i
ng.” He looks at
m
e, taking in
m
y green jacket and navy slacks,
m
y glasses, my salt and pepper hair, sorting out details,
looking for what doesn’t fit his prescribed i
m
age of how a psychologist should look.

“I thought you’d be a man,” he says, stepping back. “Co
m
e
i
n if you want.” He gestures to
w
ard the body with the top of h
i
s head. “Not
m
uch you can do for the old guy, he’s dead as a door nail. Did
hi
m
self, probably three days ago. Neighbors called it in, saw the newspapers piling up. Been hanging so long
the rope broke. Not
m
uch to see. Knock yourself out.” He sticks the cigar back in his
m
outh.

“And you are?”

“Eddie Rimbauer. I
’
m
the kid
’
s FTO, field t
r
aining officer. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need
m
e
. Stinks in here.”

Ben’s eyes are fixed on the body that
lays
like a discarded cornhusk doll. His lips are cla
m
ped together. He looks as though he
m
i
ght cry. Crying on scene is forbidden. One tear would be enough to earn him a jacket as weak, senti
m
ental and undependable in an e
m
ergency.

“How’re you doing
?
” I ask.

“My FTO thinks this is
f
unny,” he says,
gesturing toward the kitchen. “Said the
m
an was too cheap to buy hi
m
self a movie ticket.” He looks around the roo
m
, walks to t
h
e proje
c
tor a
n
d switches it o
ff
. I can hear laughter
f
rom
the kitchen. Ben jerks his head toward the sound and then back to
m
e. “
W
ho are you again
?
”

“I’m
the depart
m
ent psychologist, Doctor Dot Meyerhoff.”

Ben sticks his hand out and retracts it. “Please to
m
eet you, M’a
m
. Sorry about the gloves.” He
s
m
iles briefly.
In the dim
light his teeth a
r
e lu
m
i
nous. “I didn
’
t know the depart
m
ent had a psychologist.”

“It’s
m
y first day on t
h
e job.”

W
e stare at each
o
ther for a
m
o
m
ent. He’s not sizing
m
e up as
m
uch as looking awkward. The u
s
ual rules of etiquette
don’t seem
to apply when there’s a dead body in the room.

”
W
hat about you,” I ask, “do you think this is funny?”

He frowns, his dark br
ow
s knitti
n
g together. ”No way.
W
hat’s funny about a lonely old man killing hi
m
self?
W
h
er
e was h
i
s fa
m
ily?
W
he
r
e are all tho
s
e people in the pictures he was watching?”

He
m
oves f
r
om
the projector to the
w
i
ndow to a table piled
w
ith books.
H
e stoops to look at the titles. “Histo
r
y, biography. He read a lot. Must have been way
s
m
art. Why didn’t he call so
m
eone for help before he hung hi
m
self
?
”

He continues through the room
touching things lightly,
as
though
trying
to
sense
the
dead
m
an through the tips of his latex-gloved fingers. This is not ordinary cop b
e
havior. Most rookies would
be looking for evidence of so
m
ething a
m
iss, showing little int
e
rest in
the
d
ead
m
an except for his
p
rofile as a potential cri
m
e victi
m
. They would be taking an inventory of cash and checkbooks and looking for evidence of cri
m
es beyond the ble
a
k reality in front of the
m –
intruders, robbers,
m
urder
m
ade to look like suicide, c
l
ues left by predatory hired help or greedy children i
m
patient to get their hands on their father’s
m
oney.

Eddie bangs on the door fr
a
m
e with his baton. “Hey Doc, I need you in the kitchen. I’m
having a little group therapy.”

He
m
o
tions
m
e down the hall and I follow. Ben gives me a little nice-to-
m
eet-you wave. Two firefighters are leaning against a counter that is piled high
with used
f
ood contai
n
ers and un
w
ashed dishes. The place reeks with
n
eglect.

“So Doc,
these
h
eartless S.O
.
B.s are t
e
lli
n
g
m
e
they could pick this house up for a song. Needs a good cleaning and a li
t
tle re
m
odeling, that
’
s all.” He flicks his fingers against a worn
m
etal cabine
t
, “Guess you know all fire fighters have contractors’
licenses
and
plenty
of ti
m
e off.” He winks. “These guys didn
’
t have to show up on this call. They
’
r
e only here to check out the real estate.”

He looks at
m
e.
“
Y
ou okay? You look a little g
r
een around the gills.”

“I’m
fine.”

“How’s Mr. Safeway doing in there?
Tha
t
’s
m
y nickna
m
e for hi
m
. He used to work produce. Knows how to handle a cantaloupe, but he’s o
v
er his head as a cop. Hey Go
m
ez,” he yells. “Don’t forget to put in your
report if this guy was
a Q or an A.”

Ben appears in the doorway, holding his clipboard to his che
s
t like a shield. His looks worried. “Sorry, Sir.
W
hat do you
m
ean
?
”

“Do I have to tell you everything
?
”
E
dd
i
e rolls his eyes. “Q is when the tongue sticks out at an angle. A is
when it sticks out straight.” He uses his cigar to de
m
onstrate.

“I don’t know.”

“
W
ell go back and look.”

As soon as Ben leaves the roo
m
, Eddie and the firefighters burst out laughing.

“You are so bad,
m
an,” one of the fire
fighters says. It sounds like a co
m
p
li
m
ent. I walk back into t
h
e li
v
i
n
g roo
m
. Ben is
kneeling next to the dead
m
an’s head, looking at his face.

“I t
h
ink he was joking,” I s
a
y. He sinks back into his heels and curses under his breath.

“I hope I never get ca
l
loused like him.”

“I hope you don’t either.”

“Truth is, I’ve never seen a dead body before. Except on television.
W
e were supposed to watch an autopsy in the aca
d
e
m
y, but the trip got cancelled.” He looks toward the
k
itchen. “Don’t tell
h
im
that. He
m
ak
e
s a joke out of everything I do or say.”

I kneel next to hi
m
. The body s
m
ells like
m
oldy straw. Ben s
m
ells like sweat.

“I pro
m
ise not to tell if you won’t.
It’s my first body too.”

Ben looks at
m
e astonished that so
m
eone
m
y
age, close to being a corpse
my
self, could have
m
anaged to avoid seeing one in the flesh.

“He told
m
e to get used to the
m
. To
l
d
m
e a story about washing so
m
eon
e
’s brains down the bathtub drain before the fa
m
ily got
ho
m
e.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what
?
” I ask.

“Hey, Go
m
e
z,” Eddie calls from
the
k
itchen.
“What’s
taking
you so long? You’re not going to eat your gun are you
?
”

B
en raises his eyebrows and shakes his head just enough for
m
e to see.

Eddie walks into the roo
m
. “It would be curtains
for the Doc, losing a copper when she’s just getting started.” He turns to me. “
S
een enough, Doc?
Let
’
s leave the rookie alone so he can finish his report. I want to go h
o
m
e today, not next week.”