Death on the Sound

Death on the Sound

By

Wayne Saunders

    
Carl was
naked, framed in the background light of my bathroom doorway. He reached to
flip off the light, and I was left searching the blackness, trying to track his
progress toward my bed. My last glimpse was of his thirty four year old
washboard abs, and his six-foot frame topped by his short dark hair. As the
light had gone out, I did see that he was more than ready. I was waiting in the
dark, knowing he was taunting me, and taking his sweet time coming to my bed.
 
I heard the floor creak as his sounds gave
away his progress. My eyes started to adjust to the dark, and I finally saw him
standing next to me. I felt myself heating up as reached for his ……………

Buzz, buzz, buzz…...

    
I rolled
over and slapped at the alarm clock to shut it off knocking it onto the floor.

    
“Shit!”

 
I scrambled out
of bed trying to shut the damn thing off, and stop the infernal buzzing; god I
hate alarm clocks. I pressed the off button, and sat on the edge of my bed,
holding my prey in my hands staring at the time. It was six frigging o’clock,
and it was a Monday. I faintly remembered the fragment of my dream that had
been so rudely interrupted. I’d gone out on my third date with Carl Devlin this
past weekend, and our Saturday night was one that was good for about five pages
in anyone’s diary of dates. I set the clock back on the nightstand, walked over,
and slid the curtains aside to see what I was facing for weather. I don’t know
why I do this. It’s some kind of flaw I have inside me. I live in Seattle,
Washington on Lake Union in a house boat. The month is March, and I repeat I
live in Seattle. What else would I expect to see but rain? There’s a childlike
part of me that hopes one day I’ll slide the curtain back, and the sun will be out,
with clear blue skies to match. Christ, I was thirty five; you’d think
fairytales would be out of my psyche by now. I turned my panty clad self toward
the bathroom to start getting ready for work. At seven twenty, I was dressed in
my detective’s uniform of slacks, blouse, and sensible shoes. I’d fed Felix my
cat that was happily sawing logs on the end of the couch with a full belly. I
gave myself one last check before I slipped outside into the Monday rain shower
that was starting everyone’s crappy Monday.

    
All the
buttons were in the right holes, and the zipper was at the top. My medium
length black hair was combed, and my usual minimalist makeup applied. I hated
all the crap they expect a woman to buy to enhance herself; as Popeye would
say, “I yam what I yam”. I turned to check the backside. I had a passable butt
with a hundred and fifteen pound frame that it was attached to it and even
better there was no cat hair. I turned back, and undid the top button of my
blouse; nothing risqué, just activating the billboard. Let’s face it we all
like to look a little sexy, even when you’re a lady cop chasing down a puissant
bad guy. I grabbed my umbrella, and walked down the long dock to the ramp up to
my parking lot. It was seven blocks to the precinct. In the summer I walked,
today I’d be cramped among the crowd of wet passengers on the bus. Have you
ever noticed how wet people are a lot like wet dogs; they do have an odor.

    
As I stood hanging on to the wimpy little
strap that was supposed to save my life if the bus hit a wall or something on
the way to work, I thought about my partner, Thomas Culhane. We’d been partners
for six years. Tom was fifty eight, six feet three, two hundred and eighty, and
I was sure he had all the signs of Diabetes. I kept bugging him to get checked,
but he just laughed it off. His health was deteriorating, and he was worrying
me. Four years ago he was made a bachelor when his wife of eighteen years, left
him, not for another man but a woman. Tom was devastated enough just having her
leave, but to be left for a woman hurt him almost double. He even had three or
four sessions with the department shrink to try and help him get through it. He
stopped the visits with the comment that, “no shrink could help him”.

Partners take care of each other, but I was finding it
hard to help Tom, he just didn’t want it. As the bus approached its next stop,
it managed to drown the pant leg of a businessman standing to close to curb,
with the rushing water scurrying along the curb to the storm drain. As I exited
with six other people, I heard the “F”, S-head, and “A” words at least twice
each before I got the green light to cross Eighth Street and on to work. As I
looked back over my shoulder to see if there was going to be an incident I
needed to look into, the offending bus took off for its next stop, and a second
bus arriving did the same thing, to our soggy, swearing, businessman who was
once again shaking his fist at the departing bus. As his head snapped down to
look at his twice soaked pant legs, he threw his paper into the street in
disgust, and was immediately accosted by several pedestrians for littering.
Seattle may be soggy, but we respect cleanliness on our streets.

    
I walked through the front door, through
the metal detector, and onto the elevator to the third floor, the detective
bull pen, and my diabetic partner. As I walked through the entrance, I saw a
box of Krispy Kreme’s sitting in the coffee room, and my partner sitting with
his morning cup of coffee, bullshitting away, reaching for what I was sure was
his second or third doughnut. I snuck up behind him.

    
“Tom, for Christ’s sake will you give your
body a chance, and lay off the damn doughnuts?

Tom
jumped and some of his coffee spilled on the floor with two drops landing on
his shoe.

    
“Damn it Abby, will you quit sneaking up on
me. You could give me a frigging heart attack.”

    
“Not before that doughnut does. Don’t you
get it that diabetics are not supposed to eat sweets?”

    
“I don’t have diabetes, how many times do I
have to tell you.”

    
“Then go to the doctor and prove me wrong.
If I’m wrong I’ll buy you dinner at the most expensive restaurant in Seattle if
you’ll just go get tested.”

I
could see his eyes shift like they usually did when he was looking for a way
out of the conversation.

    
“Shit, Abby you made me spill coffee on my
shoes”

    
“It’d probably do them good. They haven’t
had a shine on them for a year.”

That
got a laugh from the crew that had gathered around the doughnut box. Tom had
lost his command of the audience, it was time to retreat.

    
“We’ve got work to do Abby. We can’t sit
here bitching at each other all morning.”

True to form Tom headed for the john. It was
another sign that I’d seen that he might have diabetes. I’d done enough damage
for now, at least until I got in the car. He had to get tested, that was all
there was to it.

    
The phone
rang just as I sat down. Control had just gotten a call that they’d dug up a
body at the Pike Street Market Reconstruction site. We were on the case board
one more time. I looked around as I took the last of my notes, waiting for Tom
to return from the can. I hung up and walked to the door he’d come through on
his return. I heard the broken john door slam, and then the shuffle of Tom’s
feet as he headed to his desk. The man never picks up his feet when he walks.
He spotted me with my arms folded, staring at him shuffling toward me.

    
“What,
aren’t you done harassing me for the morning?” he said, scowling.

    
“We’ve
got a call over by the market; corner of Stewart and Post Alley. It seems
they’ve dug up a body at the construction site.”

    
“I hate
construction sites. My clothes never survive, and I end up with a gigantic
frigging cleaning bill. I don’t know how you do it. You barely get dirty at all
when we go out to places like that.”

    
“It’s
just a knack I guess. Of course, I do watch where the hell I’m walking. That
does help.”

    
“Bite me,
nobody likes a smartass.”

Tom smiled at me as he grabbed his jacket off the
back of his chair. We rode down to the parking garage, and checked out a slick
back. Tom got behind the wheel. There’s some male thing that says they’ve got
to drive all the time. We women just don’t have it, I guess?”

    
As we
rolled up behind a black and white, Tom managed to kill two orange traffic
cones. The man was a bull in a china closet inside and out. I felt compelled to
comment.

    
“Do you
get money added to your check every month for hitting cones? I think that’s
eight this month you’ve crushed under your wheels. How bout’ I drive the rest
of the week. I think you need a rest.”

    
“I’m
doin’ just fine, and I’d be a damn site better if you’d quit giving me hell all
the time. Shit, you’d think we were married or something.”

I let the last comment slide. I’d been on his case
since I walked in the door. I needed to back off. Besides, I needed to have my
heart to heart before the end of the day. There were six police officers
huddled around under a puny little canvas canopy next to an even punier trailer
at the edge of a very large hole in the ground. The rain was running off the
edges of the canopy, forming its own lake. There was cyclone fencing
surrounding the entire site, and a long gradual incline of dirt and gravel
descending into the massive hole, which I was to find out later would be the
new underground parking garage. I approached the group and, spotted Jamie Knox
smiling in the middle of the group.

    
“Hey,
Jamie what’ve you done now. They say there’s a body around here somewhere.”

    
“Hi,
Abby, yeah the backhoe driver was scraping the sides trying to clean it up, and
uncovered an arm and body attached to the arm. It’s all bones so the ME will
have to put the puzzle together for ya.”

    
“Has the
ME been called yet?”

    
“Yeah,
they’re on the way. You want to see it?”

    
“No,
bones are bones but… no wait. I guess I’d better eyeball it. Was there anything
else found with the body. Like a purse, wallet, etc?”

I could tell by the expression on Jamie’s face that
they’d spaced that one. They weren’t too busy to stand around and BS, but let’s
not do your job first.

    
“We need
to get the dirt located that was immediately around the body and sift for any
ID or jewelry, etc. Can I turn that over to you?”

    
“Sure,
Abby I can do that.”

One of the construction giants set a pair of huge
boots down next to my low healed sensible shoes.

    
“There
you go detective, those low shoes won’t last long down in that mud. You can put
your shoes inside the trailer when you’re ready. Give me the high sign, and I’ll
take you down. How about your partner?”

I looked over at Tom, and his right hand came up
with his palm showing to me. He wasn’t going to chance embarrassing himself
sliding down the steep incline.

    
“I think
he’ll be staying put for now,” I said, smiling at the hulk.

I changed into the boots, and waved to the giant
that had brought my boots.

    
“You’d
better hang on to my arm just in case you start to slide.”

    
“What
happens if you slide?”

    
“Then
we’re screwed.”

He gave me a large smile with perfect white teeth
shining through the rain drops falling between us. We stayed to the bank side
of the dirt and gravel ramp. After we were half way down, I saw that most of
the gravel was on the high bank side of the incline. That’s why I’m a detective;
I pick up on the nuances of life. I felt the bicep of the huge man that was
escorting me. It was like I was holding onto a piece of rock. I was definitely
impressed.

    
We
finally slid our way up to the dirt bank in question. I looked ten feet up the
wall and saw the rib cage and skull protruding from the mud. There was an arm
and hand in the mud at my feet. I looked back up the hill and spotted the ME’s
wagon pulling in. I gave a cursory glance around the ground at me feet and
spotted nothing of interest. I’ve had too many cases that by just taking a bit
more time you were able to pick up a case changing clue. I grabbed a hold of my
two legged statue, and we climbed slowly back up the incline. At the top, I
spotted Maya Sinaga the next in command behind the ME. She was from the
Marianas and had graduated at the top of her class, at UCLA. She had a dark
skinned sultry look about her that made your eyes want to stay longer to admire
her beauty. Maya’s below the ear black satin hair was the crown on her well
proportioned body. She and I had been out to dinner and lunch several times,
but she didn’t seem that interested, so I kept myself in check. Maya in
Indonesian means goddess, at least that’s what she finally admitted to me one
day as we sat having lunch together, and the name definitely fit.

I
saw Abby slipping and sliding up the hall, attached to a huge hunk of a man,
but my eyes weren’t on him they were on Abby. She and I had had several dinners
and lunches over the past couple of years. She was friendly and nice, but I was
hoping she would show me that she was interested in me because I sure was interested
in her. I’m not an outgoing person, and maybe my shyness was sending the wrong
signal. Even in her big sloppy mud soaked boots she looked beautiful.

I finally hit the top of the hill and started for
the trailer to retrieve my sensible shoes. I thanked my mountain of an escort,
and got a large smile back with all those perfect teeth gleaming at me.

    
“No
problem detective, anytime you need an escort I’m available.”

I gave him my best smile, and turned to reach for
the door handle of the trailer as Maya approached.

    
“Hey, Maya
I’ve got one for your next novel, except you’re going to have to dig for this
one.”

    
“Hi Abby,
your partner was filling me in. We’ll be lucky to get this one out by the end
of the day. It’ll be Wednesday before I can have anything meaningful for you.”

I stared into her coal black eyes as I exchanged
boots for my shoes. I got lost in them of an instant, but caught myself before
it became awkward.

    
“I’ll
take what I can get. Give me a call when you’ve got something.”

I finished with Maya and was walking back to find
Tom. I found him standing next to our car rubbing his arm. He’d been doing this
a lot in the past six months. Normally, it wouldn’t mean too much, but I know
that numbness and tingling in the extremities is a couple of the signs of
diabetes. As I got closer, I spoke.

    
“Are you
done here Tom? There’s not much more to do until we get some info from the ME.”

    
“Yeah,
I’m done. Sorry, I chickened out on the climb down, but I could just see me
lying face first in the mud down there.”

    
“No
problem Tom.”

It was now almost eleven twenty, and I was ready
for some lunch. We were close to the Candlelight, and I suggested we stop. I
turned us toward Westlake Avenue and decided I’d speak my peace.

    
“Tom, I’m
sorry about this morning. I got carried away, and I apologize.”

Tom looked over at me and smiled his infectious
smile.

    
“That’s
okay Abby. I get carried away too, sometimes. No big deal.”

    
“Now that
I’ve apologized, I guess I need to ask a big favor, and you need to let me
finish before you say anything.”

I looked over at Tom and his smile was gone but he
nodded back. I pulled up to a red light, so it was a good time to start.

    
“We’ve been
my partner for five years. I’ve been watching you change since your wife left,
and I’ve also noticed body signs that you’re not the same Tom I knew when we
met. I want you to go get tested for diabetes. I’ve been watching you and your
frequent trips to the bathroom while we’re out on calls. I see the rubbing of
arms and legs to ease the tingling sensations you have. All these are not good
signs Tom, and I don’t want anything to happen to you. If you’ll do this for
me, I promise I’ll never ask another favor again.”