Guy Langman, Crime Scene Procrastinator (22 page)

“Oh, no,” Anoop says. “You aren’t getting me hooked up to that thing. No offense, TK, but until you actually get the PhD, I’m not wearing some device you built out of crap in your garage. I don’t need to get electrocuted for this.”

“You do need electrolysis for this,” I say, pointing to my forehead. Everyone looks at me weird. “Electrolysis. It’s, like, hair removal—come on, people,” I say. “For the unibrow? Never mind.”

Anoop gives me an angry look. And okay, dumb joke, but bigger point: He won’t do it! What is he trying to hide? Are his own Anoopian wiles telling him that something is up?

“It’s totally safe,” TK says. “I assure you.”

“Yeah,” Raquel says in a flirty voice. “It does not hurt at all.” She shows him the spot on her fingers where the pads had touched. “Why not try it on, Noopie?”

Okay, Noopie? How can he refuse? He’s probably setting himself up to be convicted of stealing his best friend’s treasure, but he doesn’t even care, because Raquel is calling him Noopie. After a few minutes of fiddling with the diodes or whatever, TK announces that we can begin the interrogation of the Bengal Tiger.

Maureen, clearly enjoying the power this has given her, begins asking Anoop some questions. At first they are the basic ones, just to get obvious yes-or-no answers from Anoop to help TK determine the accuracy of the device. “Are you Indian? Is Guy your boyfriend? What is pi to the first eight digits after the decimal?” (That’d be yes, no, and 3.14159265, if you’re playing along at home.)

Then she asks him what
he
probably thinks is another easy, pointless question. Wily.

“Did you steal Guy’s dad’s treasure?”

“Um, no,” he says.

“Is that correct?” she asks TK.

“Unless my device is mistaken, that is a true statement,” he says.

“Your stupid device
is
mistaken!” I yell.

“Um, what?” Anoop says. He laughs. I’m not laughing, though.

“Did we seriously think TK could build a working lie detector?
No offense, TK, but that’s ridiculous. It’s clear that Anoop took the treasure! It’s clear that he wanted a fancy car to impress Raquel or someone, and since we were fighting, you broke into my house and stole the treasure!” I can’t believe I’m saying the word “treasure” so many times. My life has gotten seriously weird.

“I can’t believe you are accusing me of this,” Anoop says.

“That doesn’t sound like a denial,” Maureen says.

“Did
you
put him up to this?” Anoop asks.

“I’m just saying.”

“Sure,” Anoop says. “Everyone is always
just saying
things. After everything we’ve been through, I cannot believe this. What else are you saying? That I killed that kid?”

“No,” I say. “No way. No one is saying that. We’re just saying that maybe you felt like you really needed some money, and since we were fighting … Listen, Toby’s death was not murder. I’m just saying you can give the coins back and we can all retire from our careers in crime-solving.”

“There is just one problem with that theory,” Anoop says. “I didn’t steal the stupid coins! Guy, we’ve been friends our whole lives. You think I would break into your house? Fine—put me back on the lie detector. Better yet, take my prints. They’re right here.” He shoves his hand in my face. I flinch. Is he going to hit me? “Better yet, check this.” He reaches into his notebook and pulls out the card from the first day of Forensics Squad.

He takes out the magnifying glass from the kit. The card clearly says AC on the back. And on the front … a loop-and-ridge pattern clearly different from the other one. Anoop’s print is nothing like the one we’ve been searching for. It doesn’t match Anoop’s, it doesn’t match Jacques Langman’s, it doesn’t match anyone’s. It
doesn’t make any sense. How could the same fingerprint end up on the wallet of Toby Weingarten and the window of Guy Langman? There’s no link. None whatsoever. Unless …

“Anoop,” I say. “I’m so sorry.” I really am so sorry. What was I thinking? Stupid Maureen Fields was messing with my head. I keep babbling. “I’m so, so sorry,” I say. “Sorry we doubted you. I’m also sorry I told Maureen your ‘if I had to make out with a man’ choice is Derek Jeter. And now I’ve told the entire room. Jeter
is
sort of handsome, I’ll give you that.”

“Guy,” Anoop says, his face darkening and his fists curling up. Maybe he really is going to hit me? “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I like Jeter too,” Raquel says. “But Anoop is cuter.”
Ewwww
. But hey, actually that was nice of you, Raquel. Divert Anoop with some praise. Save me from getting punched.

“Anoop,” I say, pointing to the cards from the first day of Forensics Squad that spilled out of his notebook. “Pass me the one labeled ‘HD.’ ” He relaxes his fist enough to pick up the card. He still sort of looks like he wants to kill me, but he passes it my way.

“The magnifying glass, please.” He hands it over. “Just as I thought,” I say, checking out the fingerprint of one Hairston Danforth III. “Some very unusual double-loop whorls.”

Anoop retrieves the exemplar from our previous efforts—the print that was on both the wallet of Toby Weingarten and my wall. I hand him Hairston’s card. I don’t have to compare the two. I know that they are a match.

“Holy crap,” Anoop says, which just about sums it up. He holds the magnifying glass up to Hairston’s print. Then back and forth, comparing it to our exemplar. “It’s a perfect match. Hairston Danforth killed Toby Weingarten.”

At this Maureen, TK, and I laugh. “Sorry,” Maureen says. “It’s really not funny. But Toby wasn’t murdered. It was suicide.”

“Hilarious?” Anoop says.

“I know,” TK says. “It really isn’t funny. It’s just that Maureen set this thing up to get you here. Hairston is a thief, but he’s not a murderer.”

“You really thought I stole your freaking coins after everything we’ve been through, Guy Langman?” Anoop says. “I really ought to kick your ass.”

“But I think you have other plans,” I say, looking over at Raquel and winking.

“Hells to the yeah,” he says. “I’m going over to Hairston Danforth’s house and demanding your coins back. And demanding that he tell us how he even knew about them. And how his prints ended up on Toby’s wallet. Because I am a good friend even to those who don’t deserve it.”

“I don’t deserve it, Noopie,” I say, feeling like I really don’t. “But I can answer at least some of that. I never tell anyone about those coins, but I was talking to Hairston one day … I was feeling sad or weird or whatever. I just kept talking. Accidentally blurted it out. I didn’t really believe that he was a klepto.”

“Totally is,” TK says.

“Yeah,” I say. “And he actually mentioned that he had some North Berry Ridge friends. He probably knew Toby. Probably tried to steal his wallet.”

“Yup,” Maureen says. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Is this posse ready to roll?” Anoop says. “I’m ready to kick some ass. We could all go over there with you. Blow this bitch up in a commando-style Forensics Squad smackdown.”

“I could rig up some climbing ropes and we could rappel down the side of his house, then kick in the windows with our feet, SWAT-team style,” TK says.

“That sounds totally awesome,” I say, because it does. “But I’m not entirely sure it’s necessary. I’m just going to go over there. No fisticuffs. We’ll have a talk. We’ll figure things out.”
Did I say “fisticuffs”?

“You’re a bigger man than I, Guy Langman,” Anoop says.

“That’s what your mother says,” I say. We laugh. Ah, mother jokes. Life, it seems, is getting normal again.

Here’s the plan: I show up at Hairston’s house with a paper bag. He’ll say, “Oh, is that my vintage
Playboy
in there?” And I’ll say, “No, you will find that this bag does not contain any Playboys.” And he’ll say, “Oh, what does it contain?” And I’ll say, “Look closely and you will find that it contains … my fist!” And then my hand smashes through the empty paper bag and hammers him in the nose. Blood everywhere. Ha-ha, yeah! Take that, Hairston, you thieving multi-use hand tool! That’s what you get for breaking into my house and stealing my treasure!

Okay, wait, I promised no fisticuffs. And I’m not really the fisticuffs type, anyway. I’m just going to go over there and talk to him, man-to-man. I know Dad always wanted me to be the fisticuffs type, but it’s starting to sink in that not everything he said was brilliant. Not every action he did was perfect. As it says in the Bible, “All dudes fuck up sometimes. Get over it.” (Okay, I only ever skimmed the Bible.) But I feel like Dad would be proud that I’m handling this on my own, with dignity and firm honor. I’ll present Hairston with some solid evidence and there’s no way he can deny it. And if he tries, well, I’m not totally ruling out punching him in the balls.

Hairston’s address is easy enough to find—right there in the phone book. I sort of knew whereabouts it was anyway—a neighborhood you can walk to from mine—not that I’ve ever
ventured over there. No one did, really. I’m feeling sort of bad for old Penis-Head, which is the wrong frame of mind to begin a manly confrontation. I walk over there, slowly cruising up and down the wide streets, past the beautiful lawns and enormous houses. How can so much weird shit go down in a place like this?

I get to Hairston’s place and no, it doesn’t have a sign out front announcing it as “Danforth Manor” or “Casa de Penis-Head,” but it really is a mansion with a gate out front and everything. Why would Hairston steal? Is he really a drug addict? My stomach sinks. What if he already sold the coins for drug money? Or for whatever type of money? The coins could be gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Every link to my father feels sacred. I can’t stand the idea of losing any of it … Plus, given the sad state of the Langman finances, that could be my college tuition right there. (Yeah, yeah, I’m getting around to applying. Don’t tell Anoop, though. He might wet himself.)

To get past the gate, you have to ring a buzzer. I press the small silver button and after a few seconds recognize the sleepy voice coming out of a speaker. It’s like being at a fast-food restaurant. “Hello,” he says.

“Yeah, I’ll have a cheeseburger and a seasoned curly fries,” I say. I can’t help it. It really feels like a drive-thru.

“Piss off,” he says.

“Dude, it’s Guy Langman!” I yell, before he can break the connection. He probably thinks I’m some kid playing a prank.

“I know,” he says. “There’s a camera. I can see who it is. That’s why I said ‘Piss off.’ ”

“What did I ever do to you?” I yell. When I pictured this
conversation going down, I didn’t picture it being an argument with a drive-thru speaker and a hidden camera.

“I don’t know,” he says after a long while. Then he adds, “What do you want?”

“Can I come in?” I ask.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes,” I say, feeling sort of creeped out that he asked. “Just me. Left the troops back at the barracks.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I hear a soft click and the gate swings open. I make my way up the long, winding path to the front door, which also softly clicks open before I even have to open it.

“Sweet system,” I say, as Hairston meets me in the foyer. “Doors open themselves, hidden cameras, not bad.”

He shrugs. “Makes my parents feel safe leaving me here, I guess. Since they’re never home.”

“Away on business again?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Cool, cool.”

It is then that I notice the gun.

This changes things somewhat. I’m about to confront Hairston with a crime. I’m prepared, if necessary, to go to the level of fisticuffs. But a shootout is not something I bargained for. Hairston sees me seeing the gun. It’s a long old shotgun or something, sitting on a small table at the bottom of the stairs.

“You know, some of the rumors about me
are
true,” he says.

“You really are an arms dealer?”

“No, not that,” he says. “That’s just one of my dad’s toys. You know rich men and their collections.”

“Well, please don’t shoot me!” I say. I try to make it a joke,
but really, I’m scared. It turns out that I’m scared for good reason. Hairston reaches for the gun and I leap into action. I grab him sort of awkwardly by the shoulders and he elbows me in the stomach. It hurts and I grunt, but I don’t let go. I adjust my grip and end up securing him in a side headlock. I elbow him in the ear somehow.

“Let go of me!” he shrieks.

“No way. Not until you put down the gun.”

“Never!” he says.

I twist his head harder, and am able to kick the gun out of his hand while still holding him in a headlock. The gun clatters to the floor, echoing on the hardwood. I chuck him across the room and dive for the gun. I grab it and point it at Hairston.

“Oh my God, Hairston. You really were going to kill me.”

“Dude, it’s a two-hundred-year-old musket,” he says, rubbing his ear. “I don’t even think it works. It doesn’t even have bullets, or musket balls or whatever. And it takes forever to load. How did we even win the Revolutionary War?”

“Um, I really am not sure?” I say. Still, I keep the gun pointed at him. “But I’m guessing you know why I’m here. Speaking of old men and their collections.”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Why did you steal my coins?”

Silence. Then he sighs.

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that stupid Forensics Squad,” he says. “Terrible idea for a thief to let someone get their prints on file.”

I repeat the question. I still have the gun pointed at him, even though I know it doesn’t work.

“Put the gun down,” he says. He gives me a totally blank look. He’s good, I’ll give him that much. A real stone-faced Penis-Head.

“You’ll explain all this to me?” I say.

“Sure,” he says. “Fine. I’m sorry. I really am. I have this problem … I don’t know why I take things. I don’t need the money. Dr. Waters says it’s just a power thing.”

“Hey, you go to Dr. Waters too?” I ask.

“You go there?”

“Yeah. My mom made me go after my dad died. Dr. Waters is okay. I don’t love it or anything.”

“Yeah, Dr. Waters is okay. I think she’s right about the power thing. I feel so powerless or whatever in most of my life that I do this to control the situation. The more difficult the theft, the more I’m drawn toward it. I’ve started picking pockets too. I’m weirdly good at it. Dr. Waters says it’s a bad sign that I’m stealing from people. Funny thing is, one time I did it right in her office. I stole some North Berry Ridge kid’s wallet right in her waiting room. Her secretary caught me, though, and I had to give it back …”