Trueman Bradley - Aspie Detective (10 page)

“I can’t wait either!” said Mrs. Levi. She got up from her chair and put all the dishes on her tea tray. “I’m going to print the registration forms!” she continued. “First thing in the morning I’ll have all the forms into the county office and we can open for business right away.”

Mrs. Levi walked away with her tea tray. She had a big smile on her face and was shaking with excitement. Sal had turned on the lights to the big office and was busy designing a neon sign on a piece of paper. His joy was also easy to interpret. I could feel the excitement in the room and it was infecting me.

“What do we do first, boss?” asked Nora.

She was looking at me and smiling. I looked around the big, empty office. I closed my eyes for a second and I imagined what it would look like cleaned up, with furniture, in the morning. No longer would it be an empty, abandoned office. It would soon be an organized, busy detective agency office. Emerging from my imaginings, I wanted to make it a reality.

“We’ll start by cleaning this office!” I said.

I grabbed a nearby broom and began sweeping the dusty floor. Nora found a garbage can and began collecting trash.

“Sal, can you go and buy some cleaning supplies in the morning? We’ll make this place look like a real detective agency,” I said.

“Yes, boss!” said Sal. “Just give me the cash.”

I took out a roll of 3,000 dollars and gave it to Sal.

“Mio dio! This buys a lot of cleaning supplies!” said Sal.

“It’s not all for cleaning supplies,” I said. “I am giving you some extra money to buy some furniture for this office. We need desks and chairs. Oh, and some computers.”

“Some computers?” asked Sal. “They cost more than this! Besides that, it is already evening. No furniture store will deliver. Well, they might deliver if we give them a tip.”

“A tip?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Sal. “If we give them some extra cash. You can buy anything in this city if you have enough cash. If we give them a nice big tip, they might deliver our furniture.”

I took out my credit cards and gave them to him.

“Here,” I said. “You can use these. When I had no money I couldn’t get a credit card. Then when I became rich, they gave me credit cards with a lot of money on them. I can spend up to 250,000 dollars with these cards. Is that enough?”

“A quarter million!” said Sal. “Mio dio! Yes, boss!”

“Okay,” I said. “Then buy whatever kind of furniture suits a detective agency. Oh, and if you find any Dick Tracy comic books, buy them. I need to read them before we can begin.”

“Sure thing, boss!” said Sal.

Sal left the building and I continued cleaning. I was almost finished cleaning all the dust and spider webs, when I remembered my daily checklist. My plans had changed, very drastically. I needed to alter my checklist.

I took out my notebook from my pocket and looked at my checklist of activities for today. I crossed off “discover connection between Malcolm Vrie and Eddie.” I looked at Nora cleaning the windows, with a smile on her face. I was happy that now she would be my employee and would never leave me.

I wrote on my checklist, “make agency and so ensure Nora will never leave me.” I looked at it, then crossed it out. I wrote, “make agency and so ensure Nora, Mrs. Levi and Sal will never leave me.” I looked at it, but it still looked wrong.

I crossed it off my checklist and wrote “make agency and so ensure my friends and I will make our dreams come true.” I looked at this and it made me smile. I checked it off. I then wrote, “spend night cleaning and organizing detective agency.”

I checked it off and continued sweeping. I felt happy with my future and secure with my present. For the first time in my life, I felt accepted and content. I felt I had real friends and I was confident that I could be a great detective and make my dreams come true. I was so happy, I couldn’t concentrate.

I looked out the window at the full moon. It was pale and shiny and seemed to be smiling at me. It seemed to be telling me that my lonely days were over. It seemed to tell me that the days when I felt like an outcast, unaccepted and misunderstood, were over. I knew the moon was telling me nothing, and it was only my imagination. But I enjoyed my imaginings, and so I continued to listen to the moon. I closed my eyes and sighed. The moon told me this was the first night of a new and better future.

Sunlight was shining on the table and illuminating a chart I was making. This chart showed the location of every public pay telephone in Manhattan. This was an important chart for solving the case of the connection between Eddie and Malcolm, the first case of our new Trueman Bradley Detective Agency.

“We’re open for business!” shouted Sal.

Sal walked towards me, across the sunlit office. Our office was entirely different from how it had been last week. Now it was decorated with artworks, fine furniture and elegant window curtains. There was a large clock on the wall, filing cabinets for our paperwork and cork bulletin boards for pinning case details to the wall. Sal had ordered placards with our names on them. The placard on my desk said “Detective Trueman Bradley.” Piles of paper were on my desk. This was all my research and notes about the case of Eddie and Malcolm. Nora and I had been awake until late, reorganizing my notes, and now they were neatly arranged on my desk.

“Did you hear me?” asked Sal. “We’re open for business! The sign is installed! You want to come out and see it?”

I couldn’t understand his words, because I was focusing on my chart and the solution of the Eddie and Malcolm case.

“I can’t concentrate on two things at once!” I shouted.

I covered my ears with my hands and closed my eyes, trying to block out the sounds and movements of the busy office. I tried to sit in my chair, but I have always been clumsy. When I’m dizzy from loud distractions, I am even clumsier. I tripped over my chair’s legs and fell down on the floor.

“Trueman!” shouted Nora.

She ran to me and helped me to get up. She led me to my chair and I sat, breathing heavily.

“What happened?” asked Nora.

“I was confused,” I said, “because Sal came and said something loud while I was busy concentrating on my chart.”

“Sal!” shouted Nora.

“What?” he asked. “I was only telling him about the sign! How could I guess that would make him fall down?”

“Well, now you know!” she said. “Trueman sometimes finds it hard to concentrate on more than one thing at a time! Especially if he’s focusing on something, don’t interrupt him.”

“That’s very odd!” he said.

“I’m not odd!” I said.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean you’re odd, Mr. Bradley. But how can I guess that shouting disturbs you so much, unless you tell me? I didn’t know this! You treat me like I punched his face, Mrs. Lucca. I meant no harm!”

“Okay,” she said. “Relax, Sal. No one’s blaming you. Now you know not to interrupt Trueman if he’s concentrating, okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry,” said Sal. “I will remember that.”

Sal walked away and Nora knelt beside my chair. She stroked my face and talked to me gently. She took a comic book from my desk and opened it to a page we had bookmarked.

“Remember our talk last night?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“After we organized your papers,” she said, “we read these comic books together. I asked you why you told Sal to buy you Dick Tracy comic books. You said it helps you concentrate on being a detective if you can imitate a detective hero, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s true.”

“So, if you’re feeling confused right now,” she said, “we’ll read this part of the comic you said you liked most. That’ll restore your concentration, right?”

“Probably,” I said.

She held the comic book in front of me and I recognized it. Sal had found five Dick Tracy comic books and I had already read them all, fifteen times. I had learned there were 140 more Dick Tracy comic books, and a lot of movies and radio plays. But these five comic books were good enough for me to get an idea of Dick Tracy’s methods and his detective skills.

“That is issue number 25,” I said, “from March 1950.”

“Yes,” she said, “this is page 25 of issue number 25. I remember you really liked this part when we read it last night. You said it helped give you confidence as a detective. Here, Dick Tracy asks the reader ‘can you solve the murder mystery?’”

“Yes,” I said. “I remember. A man named Mr. Playhard was found dead. The police thought it was a suicide. But Dick Tracy was suspicious because Playhard was found wearing a green tie. Witnesses who had met Playhard that day said he had been wearing a red tie earlier in the day. Dick didn’t think he’d change his tie before committing suicide. So, someone must have murdered Playhard, and replaced his tie for some reason.”

“And you solved the case easily,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “It was easy. There were three suspects. The suspect named Wilbur Smoothtalk killed him. I knew it was him, because he was color blind. He was the only one of the suspected murderers who would not notice the difference between a red tie and a green tie. Smoothtalk had murdered Playhard by strangling him with his own tie. To hide his crime, Smoothtalk replaced the tie around Playhard’s neck. But because he was color blind, Smoothtalk put the wrong colored tie on Playhard.”

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s the right answer. You solved it. And reading this helps you feel confident. Why’s that?”

“Because of what it says at the beginning,” I said. “It says ‘we challenge you to see how good a detective you are! Can you solve the case as Dick Tracy did?’ I solved the case easily, so it means I’m a good detective, like Dick Tracy.”

“I see,” said Nora. “So you feel less confused now?”

“Yes,” I said.

I got up and leaned against my desk.

“I think I can continue working now,” I said.

Sal had returned and was staring at us.

“I don’t understand you, Mr. Bradley!” he said. “Why you get scared so easily? How will you fight the bad guys if you are so easy to scare? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to insult you, but why you need to read these comic books? How is it helping you? I don’t understand. These comics are for little kids!”

Sal picked up a comic book from my desk and threw it back down. I could recognize irritation on his face.

“I wasn’t scared,” I said.

“But when I came to talk to you, you panicked and fell down!” he said. “I’m sorry to say it, but that is strange!”

“Sal!” said Nora. “Trueman has Asperger’s Syndrome.”

“He has what?” he asked. “I never heard of that.”

“His mind operates a little bit differently,” she said. “For one thing, he can easily get alarmed by unexpected or sudden interruptions. Crowds or loud noises are hard for him.”

“Oh…” he said, “so that is why you can’t walk on the busy street? That’s why you need a chauffeur to drive you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Okay, okay.” he said. “I am sorry, Mr. Bradley. I didn’t know you have this condition. How can I know if no one tells me, huh? But I still don’t see why you need these comic books.”

“I need them,” I said, “so I can imitate the details in the books and become like Dick Tracy. I do sometimes have some problems because I can’t do some things other people can do, but I also have some mental powers other people don’t have. I am better at remembering small details and patterns than anyone else I know. So, I can memorize every detail of Dick Tracy perfectly, until I can learn to imitate him exactly. I can even see patterns in his behavior that others don’t see. It helps me to become like him. I used to try to imitate Slam Bradley this way, but I prefer Dick Tracy now, because he is more intelligent. Do you see why I need the comic books now?”

“Not really,” he said. “Why don’t you join the police and become a normal detective? After all, Dick Tracy isn’t real, you know! He is a fictional character. Some man invented him to entertain kids. There are not really any men like him!”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Well, I don’t know,” he said. “There just aren’t.”

“I don’t understand your answer.” I said. “Why aren’t there? Is it illegal or harmful to be like Dick Tracy?”

“Well, no,” he said. “But no one tries to be like him!”

“Okay,” I said. “Then I’ll be the first to be like him.”

Sal sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, do what you like, boss,” he said. “I just don’t understand why you want to know everything about this comic book. Why Dick Tracy? Why choose him for your obsession?”

“Why?” I asked. “Because I like him.”

Nora put her hand on Sal’s shoulder.

“Don’t call it an ‘obsession,’ Sal,” Nora said. “It’s true, people with Asperger’s will sometimes develop a very strong interest in a certain subject. More of a concentrated interest than you or I might have, but there’s no reason to make it sound like it’s ‘strange’ or an ‘obsession.’ He likes comic book detectives because he enjoys memorizing every tiny detail of them. He likes looking for the patterns in the detective’s behavior and in criminal behavior. Most people aren’t as interested because all these details and patterns are invisible to them. Maybe most people don’t try to act like Dick Tracy because they’re not good enough at observing details, so they can’t possibly mimic Dick Tracy as well as Trueman could.”

“But how can he?” he asked. “Dick Tracy was a very smart man. If, as you say, Mr. Bradley has some kind of mental problem, how can he be smart like this?”

“I don’t have a mental problem!” I said.

Nora grabbed Sal’s shoulders and spoke firmly.

“Sal,” she said, “what Trueman lacks in social skills and the ability to concentrate on many things at once, he makes up for in an incredibly strong intelligence in other areas. He just kicked your butt at cards! So don’t think he’s stupid!”

“Okay! I’m sorry!” he said.

Nora was grasping Sal very hard and I recognized anger in her eyes. She looked ferocious, like an angry cat. I imagined what she’d look like if she were a cat, spitting on Sal’s face. I realized she was defending me from Sal and I was grateful to her. She was a loyal friend, willing to protect me from anyone who insulted me or tried to hurt me.

“You’re like Tess Trueheart,” I said.

Nora was concentrating on Sal so hard that she didn’t immediately notice what I said. I couldn’t interpret Sal’s emotions, but he was trying to free himself from Nora’s grasp.

“I didn’t mean to insult Mr. Bradley!” he said. “I would not do that. I like Mr. Bradley very much. I didn’t know he was so smart! I’m sorry! Yes, of course he must be a genius, right? After all, he is the best poker player I ever saw!”

Nora released Sal and leaned against the table. She was recovering from her strong emotions and was breathing heavily.

“Did you say something, Trueman?” asked Nora.

“You’re like Tess Trueheart,” I said. “The loyal friend of Dick Tracy. You look like her. Maybe when I imagine myself to be Dick Tracy, you can pretend to be Tess Trueheart.”

Nora’s face turned red.

“Isn’t Tess his girlfriend?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Why do you want me to be Tess?” she asked.

“Because you accurately explained to Sal how I think,” I said. “You know me better than anyone else. Tess Trueheart also knows Dick Tracy better than anyone else. Also, you defended me when you felt I was being attacked or insulted. It means you are a loyal friend. Tess Trueheart is also a loyal friend to Dick Tracy. Of course, she is his girlfriend too. But you don’t need to be my girlfriend, unless you want to.”

Nora’s face became redder. I thought this might mean she was embarrassed by what I said. But then I thought it might be caused by her anger and her heavy breathing. Sal was looking down at the floor and I could recognize sorrow on his face.

“Mr. Bradley…” he said, “I am sorry I misunderstood. I wasn’t intending to attack or insult you. I did not know about your different way of thinking. But now I understand you better. I hope that both of you will forgive my mistake.”

Nora put her hand on Sal’s shoulder and embraced him. I thought this was a non-verbal method of saying she forgave him. I felt I should use the same method, so I embraced them both.

“I forgive you, Sal,” I said.

Wind came through a window and blew papers off my desk.

“Catch them!” I shouted.

Nora, Sal and I grabbed the papers as they flew through the air. After we caught them all, I walked to my desk and tried to remember where these papers were meant to be. My desk had been perfectly organized. Nora went to close the window.

“I hope that didn’t disturb you,” she said. “We should get a carpenter to come in here and build walls around your desk. Having your desk in the middle of this big office isn’t good. We should build some walls to make you a private office. Then people, sounds and drafts can’t disturb you like this!”

“Sure,” I said. “But don’t hire Eddie the carpenter.”

“No, of course not him!” she said.

“Say, what is this map you are working on?” asked Sal.

Sal pointed at the chart I was making. It was marked by little papers, with numbers on them.

“This chart is important for our first case,” I said. “The first case of our agency is to discover the connection between Eddie the carpenter and Malcolm Vrie.”

“Why is that so important to discover?” he asked.

“Because,” said Nora, “Eddie is a murderer. If they have a connection, maybe they were both involved in the murder.”

“No,” I said. “They were probably both involved in another crime. It is a big coincidence that Malcolm Vrie was given a case to solve, and the murderer in that case is someone who has a connection to him. I have learned that big coincidences, in criminal cases, usually means there is a second, hidden, crime.”

“Interesting,” she said. “How did you learn that?”

“I studied and memorized all the criminal cases in New York City since 1951,” I said. “I memorized all the details. It is easy to notice that pattern. In 95 percent of cases where there were coincidences, there was a second, hidden crime.”

“I wish I had your brains!” said Sal. “You memorized cases since 1951? I’m sorry I doubted you, boss. You’re a genius!”

“You think I’m a genius?” I asked. “Well, maybe other people can’t recognize the patterns so easily. But I’d like to continue explaining the case. I don’t like interruptions.”

“Sorry, boss,” he said.

“When we were at 545 East 13th Street,” I said, “I had noticed two similarities between Eddie and Malcolm. They both had stains on their clothes, made by the same ink, and they both had little cuts in exactly the same place on their faces. The likelihood of two people having these similarities is very low. After I came home and spent five hours thinking about it, I remembered more details. I recalled twenty-five more similarities between Eddie and Malcolm. The likelihood of two people having twenty-seven similarities is so low, it is impossible for these two men to not be very much involved in each other’s lives.”