Trueman Bradley - Aspie Detective (5 page)

“I’m Trueman Bradley,” I said. “Who are you?”

“Dr. Nora Lucca,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. In a room full of detectives wearing trench coats and fedoras, finding you is like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“How is it like finding a needle in a haystack?” I asked.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “That’s an expression that means it’s hard to find something. My mother-in-law, Mrs. Levi, told me you have Asperger’s Syndrome. Don’t worry about it. I had a cousin with Asperger’s so I know a lot about it. I’ll speak clearly and try not to use any more expressions.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You know this clown?” asked Malcolm.

“I’m not a clown,” I said. “I’m a detective.”

Malcolm gave me another hate-filled look. His aggression was starting to make me nervous and upset. I couldn’t understand why he had become suddenly aggressive.

“Why do you hate me?” I asked. “What did I do?”

“Hello, Malcolm,” said Nora. “I haven’t seen you for a while. Are you having some kind of problem with Trueman?”

“Yeah!” he said. “He just called the chief of police short, fat and bald. Then he was bugging me with questions.”

Nora seemed to know Malcolm. But I could see from the look on her face that she didn’t like him much. I interpreted that she was looking at him with eyes that expressed disgust.

“For one thing,” she said, “did he lie? The chief of police is short, fat and bald. Are you denying that?”

“Well, no!” he said. “But you don’t say stuff like that to people. It’s rude! This guy has no manners. He’s a jerk!”

“Malcolm,” she said, “he has Asperger’s Syndrome. He can’t always tell what’s rude and what’s not. I’m sure you didn’t know you were offending anybody, right Trueman?”

“Right,” I said. “I didn’t know I was being offensive!”

“There, you see?” asked Nora. “Now, Trueman, I think you and I should go somewhere else to talk.”

“Why?” I asked.

Nora was quiet for a while and looked at Malcolm.

“Because I don’t like Malcolm,” she said. “He’s a jerk. Let’s leave him alone with his hate and go talk somewhere else.”

Malcolm laughed. I could interpret from his face that he also hated Nora. She seemed like a kind, understanding woman and so I became even more emotional. This man seemed to hate innocent people for no reason, and it made me angry.

“You’re just jealous, Nora,” said Malcolm.

“Oh, am I?” she asked. “Why do you think that?”

“Because the Chief was talking to me,” he said. “Do you know why he was talking to me? I think you do. He was talking to me because he was giving me a job. You’ve been trying to get a job from the Chief, but he didn’t give it to you. Isn’t that right? You’re jealous, Nora, admit it! It’s too obvious!”

I didn’t entirely understand what Malcolm was talking about, but I could recognize the aggression in his voice. He was talking in a rude and threatening way to my new friend, Nora, and it enraged me. I jumped up from my chair.

“Shut up!” I said. “Just shut up, you bully! Stop threatening people! All you do is hate people for no reason! Don’t threaten Nora! If you threaten us, I’ll call the police!”

I had yelled so loudly that everyone in the room heard me. The room was silent and everyone was staring at us. Malcolm’s face turned red and I recognized that he was embarrassed.

“Shut up!” he whispered. “Everyone’s listening!”

“No, you shut up!” I said.

“Please, you two!” Nora said. “I mean, I think we should keep it quiet, okay Trueman? Could you sit down, please?”

She grabbed my shoulder and led me to my chair. Her voice was gentle and soothing and I started to feel calmer.

“Trueman,” she said, “I know Malcolm aggravates you, but I’d like it if you could keep calm, okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

“Malcolm,” she said, “you have a lot to learn about good manners. I told you Trueman has Asperger’s. You have to be careful what you say around him, because he doesn’t always…”

“So, he’s stupid,” Malcolm said. “Who cares?”

“I’m not stupid!” I said.

“Malcolm,” Nora said, “he’s not stupid. He may not get all the subtleties of small talk or body language, but I’ll tell you this: he’s a lot more polite than you are. I don’t imagine he’d intentionally insult anyone the way you just insulted him!”

“That’s right!” I said. “And besides that, I’m not stupid! Maybe I’m smarter than you! Did you ever invent a crime-fighting equation?”

“I’m sorry?” he asked. “A crime-fighting equation?”

“Aha!” I said. “You don’t even know what it means. Maybe you’re the stupid one! I’m smarter than you! Buckley asked me to invent a mathematical equation to fight crime and I did.”

“Sam Buckley?” he asked. “Yeah, right. I know him. I doubt Buckley would ask for help from someone like you.”

“He did!” I said. “My equation can predict the cause and outcome of any crime. So, now you can see I’m not stupid.”

Malcolm laughed and looked at me as if I was insane.

“You’re seriously saying a mathematical equation can solve a crime?” he asked. “And just how does it manage to do that?”

“It’s easy!” I said. “I just need the time and place of the crime, and what type of crime it was. Then I can use my equation to determine many things. Such as, where the criminal went, what neighborhood he lives in and many other things.”

“There’s no possible way a mathematical equation can do that,” he said. “You really are stupid if you believe that.”

“I’m not!” I said. “Maybe you’re the stupid one!”

“If you’re so smart, buddy…” he said.

“I’m Trueman Bradley!” I said.

“Fine…” he said. “If you’re so smart, Mr. Trueman Bradley, then maybe you can use your miracle equation to solve the murder case that Chief Stokowski just gave me to solve.”

“Sure I can!” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “Now, we’ll see if your equation really works! Here are the facts. A man named Eric Lendalainen was found dead outside 620 East 13th Street, last night. He was bludgeoned over the head. He had 50 bucks in his pocket, so it wasn’t robbery. Is that all you need to know?”

“What time was it?” I asked.

“I told you it was last night,” he said.

“I need the exact time!” I said. “Or the equation won’t give an accurate result.”

“We believe he was murdered at 11:15 pm,” he said. “Go ahead, buddy. Use your magic equation and solve the crime!”

I was enraged by his taunting tone of voice. I was determined to show this aggressive bully that I was smarter than him. I had all the data I needed to use my crime-fighting equation and solve this crime. I put my earphones into my ears and closed my eyes, so I would not be distracted. I forgot about Malcolm and Nora and concentrated on my equation. I began to talk to myself.

“Man, murdered, 620 East 13th Street, 11:15 pm…”

I used the power of my mind to envision my crime-fighting equation, which had 357 variables. Although it was easy for me to do the math, it took me a few minutes to solve the equation, because there were so many variables and a lot of complex operations. Apart from the data he had given me, I had to determine the values of several hundred more variables, based on a variety of statistics I had memorized about New York City. The process was exceedingly complex and required all my formidable powers of concentration. After a few minutes of organizing the numbers in my head, I executed the equation and calculated an answer.

“I solved it!” I said. “The murderer is a man and lives near 545 East 13th Street and is currently at home. He is probably a plumber or a carpenter with a criminal history. He has a wife and family. He is an alcoholic who abuses his wife.”

I opened my eyes, but Malcolm was gone. I had been savoring the thought of proving my intelligence to him. I was disappointed to realize he had not heard my successful solution. Nora was sitting in Malcolm’s chair and staring at me.

“Where’s Malcolm?” I asked.

“He left,” she said.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well, he gave you the details of the crime,” she said. “Then he asked you to solve it with your equation.”

“Yes, I remember that,” I said.

“Then you closed your eyes,” she said, “put in your earphones and started making a strange noise.”

“What?” I asked.

“You made a noise like ‘ung… ung,’” she said. “You went on making that sound for a few minutes. Malcolm started laughing, called you an idiot and then left.”

“I make that noise sometimes when I’m concentrating very hard,” I said. “I don’t realize when I’m doing it. Why did he leave? I was using my equation to solve his murder case!”

Nora was quiet. I felt frustrated and looked around the room. I wanted to find Malcolm and tell him I solved his case.

“Did you really solve the case?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I told you that already. It was a man near 545 East 13th Street, like I said. I want to go there with Malcolm to prove to him that my crime-fighting equation works!”

“So, you really invented an equation that can solve crimes?” she asked. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Of course it’s true! Do you think I’m a liar? I never lie!”

Nora stared at me silently. She looked calm and peaceful, but I thought I recognized confusion on her face. I guessed that she was not sure if she believed in my equation.

“I’m sure my equation works,” I said.

“Really?” she asked. “Have you tested it yet?”

“No,” I said. “But I tested it on old cases that are already solved. It was correct 98 percent of the time.”

“Really?” she asked. “That equation of yours intrigues me. I’m still not sure I believe an equation can solve crime. But there’s no harm in testing it. Would you mind coming with me to 545 East 13th Street to see if you’re right?”

“But, I know I’m right!” I said. “I want to go with Malcolm. I want to make him realize he’s wrong.”

“Trueman,” she said, “do you know what Malcolm meant when he said I was jealous of him?”

“No,” I said. “But I knew he was being aggressive to you.”

“Yes, he was,” she said. “Thank you for trying to defend me, by the way. I appreciate your kindness, Trueman.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I don’t like cruel people.”

“Me neither,” she said. “Well, I’ll explain to you what he meant when he said I was jealous. I’ll tell you in clear language, since I know you like people to talk to you clearly. If the NYPD are too busy to solve a case, they sometimes give it to a private detective to solve. If you succeed in solving a case for them, the NYPD will be grateful to you. They will like you and give you more cases in the future. You understand?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well,” she said, “I tried to convince the NYPD to let me solve this murder case of Eric Lendalainen. But instead they gave it to Malcolm. If Malcolm solves this case, the police will like him and give him more cases to solve. Now, maybe you guessed it, I don’t like Malcolm. I hate him because he’s aggressive and cruel. You don’t like him either, do you?”

“No, I don’t like aggressive, cruel people,” I said.

“Then, if we can solve the case of Eric Lendalainen,” she said, “we can make Malcolm look bad. The NYPD will be happy we solved their case and they’ll like us and give us more cases. And they’ll hate Malcolm for not solving the case. Understand?”

“Yes,” I said. “If we go to 545 East 13th Street and find this murderer, then we’ll cause that bully, Malcolm, to fail?”

“Yes, and the NYPD will be impressed with us,” she said.

“And it will prove my equation works!” I said.

“Yes, and that detective you talked about…” she said. “Detective Sam Buckley?”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s his name.”

“He’ll be impressed too,” she said. “We could get a lot of jobs from NYPD in the future if we succeed. That means a lot of money and a lot of cases to solve. If your equation is correct, then we could really make a name for ourselves in this city!”

“Make a name?” I said. “But I already have a name.”

“No, Trueman,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to use an expression. I meant, if we solve this case we’ll become famous and everyone will know we’re great investigators. And if your equation really works, you’ll be famous for inventing it!”

“Wow!” I said. “I didn’t realize I’d be famous.”

I felt a lot of pride imagining the NYPD publicly thanking me for inventing the crime-fighting equation.

“What should we do first, Nora?” I asked.

“Let’s go to 545 East 13th Street!” she said.

We were driving our Lincoln car along East 13th Street. We passed by large buildings, with big windows. Every time we passed one of those big windows, I would look at our reflection in the glass. I loved the way we looked, driving in our car, towards 545 East 13th Street.

I looked like a detective, with my trench coat, fedora and big sunglasses. Nora was also dressed in a trench coat and sunglasses. She wore a gray hat with a wide brim. She had bright red lipstick and her black hair blew in the wind. Our driver, Sal, had used some of my money to buy a chauffeur’s hat and uniform. Our 1942 Lincoln Cabriolet was the type of car I’d seen in Slam Bradley comics. I liked to look at our reflection in the windows, because we looked like an illustration from a Detective Comics book. I felt pride and pleasure to think my plans of becoming a detective in New York City were succeeding.

We had driven onto many streets to get to East 13th Street. As we went, I had counted the pedestrians on the sidewalks and wrote the totals into my notebook.

“If I add up all the pedestrians I’ve seen today,” I said, “the sum is 612 men, 588 women, 52 people riding bicycles, 34 dogs, 20 cats and one alligator.”

“An alligator?” asked Nora.

“Yes,” I said. “When we drove past 14th Street Park, I saw a bald man who had an alligator on a leash. He looked weak and small. He was not very mature.”

“Who wasn’t mature?” she asked. “The bald man?”

“No!” I said. “The alligator! Its scientific species name is ‘alligator mississipiensis.’ It was not yet fully grown. A mature alligator of that species is about twelve feet long. This alligator was about four feet long. It is still maturing.”

“How do you know so much about alligators?” she asked.

“Not only alligators,” I said. “I read a book about zoology when I was fourteen years old. It contained details about 1001 different species of animals. I memorized it.”

“Fourteen? And you still remember?” asked Nora.

“Of course,” I said. “Why would I forget?”

“Most people would forget,” said Nora.

“I know that alligator man!” said Sal. “He often walks on West 14th Street with his pet. They call him ‘Stan the alligator man.’”

“Wow!” Nora said. “Only in New York City. Isn’t it illegal, though, to have a pet alligator in the city?”

“No,” I said. “There is no federal or New York state law prohibiting owning an alligator and housing it in a city.”

“But what if it attacks someone?” she asked.

“Then it is illegal,” I said. “It is against article 25-B of the ‘Agriculture and Markets’ law of the State of New York.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “When I read the statute, I didn’t understand it all. But it seemed to say that you will be charged with a misdemeanor if you have a dangerous animal and don’t take precautions to protect other citizens from it. If the animal attacks somebody, then it will be a crime.”

“You memorized New York state laws, too?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Wow!” she said. “You have an amazing memory, Trueman! I wish I had your mind. You’re like a real-life Sherlock Holmes. Having someone around who knows every state law is gonna be a big help to me. I’m glad I have you here with me.”

“Good,” I said. “But who is Sherlock Holmes?”

“You don’t know?” she asked. “Well, I’ll tell you later.”

“Okay,” I said. “You think it’s important for a good detective to know these laws? And to have a good memory?”

“Yes,” said Nora. “I think it’s very important. Most of detective work is mental. You have a great mind, Trueman.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I said.

It was sunny and warm and I was feeling good. I was enjoying the feeling of the wind on my face. I was overjoyed to hear Nora tell me I could be a good detective. Detective Sam Buckley must have been wrong when he said I could never succeed as a detective.

I watched Nora’s hair blowing in the wind and felt grateful for her understanding and her friendship. She admired my mind and I enjoyed her admiration. I wanted to use my mental powers to solve the case and impress her even more.

“Here we are, Mr. Bradley,” said Sal. “That apartment building. It says ‘545 East 13th Street’ on the front.”

“Yes, it does,” I said.

The apartment building was made of red bricks. I counted five stories. There was a fire escape on the front of the building and the four bottom windows had bars covering them. A small florist’s shop was attached to the apartment building.

I could smell a cigarette, and soon noticed a man in a second floor window. He was leaning his arms on the window sill and blowing smoke out the window. He was wearing a white undershirt with many stains on it. He was bald and had tattoos on his forearms. I could recognize anger on his face.

“Stop whining at me, you shrew!” said the bald man.

He threw his cigarette onto the street.

“Was he talking to us?” I asked.

“No,” said Nora. “I think he’s talking to someone in the apartment. He’s having an argument. Maybe with his wife.”

“You keep your hands off me!”

The female voice had come from the bald man’s apartment. Soon after, we heard the bald man shouting.

“Maybe he abuses his wife?” I asked.

“It sounds like it,” said Nora. “I’d hate to be his wife, anyways. The way he’s talking to her is just horrible!”

“And he’s a carpenter!” I said.

“He is?” she asked. “How do you know?”

“Because he had a pencil behind his ear,” I said. “That is a habit of carpenters. Of course, other people do it too. But there is another reason I know he is a carpenter.”

“What reason?” she asked.

I pointed my finger at a nearby truck.

“That truck is full of carpenter’s tools,” I said.

“But, how do you know it’s his truck?” she asked.

“Because there are Winston brand cigarettes littering the street beside that truck. I could recognize the smell of his cigarette. That bald man smokes Winston brand cigarettes.”

“Wow! You’re amazing, Trueman,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “He must be the killer. Let’s call the police! Let’s call Malcolm and show him we solved the case!”

“But you don’t have any proof!” she said. “We need to have some kind of evidence. We can’t arrest somebody just because of our suspicions. How are you going to get evidence?”

I had never had a case to solve and I had never realized that my equation was not enough to send a criminal to jail. I was sure my equation was correct, but I still needed evidence. I had no idea how to get evidence. I had never even considered that question before. I felt embarrassed because I had no answer to Nora’s question. She might not think I’m amazing anymore, if I had no idea what to do. My face turned red.

“You don’t know what to do?” she asked. “Wow! Mrs. Levi told me you were new, but I didn’t think you were quite so inexperienced as this. Have you even had one case yet?”

“No,” I said. “This is my first case.”

“Well, don’t worry about it, Trueman,” she said. “Leave this one to me. I’ll show you how to get evidence! Just follow me and learn from what I do.”

Nora stepped out of the car and I followed her.

“Sal,” she said, “go park a block away and wait for us.”

“Si, Signora Lucca,” he said.

I expected Nora to walk into the apartment building. I was surprised when she walked into the florist’s shop instead. Inside the shop, I could smell roses, magnolias, and nine other types of flowers. A young blonde woman in a blue dress sat behind the cashier’s desk and smiled as we entered.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked.

“I think so,” said Nora. “Can I get a half dozen red roses, please? And add a few lilies to the bouquet.”

“They don’t have lilies,” I said.

“Yes, we do,” said the cashier.

“No, you don’t,” I said. “I don’t smell any.”

“Well, what I meant is, we usually have them,” said the cashier. “But we’re sold out of them. We get more tomorrow.”

“Aha,” I said. “That’s why I don’t smell them.”

“Well, then,” said Nora, “in that case, just give me half a dozen roses, please.”

Nora winked at me. My granddad told me that women winked at men when they are romantically attracted to them. I became shy and embarrassed. I hadn’t realized Nora was romantically interested in me. I became confused and moved away from her.

“So…” said Nora, to the cashier, “this is a nice little shop. Do you get a lot of local people as customers?”

“Yeah,” said the cashier. “They’re all local.”

“I just moved to this neighbourhood,” said Nora. “I don’t know anyone yet.”

“Yeah,” said the cashier. “I thought you were new. Like I said, we get all the locals. So, I know everyone around here.”

“Oh, yeah?” asked Nora. “Say, do you know a carpenter in this neighborhood? I wanted to renovate my kitchen. But I can’t find a carpenter. Are there any local carpenters?”

The cashier rubbed her chin and looked at the ceiling.

“Now that you mention it…” she said, “Eddie’s a carpenter. He lives right next door in 545. But he’s not too good, so I’ve heard. He’s kind of lazy and I hear he’s a drinker. So I wouldn’t recommend him.”

“A drinker?” asked Nora. “You mean he’s an alcoholic?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” said the cashier.

“Well, that’s great!” I said.

“Pardon me?” asked the cashier. “You like alcoholics?”

“No,” I said. “It means my equation was right! An alcoholic carpenter who abuses his wife, living at 545 East 13th Street! That is exactly what my equation predicted! This carpenter named Eddie must be the killer!”

“What?” asked the cashier. “Eddie killed somebody?”

“No, no!” said Nora. “Please don’t listen to my friend here. He’s joking. He’s always telling jokes like that.”

“I’m not joking!” I said. “Let’s call the police!”

Nora stared at me and she seemed to be trying to communicate something to me. But I couldn’t understand her facial expression. She put her finger in front of her mouth and I recognized what that meant.

“Why should I be quiet?” I asked.

“Give us our roses, please,” said Nora, to the cashier. “Thanks. Can you give us the carpenter’s apartment number?”

The cashier had become very quiet and seemed to no longer want to talk to us. I could recognize fear in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, lady,” said the cashier. “I don’t wanna get involved in whatever this is all about. Are you guys cops?”

“No, we’re not,” said Nora.

“And she’s not a guy,” I said. “She’s a woman.”

Nora sighed and paid for the roses.

We walked out of the shop and Nora whispered to me.

“Trueman!” she said. “You shouldn’t have told her about our investigation! This is supposed to be a secret, right?”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. I should’ve told you. I forgot this is your first investigation. If you tell people you’re investigating a murder, they might get scared and not want to give you information. That’s why she didn’t want to give us Eddie’s apartment number. She got scared when you mentioned a murder. Before that, she thought we were just normal customers, so she wasn’t scared to give us information.”

“I didn’t know that,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault,” she said. “I’m supposed to be teaching you detective work, so I’m responsible for your mistakes.”

She grabbed my shoulders.

“But, Trueman,” she said, “remember, from now on, our investigation is secret. That’s your first detective lesson from me. Rule number one. Keep the investigation secret.”

“Even from you?” I asked.

“Well, no,” she said. “Not from other detectives.”

“Should I tell Malcolm?” I asked. “He’s a detective.”

“We’ll tell him after we solve the case,” she said.

She winked at me. I was certain my granddad told me that women wink at men when they are romantically attracted. I was happy and excited to learn Nora was in love with me. I lifted my hand and touched her hair. It was thick and shiny and smelled like lilacs. I had always wanted to touch her hair.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

She pushed my hand away. She frowned and seemed to want to get away from me. I couldn’t understand her reaction.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“I thought you wanted me to,” I said.

I could recognize confusion on her face.

“I didn’t ask you to touch my hair,” she said.

We walked together, towards the apartment block. She had always walked close to me. But now she walked further from me. I realized she might be scared that I would touch her again.

She had winked at me, so she must have been in love with me. But now I had done something to make her afraid to be near me. I thought I must have done something wrong because of my difficulty understanding the subtleties of social rules. I felt frustrated and angry at myself for not understanding how to behave with other people and for losing the love of Nora.

“I hate this!” I said. “I can’t do anything right!”

I sat on the sidewalk and hid my face behind my hands. Nora had walked to the front of the apartment and was looking at the intercom beside the door.

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said.

That wasn’t true, but I was so confused and frustrated that I didn’t want to discuss the problem. I wanted to avoid her questions, fearing I might say something else to upset her.

“Well, in that case,” said Nora, “come on and help me, Trueman. We have to find out where Eddie, the carpenter, lives. Now, we know he lives on the second floor because we saw him smoking out of a second floor window. So the apartment number probably starts with a two.”

She waved her finger in front of the intercom buttons.

“Come on, Trueman,” she said. “You’re the smart one here. Can you help me and guess which apartment he lives in?”

I thought about it. I couldn’t think of anything to help me determine which apartment the carpenter lived in. I hid my face behind my hands. She had already stopped loving me for some reason I didn’t understand. If she knew I had no answer, she might start hating me. I didn’t want to answer her.