Trueman Bradley - Aspie Detective (8 page)

“What?” he said. “A gun? Look, Trueman. Just don’t move. We’re in Central Park. We’re not too far away from you. Just stay there. We’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

I hung up the phone and smiled. I couldn’t recognize the emotion in Buckley’s voice, but I was sure he was impressed that we solved the case of Eric Lendalainen.

“So, what’s happening?” asked Nora.

“He’s coming,” I said. “They’ll be here in ten minutes.”

Fifteen minutes had passed, and we were sitting in the first floor hall of 545 East 13th Street. Nora was sitting with her back to the wall. She laid her gun on her thigh, but every time Eddie moved, she lifted her gun and pointed it at him.

“Why is the detective late?” I asked. “He said he’d be here in ten minutes!”

“Maybe there’s a lot of traffic,” said Nora.

“But he said ten minutes!” I said. “How am I supposed to know when he’ll come if he doesn’t tell me the correct time?”

“People can’t always predict when they’ll come,” she said.

It makes me nervous when people are late, because I am comforted by predictable routines. I like to make plans and know exactly what will happen. I need to know who I will meet and exactly when they will come. If they don’t come on time, my day is no longer predictable, and I don’t like to alter my plans.

I took out my notebook and looked at my list of today’s activities. After I had talked with Buckley on the mobile phone, I had written “wait for ten minutes for Detective Sam Buckley to come.” I crossed it off my list and wrote “wait for fifteen minutes for Detective Sam Buckley to come.” I felt a bit better, now that it was part of the plan. But I feared I’d need to change it again if he didn’t come soon.

I had spent the fifteen minutes watching Eddie. He sat on the bottom stair and I had been able to recognize a lot of emotions on his face: fear, hatred, anger and worry. He was still drunk and was breathing heavily. The smell of alcohol on his breath caused the entire first floor hallway to stink. The hallway smelled like alcohol, cigarettes and Eddie’s strong body odor. The smell was making my stomach sick.

But what interested me most were the stains on Eddie’s trousers. He wore torn blue jeans, covered in paint, glue and urine stains. But the most interesting stains were on his knees. He had ink stains on his knees, as if he had kneeled down in a puddle of ink. I knew from experience that only ink made that type of stain. But I wasn’t sure what kind of ink it was. It didn’t appear to be India ink. For fifteen minutes, I had been trying to imagine the explanation for these stains.

“Why do you have ink stains on your knees?” I asked.

“What?” he asked. “That’s not ink. It’s oil from my car. I was fixing my truck. It was leaking oil and I kneeled in it.”

“Why are you lying?” I asked. “That’s not an oil stain.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” he said.

He stood up and started moving around the room. I couldn’t interpret his emotion, but his movements were frightening. My question about the ink seemed to make him aggressive.

“Sit back down, Eddie,” said Nora.

She had stood up and pointed her gun at his face.

“And what if I don’t?” he asked. “I’m not gonna sit here all day answering stupid questions about ink stains! What would you do if I left? Would you really shoot me? Huh?”

Eddie started yelling and Nora’s arm stiffened. She closed one eye and aimed the gun. It seemed she was ready to shoot.

“Oh, you’re going to shoot, are you?” he asked. “I could knock that gun out of your hand before you could even get a chance to shoot! Then I could beat both of you into putty! A little girl playing with a gun! You don’t scare me, lady!”

“Oh yeah?” she asked. “Well, if you could take the gun from me so easily, then let’s see you try it.”

I could now recognize the emotion on Eddie’s face. He was trying to threaten Nora. He wanted to dominate her and take the gun. He moved closer to her and her body became very stiff.

“Watch out, Nora!” I shouted.

Eddie threw one of his fists into Nora’s hand, knocking the gun from her hand.
He sent his other fist towards Nora’s face, but she moved to the side and grabbed his hand. She pulled him and he tripped over her foot. Nora pulled the massive man over her back and he fell down on his stomach.

“Trueman!” she said. “Get my gun, please.”

The stress of the situation had caused me to drop down to the floor and cover my face with my hands. Eddie’s attack had been so sudden and his fall so violent that it made me shake with tension. I had never experienced such violence before.

“Trueman,” she said, “are you okay?”

“I think so,” I said. “But I can’t stop shaking.”

Nora pointed her finger towards the corner of the hall where the gun had slid after being knocked from her hand. I grabbed it and handed it to her.

“How did you knock him to the floor like that?” I asked.

“I know judo,” she said. “It’s a fighting skill designed to defend yourself against people bigger than you. I don’t like to use it, because you can really hurt someone with it. But he gave me no choice. He would’ve killed me if I hadn’t used it.”

Eddie was making sounds that indicated he had been hurt. I noticed his arm had hit the glass panel of the front door and caused it to crack. The cracks formed a pattern that looked like a spider’s web. I saw that two men were watching us through the glass. It was Detective Buckley and Malcolm Vrie.

“Detective!” I said. “Here’s the murderer!”

I opened the door and they stepped inside.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” asked Buckley. “Why’s this guy groaning on the floor?”

“He just attacked me,” said Nora. “I had to defend myself. I used a judo flip on him. I had no choice, Detective Buckley.”

“I know you,” said Buckley. “You’re that detective, Nora Lucca. What’s the deal with this broken glass? You did that?”

“He must have done it when he fell,” said Nora.

“Oh, for the love of…” said Buckley. “Okay, now please tell me what’s going on here. I’m confused as hell. Trueman said this guy murdered Eric Lendalainen. You got evidence?”

“This hat!” I said.

I handed him the baseball cap with the blood on it.

“So what?” he asked. “It’s a hat. What about it?”

“It has blood on it!” I said.

Detective Buckley took off his sunglasses and examined the baseball cap very carefully.

“There’s no blood on this thing!” he said.

He gave me the cap and turned away from me. I wasn’t sure if I interpreted his emotions correctly, but it seemed to me he had a look of annoyance on his face. I had expected him to be overjoyed that we solved the case; I had expected him to congratulate me for my success and give me more cases to solve.

“There is blood on it!” I said.

Buckley turned his back to me and spoke to Nora.

“Look, Miss Lucca,” said Buckley.

“Mrs. Lucca,” she said.

“Okay, Mrs. Lucca,” said Buckley. “You’ve got no right to be investigating this case. My boss, Chief Stokowski, gave this case to Mr. Vrie over here to solve. And I don’t like it when people do things to put my boss in a bad mood. Because if he’s in a bad mood, I’m the one that’s gotta listen to him gripe. You understand? This case doesn’t belong to you or Trueman!”

“Listen to the detective, Nora,” said Malcolm.

“I understand that, Detective Buckley,” said Nora. “But we got a hot lead on this case, which Malcolm over here was not following up. We felt it was our duty to solve the case, because Malcolm didn’t seem capable of it.”

“Well, that’s between you and Mr. Vrie!” said Buckley. “If you’ve got a problem with one another, you solve it between yourselves. Don’t interfere in criminal cases that aren’t yours to solve. Understand?”

“Yes, Detective,” said Nora.

Nora looked at me and frowned. I could recognize the sorrow and disappointment on her face. It made me miserable to imagine Nora was unhappy. I didn’t understand why Detective Buckley was annoyed with us or why he didn’t believe the cap had blood on it. I could see the blood stains clearly.

“Look, Detective!” I said. “Look right here! Can’t you see the blood stains? There are three blood droplets!”

“I already looked. I don’t see any blood,” said Buckley.

“Well, you have to look closely!” I said. “The blood has been washed out. But if you look closely, you can still see the faint traces of blood.”

“That’s impossible, Trueman!” said Buckley. “No one can see blood stains if they’ve been washed out!”

“Trueman can,” said Nora. “If you take this hat to the crime lab and test it, I think you’ll find traces of blood.”

“I’m not gonna be doing that!” said Buckley. “Listen close, Mrs. Lucca. Don’t encourage this guy. Trueman’s a good guy and I like him a lot. But he’s got no right calling himself a detective. He’s just an inexperienced kid from Heartville and he doesn’t understand how dangerous New York City is. If you’re really his friend, you’ll tell him to stop trying to pretend he’s a detective and tell him to head back home to Heartville.”

“But, Detective…” I said.

“You heard me, Trueman!” said Buckley. “You could’ve gotten killed here and next time I might not be around to save you. You’re not a detective, okay? I don’t want to ever hear of you interfering with police investigations again. Now, you made a big mess here. You pointed a gun at this guy without evidence. You assaulted him. You broke the glass in the window. This is all illegal. But I’m gonna ignore all this.”

“Thank you, Detective Buckley,” said Nora.

“Yeah,” said Buckley. “But in return, you’ve got to promise me something. Promise me you don’t ever interfere with another police investigation. Now, can I get a promise?”

“I promise,” said Nora.

Detective Buckley looked at me. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. I still didn’t understand why he wasn’t thanking Nora and me for solving the case. Instead, he was lecturing us, as if we were a couple of naughty children.

“Why aren’t you happy we solved the case?” I asked.

Buckley sighed and put his face in his hands.

“Trueman,” he said, “first, you didn’t have permission to solve this case. Second, you aren’t an experienced detective, so you shouldn’t be trying to solve anything! And third, you didn’t solve the case. There’s no blood on this cap. So you got no evidence. You can’t arrest someone without evidence. You arrested this guy with no evidence and that’s very illegal.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Now, I like you Trueman,” said Buckley, “so, I’m gonna forget this happened. I’m gonna let you walk away. I’m not gonna arrest you. But you have to promise me not to interfere with police cases. If you wanna play detective… well, fine. Go find your own cases, okay? But if you’re smart, you’ll take my advice and forget all about trying to be a detective. Now, promise you won’t try to solve any more police cases and I won’t arrest you. I’ll let you go home, understand? You promise?”

“Okay. I promise,” I said.

“Good,” said Buckley. “Malcolm. Take over.”

Buckley handed the baseball cap to Malcolm. Malcolm put the baseball cap into his coat pocket and smiled at us.

“I think you two should leave now,” said Malcolm.

Nora walked out of the building and I followed her. We walked to our Lincoln car and climbed inside.

“What happened?” asked Sal. “I saw you pull your gun. Then the police arrived. I was expecting to hear gunfire! Quite an exciting show to watch. Better than television!”

“We caught him,” said Nora. “But then Malcolm came and took all the credit. I could tell by the look on his face. That jerk’s going to take all the credit for this!”

“What do you mean ‘take credit’?” I asked.

“He took the baseball cap!” she said. “He’s going to take it to the lab and discover it has Eric Lendalainen’s blood on it! Then he’ll tell the NYPD that he solved the case, although it was actually us who solved it!”

“How do you know he’ll do that?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just a hunch. I could tell by the look on his face. I can’t explain it, exactly. Something about his smile told me clearly that he’ll take credit for it.”

“What’s a hunch?” I asked.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s kind of like a suspicion. If a detective suspects something, but doesn’t have evidence yet, then it’s called a hunch.”

“A hunch…” I said.

I also had an interesting hunch. Before Malcolm had suggested we leave the apartment building, I had seen ink stains on his coat sleeves. He had fifty-one small ink stains, and they were made from the same kind of ink that had stained Eddie’s knees.

Normally, I would not think that is very interesting. But I had just thought of another thing that connected Eddie and Malcolm. Both of them had small cuts beside their left eye. Both cuts looked like they had been made by exactly the same material and were exactly the same shape. What is the likelihood that two people would have the same kind of cut on the same part of their face? What is the likelihood they would both have stains from the same mysterious type of ink—an ink that I had never seen before.

“That is not very likely,” I said to myself.

“What?” asked Nora. “You mean that he’ll take credit?”

“Oh, no,” I said. “Sorry, I was talking to myself.”

I put on my sunglasses and put my earphones in my ears. I closed my eyes and tried to think of more similarities between Eddie and Malcolm. I had a hunch that all these similarities meant something important and I wanted to solve the puzzle.

“There’s some connection between them,” I said.

My room at 201 Reade Street was a mess, but I didn’t mind. I had been trying to discover the connection between Eddie, the carpenter, and Malcolm Vrie for the last eight hours.

I had written all my thoughts about the case on small pieces of paper and organized them into piles, which were placed all over the room. If someone else looked at the paper-strewn room, they might’ve thought it was a mess. But to me, who understood the pattern of their placement, it was perfectly organized.
The one dim light bulb that hung from the ceiling was not bright enough for me to work. So I had lit six candles and put them all over the room. I had closed the window and lowered the blinds, so I would not be disturbed.

I played Mozart’s Symphony #41 in C major on my music player. The music filled the room and echoed off the walls. I felt as if the perfectly arranged notes of the music were filling the room with logic and order. I felt as if it helped me to organize my piles of papers and helped me solve this case.

The door opened quickly and caused a draft to enter my room. All my papers flew around the room and four of my candle flames were extinguished. It felt like a tornado had suddenly appeared in my room and blown away all the order and calmness that had surrounded me. Everything was chaos and it caused me to panic. I grabbed my head and fell to the floor.

“What’s happening?” I shouted.

“Trueman!” said Nora. “I’m sorry!”

I lay on the floor, protecting my head with my arms and shaking with fear. I thought something horrible had happened. Did a tornado hit? Or did a plane crash into my office?

“No!” I said. “There have only been sixty-five plane crashes in New York City since August 11th, 1920! The odds are too low!”

I felt someone touch my shoulder and I moved my hands from my face. There was no tornado or burning wreckage from a plane crash. Nora was standing above me, looking down at me.

“I’m sorry, Trueman,” she said. “I didn’t know my opening the door would make so much wind. Did I mess up your papers?”

Nora helped me to get up and sit in my chair. I looked at the mess of papers that surrounded me. The draft had blown the papers everywhere, and now it was truly a mess. All my organized thoughts had become chaos. I was horrified to think all my hours of organizing were wasted. I was even more alarmed because I could smell something burning.

“Oh!” said Nora. “It’s on fire!”

Nora ran to the corner of the room, where one of my candles was still burning. One of the papers had been blown onto the candle flame and was now on fire. Nora stomped her foot down on the paper and extinguished the fire. She kept stomping on the candle until it was broken into tiny pieces of wax.

I couldn’t endure it anymore. All this unexpected chaos, interrupting my calm organizing, was too much for me to handle.

“But it was all organized!” I shouted. “What happened?”

This confusing and horribly unexpected event was too horrifying for me to accept. I needed to escape reality. I closed my eyes and began thinking of prime numbers. Prime numbers are numbers that are not divisible by anything other than themselves to yield an integer. The mathematical solidity of these numbers comforts me, somehow. They always relax me when I’m confused. I pictured each of them in my head, and could see them as clearly as if I was looking at them.

“2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13…” I said.

I felt hands on my shoulders, but I didn’t stop counting.

“17, 19, 23…” I said.

“Trueman?” asked Nora. “I’m sorry I surprised you.”

I felt her arms embracing me and I could smell her lilac shampoo. I could smell a slight dampness in her hair, so I knew she had showered about twenty minutes earlier. I could feel a wool sweater, covering her arms, and it felt very comforting.

I was drawn from out of my imagining of prime numbers by the attractive sensations of Nora’s embrace. I looked up at her. She smiled and put her hand on my head. I imagined her embrace meant she was in love with me again. I felt comforted knowing this and stopped shaking. I touched her hair.

“I forgive you, Nora,” I said. “I’m glad you’re in love with me again. Maybe we can get married soon.”

“Married?” asked Nora.

She moved away from me quickly.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Aren’t you in love with me?”

“What?” she asked. “No! Why did you think I was?”

“Because you winked at me,” I said. “My granddad told me that women wink at men when they’re in love with them.”

“Well, sometimes!” she said. “But a wink can mean a lot of things. It doesn’t always mean love. Sometimes I wink at people if I’m doing something slightly naughty, or I’ll wink because we have a secret between us… there’s lots of reasons!”

“So, you aren’t in love with me?” I asked.

“No, I never said I was!” she said.

“You never were in love with me?” I asked.

I was confused why my granddad told me a wink meant a girl was in love. I was now entirely confused about what a wink meant. I started to feel a horribly unpleasant emotion. Nora wasn’t in love with me and I had also embarrassed her with my silly idea that she was in love. I didn’t want to acknowledge this reality or deal with these horrible emotions. I hid my face behind my hands and continued imagining prime numbers.

“29, 31, 37…” I said.

“Trueman?” she asked.

“41, 43, 47…” I said.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You’re counting prime numbers, right? Why are you doing that?”

“They relax me,” I said. “53, 59…”

“Did I stress you out because I entered the room so fast and blew away all your notes?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “61, 67…”

“I’m sorry I did that,” she said. “I know sudden, unexpected things are hard for you. I feel bad for disturbing you, Trueman. I’ll make you a sign to put on your door that says ‘Do not disturb.’ So nobody will surprise you again.”

“Thanks,” I said. “71, 73…”

“Then I made your stress worse by telling you I’m not in love with you?” she asked. “Because you thought I was? Trueman, just because my wink didn’t mean I was in love with you doesn’t mean I don’t like you. I like you very much.”

“But you’re not in love with me?” I asked. “You don’t want to marry me?”

“Well, no,” she said. “But I like you a lot.”

I sighed. I was happy she liked me, but I had already thought we would get married and now I was disappointed. I had even written an item on my checklist of things to do in my day, “propose marriage to Nora.” Now I would need to cross it off the checklist and change my plans. I looked at the mess of papers on the floor and I felt like my life, also, was a mess.

“Trueman…” said Nora.

She walked to me and put a hand on my shoulder. She looked at me with an emotion I recognized as affection. She was very gentle and to feel her soft touch made me feel better.

“I see you’re still upset,” she said. “I know you can’t always interpret people’s emotions and you got the wrong idea about my winks. But I understand and so you don’t need to feel embarrassed. I’m flattered by your love for me, Trueman, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that we could never be a couple.”

“Why not?” I asked. “Is it because you are Mrs. Nora Lucca? Because you already have a husband and are monogamous?”

“Well, no,” she said. “I used to be married to Mrs. Levi’s son, Julius. But we’ve been divorced for three years now. I changed back to my unmarried name but kept the title ‘Mrs’ because it’s often easier to talk to people if they think I’m married.”

“Three years?” I asked. “And you didn’t marry again?”

“No,” she said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t found the right man.”

“Can I be the right man?” I asked.

Nora stood very still and stared at me. I couldn’t interpret her emotions. I was camping with my granddad once, and accidently surprised a raccoon in the forest. The raccoon had a similar look on its face as Nora now had on her face.

Nora started laughing.

“Trueman,” she said, “you’re not like anyone I met before. You’re honest and sincere. Most people I know say nice things, but are hiding a lot of cruelty or hatred. You can’t trust them. It’s like they talk in riddles and you’re never sure exactly what they mean. You talk clearly and truthfully. It’s refreshing talking to you. That’s probably why I came tonight.”

“Why did you come here tonight?” I asked.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said.

“You missed me?” I asked.

“I guess so, yeah,” she said.

I felt better knowing Nora had missed me, but I was still sad and disappointed. I wanted her to be my wife, because then she would not leave me. Unexpected surprises make me nervous, so I like my life to be predictable. And ever since I began believing Nora was in love with me, I was thinking how nice it would be to have a wife. Someone who will always be there for me; someone reliable who is always predictably present and willing to help me. I had become very attracted to the idea of being married. I was also attracted to Nora’s beauty. If she were my wife, I could touch her hair as often as I wished.

I sighed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re still upset?”

“A little bit,” I said. “I thought we’d be married.”

She looked at me, but didn’t say anything to comfort me. I couldn’t interpret her emotions and wondered if she didn’t care about my upset or if she wasn’t sure how to help me feel better.

“We’ll talk about this more, okay?” she asked. “But for now, can you come with me? Mrs. Levi, Sal and I are playing cards. I came into your office to ask you if you want to join us in our card game. So, how about it, Trueman?”

“I can’t come,” I said. “I have to organize my papers.”

Nora looked at the mess of papers and her shoulders dropped. I recognized the frown on her face—it meant she felt guilty and ashamed.

“I’m sorry I messed up your papers,” she said. “I promise I’ll help you organize them, after the card game.”

“You will?” I asked. “It might take five hours.”

Nora smiled at me.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “That gives us lots of time to talk. I said we’ll talk about your feelings more, right?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then, we’ll organize and talk,” she said.

“For five hours?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said.

I couldn’t stop smiling. I was always happy and comforted in Nora’s presence and the thought of spending five hours with her, involved in the peaceful task of organizing, seemed as blissful as heaven. Maybe she liked being with me so much that we could have a reliable, trustworthy friendship, without needing to be married.

“So, ready to play cards?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll do what makes you happy.”

“Well, then,” she said, “let’s go!”

I followed her out of my room and into the hall. The hall was dark and smelled like the streets of New York City. A draft was blowing through the hall and so I knew many windows were open. She opened the double doors that led into a very big office, which I had rented but not yet used.

Inside, there was very little furniture. There were no coverings on the windows. The flashing lights of Reade Street were visible and the full moon could be seen in the sky. Pale blue moonlight lit everything. All of the thirteen windows were open and there was a cool breeze
blowing through the room.

There was only one table, with four chairs. Sal and Mrs. Levi sat at the table, playing cards. Nora and I walked to the table and sat down. On the table was a pot of tea and a cake.

“Trueman, dear!” said Mrs. Levi. “I’m so glad you could join us! I baked you another raspberry lemon cake. I know you must like it, since you ate the other one so quickly!”

“Thank you,” I said. “You’re playing poker?”

“We sure are!” said Sal.

“I know this game,” I said. “I watched my granddad playing it with his police officer friends. I was six years old.”

“Six?” asked Sal. “Well then, I guess you’re out of practice. Maybe you will play for a while? I’ll teach you.”

Sal gave each of us five cards and we started playing.

“Sal was just telling me about your adventures on East 13th Street,” said Mrs. Levi. “So, did you really catch a murderer?”

“We sure did!” said Nora, “but I have a feeling Detective Malcolm Vrie is going to try and make everyone believe he’s the one who caught him.”

“Malcolm Vrie?” asked Mrs. Levi. “Now, why does that name sound so familiar to me, dear?”

“Ah yes, it was a spine-chilling adventure!” said Sal. “Just like out of a Dick Tracy comic book! It does my old heart good to watch these two young detectives chase criminals!”

“Who is Dick Tracy?” I asked.

“You never heard of him?” asked Mrs. Levi. “Oh, you’ve got to be joking! He’s a famous comic book detective. A lot like that detective you always talk about. What’s his name? Bam?”

“Slam,” I said. “Dick Tracy is like Slam?”

“Well, sort of,” said Nora, “but Dick Tracy uses a lot more research and intelligent investigation to catch criminals.”

“Yes,” said Sal. “Slam Bradley uses his fists instead!”

I had never heard of Dick Tracy. But I had been so focused on Slam Bradley that I hadn’t even thought of the possibility of there being other comic book detectives who I might like better.

Ever since my meeting with Eddie, the violent carpenter, I had doubted my ability to be like Slam. In the comic books, Slam always punched people and used his fists to defeat criminals and solve crimes. I was too clumsy and easily frightened to punch people. When Eddie attacked me, I was helpless. Even if I had wanted to punch him, I didn’t know how. I wanted to be like Slam, but I had to admit that I was nothing like him. But if there were other comic book detectives that used intelligence, not punches, to solve crimes, then maybe I could try to be like those detectives instead.

“What?” exclaimed Sal. “A royal flush!”

We had been playing poker while I was thinking.

“Yes. It is a royal flush,” I said.

“But that’s the best hand in the game!” said Sal.

“When we’re talking about poker…” I said, “and you say I have a good ‘hand.’ That means I have a strategically beneficial configuration of cards, right?”