I think I'll be wrapping this case up in a couple or three posts.James Troop was an actor I had lured to the Ingersol Dinner Theater with a story about him being perfect for a production that would revive the now-defunct theater. He was also the man who had walked into my office not that long ago and convinced me to take a case that turned out to be bullshit. Bullshit that gets me pulled into a murder investigation and gets me shot at. Throw in my lousy luck with women, not to mention their lousy luck with me and, yeah, this has been a pretty average couple weeks for me. Or so I was telling myself.
For James though, this had not been an average couple of weeks. As we sat in the police car, having just been told by my former partner, Edna Muldoon, that we were free to go, I could see tonight's events were taking their toll on him.
"You think the man who shot at us followed me here?" His eyes were wide and while he'd broken a sweat fighting me, now it seemed like he couldn't stop, despite the fact that we were sitting still. In fact, he was probably sitting too still. It was almost like he thought that if he moved another gun would go off. I needed to get him out of here if I was going to get anything more about Andrew Grassley and the why's and wherefor's of this case.
"I do." I said rising from the car. "Why don't we get out of here." I pulled him up and we began to walk toward my newly aerated car and the cops who were lingering around it. Pulling the keys from my pocket, I said, "Are you guys just about done here? My friend and I were really hoping to catch the last showing of the Twilight movie tonight."
Edna looked up from the conversation she was having. "I can't let you drive this car out of here. We're impounding it."
"Impounding it? You said I could go."
"Well, the car is evidence. But you're free to leave." She spoke with a grin, but her voice was firm. She'd thought about this and she was a step ahead of me.
"Take pictures of the car and that can be evidence. I need to get going."
"No can do. This is physical evidence and as such will need to be studied by analysts. Unfortunately," she said looking at her watch, "they're working on another case and should be here in a bit. If you need to be somewhere, I'd be happy to have an escort take you home. As you may know, the Des Moines Police Department values your safety and wishes greatly to solve this crime..."
I stopped listening. I should have seen this coming. Edna knew I had information and that my investigation wasn't aiding hers. It was probably making hers a lot more messy. So, while she couldn't force me to stop investigating, without incurring the wrath of my lawyers, she could take my car. And that would slow me down either by having to take cabs or busses, which in Des Moines aren't all that plentiful or helpful, or by having someone looking over my shoulder, no doubt reporting back to her. On the one hand I was a little pissed. I liked having a free hand to work. I'm a professional. On the other, it had been a really long time since I had been shot at and while I was putting up a good front about it, the thought of having someone who had been to a shooting range in the last five years and who, you know, wouldn't leave their gun in the car like a doofus, didn't sound all that bad to me.
"Fine." I said, cutting Edna off in the middle of her still-ongoing lecture about the greatness of the Des Moines Police Department.
"Fine what?" She said, I could tell I'd caught her off-guard, which made my decision a little more worth it.
"I will take an escort. But the last cop I hung around with ended up being dirty, so, I'm gonna be a bit choosy this time." Saying a cop is dirty--even a dead cop--even a dead cop who was dirty, really and truly dirty--around a group of cops is a bad idea. I could feel the tension hit the air as soon as I said it. The uniforms were now openly staring at me and I think they were looking for a reason to give me a punch. I couldn't blame them. They're cops and they have to have pride in what they're doing and why they're doing it. Otherwise, we'd end up with a force of lazy incompents, most of whom would be dirty. Still. It was a fact. "What?" I said seeing a cop take a step toward me. "It's a fact. I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. Take it up with someone who gives a shit."
"You don't make personell decisions," Edna said. I could tell from the way she was looking over the cops assembled here that she could see how my comments had affected everyone. I also got the sense that she knew I was probably going to continue to spout off if I didn't get what I wanted. "If you're waiting for an escort, you wait. Now get the fuck back to the car before I let one of these officers show you to the car."
And with that James and I walked slowly back to the car. "Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"What?" I said not looking at James.
"Hey, I was nearly killed tonight too, but I'm not trying to take on the whole DMPD for some bullshit."
"Yeah. Well. I was nearly killed by a dirty cop and your man, Andy. So, I'm a little sensitive. Also, if this is going the way I think it is, I need a good cop watching my back. I can't just take whomever they give me."
"So, that was thought out back there?" He said in a voice of disbelief.
"More or less." I said quickly as I saw Edna making her way over to us. The way she was walking made me pretty sure she was going to punch me in the face when she got to us.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Edna said in a whisper that told me that whether or not she was going to punch me in the face was still up for debate in her mind.
"Been getting that a lot tonight Edna." I said.
"Keep up with that and you'll get some sort of permanant condition that will make people only feel comfortable asking each other what's wrong with you."
"Always a snappy comeback, Edna."
"[Gumshoe], just tell me what you want."
"You should escort us."
She laughed. "No fucking way."
"Then I need my car."
"Also, no fucking way."
"Gotta be one or the other."
"Or what? You'll keep spouting shit until these guys batter your pretty little face in? That's fine with me." She began to walk away.
"Or," I called after her, "I could give you all the information I have. Including the name of the man who sent someone into my office claiming to be Simon Flettering."
She turned and stepped toward us. "Arnold Grassley?" Clearly, she was a step ahead of me too. "Didn't you think it was odd I didn't interview your friend here when I arrived at the scene?" Now that she mentioned it... "I got that name a couple days ago. And I have his last known address, which we checked yesterday. Nothing. You got anything else you think I don't know?"
Turning to James, I said, "You know, if you talked ot the cops before about this, you may have wanted to let me know about it, instead of letting me look stupid."
"He didn't talk to us. We were actually watching him to see if Grassley would make contact with him again. But it's good you blew that lead for us."
"Blew it? I think he made contact tonight. Or he would've if his aim were better."
"Yeah. Very helpful." She said walking away.
"Edna. Have you checked the watertower yet?"
She stopped and I swear I saw a shiver crawl up her back. The watertower in Indianola was where the last pychopath with a penchant for scrawling music lyrics on the wall had been captured. It was a bit of a Hail Mary of me to bring this up now, but I didn't really have too much left in my arsenal. "He's probably not there, but I'll bet he visited."
Half an hour later, as Edna, James and I were heading to the Indianola water tower, I sighed. I had a feeling that one way or the other. This was going to be over before too long.
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