It's No Picnic (5 page)

“Nothing sinister. What do you mean?” Alex said.

“Exactly that.
Nothing—bad—happened
. We had a friendly meeting, and parted. That’s that.”

Alex stared at Don, contemplating a next move, wondering when he should spring into action; lay it on the line so to speak.

“Do you recall what she was wearing?”

“Please. Three—four months.”

“A dress?”

“I suppose. We were at a gathering. The women here usually wear something formal. I don’t really care, but the women—maybe to attract, who knows.”

“Then, yes.”

“Okay. A dress.” Don said sharply.

Then—rather cynically, Alex said, “It had color, right?”

“Of course, what kind of question is that?”

“What color was it?”

“White I guess. Yeah, white.” Don replied anxiously.

With that, Alex reached into the sack, pulling out the dress, holding it in the air saying, “Like this?”

Aghast, Don slumped forward in the chair, feeling the plush and soft cushions giving way, sliding out onto the edge, when…

B
AM
!
—H
E
H
IT
T
HE
F
LOOR
, forehead narrowly missing the table, perhaps finding it healthier to land on the soft carpet below. Immediately, Alex rose from the sofa, rushing to Don; checking vital signs. He was still amongst the living, albeit with a contorted and crooked leg. As Don began regaining consciousness, Alex reached down, offering him help off the floor. Don blundered, bobbled, and bungled as Alex lifted and pulled to get him back into the chair. Alex then asked, “Can I get you something?”

“Yes, some water.” Don replied softly.

Alex went into the kitchen, finding some glasses resting on the edge of a counter top. Hastily, he filled one with water, returning to the living room to find Don comfortably seated back in the chair peering off into the distance. “Here’s some water.” Alex said.

Weakened, Don looked at Alex as if wanting to say something. Alex anticipated as much, moving in closer as Don said gently, “I faint at the sight of blood.”

What a ploy. Faints at the sight of blood.
Nobody faints, unless there’s something to hide, something nobody else in the world should know. A secret stashed away in the recesses of the mind.

Maybe Alex struck a chord. Maybe this took Don back, back to that fateful moment, that moment where the mind splits, at once telling—cut or rub, out that is. But this fainting nonsense, perhaps a smokescreen. A time for him to regain composure and sound as if, in fact, he knew nothing.

With color returned, Don looked as if never sick; eyes no longer watering, cheeks now a rosy red, all demonstrating the countenance of somebody well and fit. Noticing the about—face, Alex reached into a second bag, pulling out the shirt. Don looked over, and seeing the shirt, turned and coughed. Alex took notice and countered, saying, “Do you recognize this shirt?”

Don looked straight ahead, and without blinking, said, “Yes.”

“Why did you do it? Why did you kill Nadie K.?”

“What. What’re you talking about?” Don staggered.

“I’m talking about murder. This shirt. I’m sure forensics will match blood on it to blood on the dress. Admit it Don, you killed Nadie.”

Don sat there, stunned into silence, staring past Alex at the wall behind him. Then—he said, “I’m stunned at this accusation. I’ve never harmed anybody in my life. I was a pacifist during the War for God’s sake. Anyway, where’s the evidence?”

“
Really?
Right here of course, in this dress and shirt.”

“Sure, the shirt I can’t deny, but the dress.”

“I have it on good authority this dress was found here, in the bedroom closet. Besides, I just lifted this shirt, here, from that closet. Blood all over it as you can see. So why not start confessing and save the Franktown police the trouble.”

“I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything. I’m being
framed
.”

“Why would somebody want to frame you?”

“I don’t know, but somebody does.”

Alex looked at the evidence, then the phone. Clearly, he had to call the Franktown police. Then he could get back to the reason why he’s here to begin with, rest and relaxation. This nonsense was getting old. He couldn’t believe he was here, interrogating Don, as if still making the old rounds. No. It’s time to find some peace.

“Look, I’m turning this over to the Franktown police.” Alex said.

“You can’t. I didn’t do anything.” Don said looking at Alex with wildly erupting and edgy eyes.

“I’ll let the police decide. I’m only doing a favor for somebody and as far as I’m concerned…”

Alex reached down, picking up the phone, dialing the Franktown police, all the while mumbling in the background, “
I’m done
.”

4

THE LONGPORT GAZETTE

D
ON
A
RRESTED
F
OR
M
URDER
!

A
LEX
R
EAD
T
HE
P
APER
, stunned at the caption. How could it be? It seemed as if only an hour passed since the arrest. Maybe it was fatigue; perhaps he’d fallen asleep and missed it? Yet, there it was, bigger than life, A
RREST
.

Then—he glanced at the clock.
Nine—thirty
. The Franktown police requested he be at the station in the morning to give a statement and any facts that might aid in the investigation. But was it morning? The
AM
—
PM
readings on the clock were useless, broken some years back in a fit. Perhaps looking outside would help?

Peering out the window Alex saw a dark, blue sky, not at all revealing time of day. No sunshine, no darkness. Only brilliant blackness. Nevertheless, the sharp air gave a clue.

After a shower and change of clothes, Alex went to the bus stop, hopping the
ten—ten
to Franktown.

Stepping down from the bus, Alex saw the Franktown police station across the street. It was matter of fact, displaying a rustic look; brick exterior, double glass doors, highflying American flag, single centered antenna, outside pay—phone and a large glass window with a sign painted:

C
ITY
O
F
F
RANKTOWN

P
OLICE

D
EPARTMENT

Alex stopped shy of the door. Apparently, pets were fond of the entrance as well. A raccoon was hanging on the door, sticking a paw inside, as if treats awaited him. One of the policemen pushed at the door, trying to get him off. After some coaxing, he fell, running down the street into a local wood.

Given the all clear, Alex
trespassed
, leaving behind the outside world and walking on, through the opened glass door, into the station. Once inside, he glanced about the place noting the rustic air so prominently presented outside. Such an
extraordinary
place for the
everyday
. After all, missing persons, murder, mass shootings—what are these.

Then—a policeman, seemingly in charge, said, “Can I help you?”

Alex paused…saying, “The arresting officer asked I come and give a statement.”

“Name,” the officer asked.

“Alex Lax.”

The officer looked at a book; bulky, vast, extensive; maybe a journal or log, perhaps nothing, saying, “Yes. Please have a seat. Somebody will be with you shortly.”

A
LEX
S
AT
D
OWN
in one of three chairs facing away from the front window. As he waited, eying from the window chair, he saw a magazine:

T
HE

F
RANKTOWN

Bored, he picked it up, leafing through the pages. On page thirty—two was an article about the police department, reading, “
The mission of the Franktown police is to keep the peace, reduce crime and improve the quality of life through community partnership with Franktown and Longport residents. We employee ten police officers and a staff of three. Last year we responded to 10,122 calls, wrote 1123 reports, made 402 arrests, investigated 173 traffic collisions and patrolled 128,456 miles. Additionally, we processed 156 pistol licenses, 478 records requests, 659 pawn entries, and 1 missing person case.
” One missing person. One nobody meaning nothing.

Alex had managed in a few days to dispel what the Franktown police dismissed as a person,
missing
. Of course, she’s still missing but it’s only a matter of time now. Don will confess, and when he does, the truth will come out. Alex knew this much. He knew a murder had taken place, and he was certain the murderer was sitting in jail where he belonged.

“Mr. Lax,” the officer said.

“Yes.” Alex replied calmly.

“They’re ready.”

Respectfully, Alex got up from the chair and followed the officer to a back room. There—he saw a man, around forty—eight, balding, a mouth for a face; eating a hamburger and fries, while all the time on the phone chewing out somebody, possibly a coworker, maybe the wife.

Then—he, the man that is, slammed the phone down, taking a huge bite out of the hamburger, motioning to the officer to bring Alex back. Alex, by this time disarmed by the behemoth, went inside, introducing himself, “Hello. Alexander Lax.”
The man
or Chief Detective so designated—likely translated
one and only
—got up from the chair, wiping those great, greasy hands across a humble mid—region, afterward extending Alex a hardy handshake. Alex reached out in kind, shaking, quickly withdrawing as if fearful of contracting some suety bug. The man then said, “I’m
Chief Detective
Smith,” marking him with a haughty hand amongst other things.

T
HE
T
WO
T
HEN
S
AT
D
OWN
, the man first, Alex following. As Alex was seating himself, he saw a book resting on the edge of the desk. The man took notice of this, asking, “So you like mysteries, do you?” Alex, looking as if coming out of a trance, glanced back at the man replying, “What?”

“You—like—mysteries?” the man said in a demeaning tone.

“I suppose.” Alex replied easily.

“What about this one?” the man said pointing to the book.

Alex picked up the book titled
INP
from the edge of the desk, leafing through the pages; noting settings, characters and action.

Then—he tossed the book down on the desk proclaiming, “Seems uneven for one with taste. Besides, I never much went in for the whole Kafkan thing.”

Seemingly offended the man said, “Well. I love it.”

Alex and the man sat—
sitting
—the man staring at Alex as if to make a point about such a reserve remark.

How much time passed, only the clock could tell? Alex, eager to get on with it, the questioning that is, broke the silence saying, “So, what about Don?”

“Right. We did bring you here to discuss that matter, didn’t we,” the man said in an insulting fashion.

“Yes. That’s why I’m here. Neither critic nor editor be.” Alex said evenly.

“Well then. Let’s get on with it,” said the man.

The man picked up a piece of paper, handing it to Alex, asking, “Is this the man?”

“Yes. That’s him.”

The paper was a mug shot of Don. He looked tired; eyes drawn, face fallen, as if not sleeping for several days. Yet, it’s only been
one
day. Did he stay up through the night, exacting as it were the toll enforced by beastly exhaustion? Perhaps somebody forgot to medicate; maybe lost in thought, considering all manner of story that landed him here in the first place. Only he knew. And presently, he wasn’t saying much.

“He’s not talking,” the man said.

“He was. He said somebody framed him. I didn’t buy it. I’ve been around long enough to know better,” Alex said slowly.

“Yeah. Someone told me you were a mystery writer,” the man said mockingly.

“No, a
detective
,” Alex said firmly.

“I see. Well what about Nadie?” the man said offhandedly.

“I’m sure you realize she was reported missing some time back. The sister, Miss Teresa K. asked if I would look into it. She said the police wrote off the case. I said I would investigate a little, not promising a thing. Then some evidence turned up. I pursued. That led to an arrest.”

“We looked into that case and found nothing. I’m sure you can understand with the limited resources, and well, with all the goings on out there at Longport. We simply couldn’t afford the manpower.”

“What do you mean
goings on
?”

“You know the
retired
,” the man said, “Always cross with curiosity.”

“I see,” Alex said plainly.

“Well, just another fling gone wild in my book,” the man said smugly.

“And now.” Alex demanded.

“Well, now we have you, don’t we? And we’d like to get to the bottom of it soon. So, where did you get this evidence?”

“Let’s say I stumbled over it.”

“Fair enough,” the man said in an
appealing
tone.

The man looked at Alex with elliptical eyes, seemingly wondering if Alex had something to hide. At once—Alex said, “I can assure you, I’ve nothing to hide.”

“Then,
where did you get this evidence
?”

“Like I said, I’d rather not say. Anyway, if you test the blood on the shirt and dress, I’m sure they’ll match.”

“We’ve sent those samples to a lab for testing. They’ll be back in a day or so. Meanwhile, we’ll keep Don in here.”

“Good idea,” Alex said.

“And other thing. We might need you to help interrogate the prisoner. So, I’d like you to be
available
.”

“No problem. Tomorrow?”