Read The Beholder, a Maddie Richards Mystery Online
Authors: David Bishop
She kicked the excess off her shoe and headed up the sidewalk of the house on the corner. A bark from inside told her she’d probably found the home of the mutt who had booby-trapped her path. At the flower bed under the front window she took off her shoe, picked up the hose, twisted the nozzle to the setting for blast, and power washed her pant leg. The feeling of the dung infested moisture on her leg made her wince. At least she had not worn pantyhose. When the clumps were gone, she eased off to a lighter setting to spray off the side and sole of her navy flat, the water pooling under the instep of her foot.
When the door opened, Maddie looked up to see the lady of the house standing on her porch, her arms crossed under bosoms the size of canvas water bags. The woman wore a baggy yellow house dress with light sandals held on by a narrow gold strap that rose from between her toes to climb over her chubby feet. Her toenails were painted fire-engine red.
“Oh, my dear, I saw you fall. I’m so sorry. I keep telling Romeo not to do his business on the sidewalk. I planned to clean it up right after lunch. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, drumming her painted-to-match fingernails on her forearm. “Please come in Sweetie? You can use my phone, or put your pants in my dryer.”
Maddie preference was to pull her .38 and assassinate Romeo right there in the woman’s arms, but instead, ever the public servant, she said, “Thank you, ma’am, but no. I’ll be fine.”
After dropping the hose, Maddie continued her run toward Durants with a more watchful eye for where she was stepping, all the while hoping Katie hadn’t tired of waiting and left.
***
Maddie paused at the front of Durants and took a deep breath before pushing her way through the door. KC sat in a corner booth, looking as if she had spent an hour selecting her outfit and twice that long applying makeup to a face that really didn’t need help.
As Maddie walked closer, she noticed her friend’s eyes had settled on her legs.
“Hello, KC,” Maddie said casually, “sorry I’m late.”
“What happened to you? Your leg’s wet … Isn’t it?”
“Don’t ask.”
KC shrugged. “I appreciate your not still being mad.” Her tone suggesting, they had turned some unseen page.
“Who said I’m not?” Maddie snapped, before taking a breath deep enough to pull out of attack mode. She put her palms out in front. “You were right about the problem being in our house, not yours, and about the city needing more homicide detectives. The department appreciates your creating some public awareness of that problem.”
“Chill, girlfriend, no need to be so formal. Phoenix needs more murder dicks. It’s that simple.”
Maddie flipped open a menu. “What’re you having?”
“Just a salad.”
“Me, too, with iced tea.”
At least KC was easier to eat with than Jed. He always ordered things that involved fat dripping from a bun.
“So, where did you come up with the Beholder name for this trash?” Maddie asked after they had ordered.
“Catchy huh?”
“No.”
“What would you have called him?”
“A crazy, fucking, scum-sucking psycho.”
“Yeah, well, I doubt the station would have let me use that.”
“So, I assume you held back the rest of what you had because you’re offering to deal?”
They opened their napkins while a server put down a little loaf of bread and a sharp knife on a heavily nicked wooden blank.
KC rested her arms on the table. “You’re right. I’m sitting on material good for one more special on the Beholder. Or, I will trade that in for what’s behind door number two, as long as that’s an at-the-scene exclusive scoop when you arrest the Beholder. Interested?”
Maddie lowered her voice. “Plus you sit on anything you might learn between now and then?”
KC picked the black-handled knife off the small cutting board and began reshaping the bread, first into slices, then halves. She laid the knife beside the cut loaf and closed her eyes.
“Okay, but not anything I learn outside your department. And, if this case goes longer than sixty days, I have the option of continuing the agreement or it expires. Deal?”
“Subject to the chief’s approval. I’ll call you tonight.”
“You understand that if any part of what I know or learn is reported elsewhere in the media, then I’m free to report on that part. Agreed?”
“I’ll call you after I talk to the chief.”
“Tell him if there’s no deal, my next special will come fast.”
“I’d expect no less,” Maddie said.
“You know, girl,” KC said after their salads arrived, “we’ve come a long way since the days we bitch-slapped each other over Curtis Regan.”
KC has made her deal, so now she wants to chat about the good old days.
When the manager came over to welcome KC who was apparently a favored patron, KC introduced Maddie and mentioning that she headed up The Beholder case squad.
After he left, Maddie turned to KC. “Well done.” Maddie squeezed the lemon wedge into her iced tea. “You’ve just corroborated our having had lunch the day after your special.”
“Oh, Maddie,” she oozed, while putting down her fork. “I had no such intent.” She topped off her less-than-sincere smile with a drink, her red lips branding the glass. Then she returned to girl talk. “Now, tell me, what really happened between you and our boy?”
“Who’s asking, my girlfriend or the nosey reporter?”
“Oh Maddie,” KC purred. “Come on now, no more shop talk. What happened to you and Curtis? You never did tell me.”
“When his knee blew out he had no fallback plan. He would never again be Curtis Regan, running back. He started drinking, never stopped, and couldn’t hold a job.”
“So, now you’re looking for the renaissance man. Traditional values. The whole bit.”
“I guess so. And, as long as I’m building my own, I’d like one with two good knees.”
“So, you left Curtis?”
“On our tenth anniversary.”
“You know he’s remarried? And to whom?”
“Life goes on.”
“Jesus. You dumped him on your anniversary?” KC glanced left and right before asking in a whisper that seemed to titillate her entire body, “What happened that night? Tell me.”
“We went to the Phoenician for the weekend. In the bar he told me he wanted us to celebrate with a threesome. He had it all set up with Joyce Wills. You remember Joycey?”
KC rolled her eyes. “I hadn’t thought of her in years. The boys called her Joyce Will. Remember. She never got it. The girl had the brain of a pop tart. Go on.” KC ran her tongue across the tips of her front teeth. “Don’t stop now.”
Maddie had never told anyone else about that day, but, despite their competitiveness and contrarian work worlds, Maddie and KC had been sharing girl secrets since the sixth grade.
“Joyce sashayed over to our booth and slid in, slamming her caboose against Curtis’s thigh. In the next few minutes, from the things the two of them said, it became clear that hadn’t been their first physical contact. I walked out of that bar and out of the resort. I didn’t even go up to our room for my suitcase.”
“Were you objecting to a threesome or doing it with Joycey?”
“My God, KC,” Maddie blinked, “I’m not a player.”
“And? … And?” KC prodded.
“And the next week I filed for divorce. End of story.”
“That can’t be the end.” KC shook her head. “I’ve heard you two have been seen out together. True?”
“I’ve gotten Curtis out of my house, out of my head, and out of my heart. But as much as I hate to admit it, a certain craving lingers in my loins. How can a man be so good in the sack and so bad out of it?”
They were still giggling like the schoolgirls they once were when the server brought the check. KC and Maddie accepted the manager’s offer of a complementary dessert. They both ordered a slice of cheesecake, to go. Maddie would take them home to her son and her mother.
While KC fished in her purse for her credit card, Maddie took a shot at catching KC off guard. “Who’s your source in the department?”
“You know I’m not about to answer that.”
“Did you fuck Arthur Dinkins to get the inside track?” Maddie said, narrowing her eyes.
“Dinkins? Don’t be silly. That man—and I use the word loosely—would need to give me the identity of the shooter on the grassy knoll in the JFK assassination. And while we’re speaking of Arthur Dinkins, you know that man looks at you like you’re a choice filet—which you are of course.”
“Dinkins can kiss my ass.”
“You tell him that and he’ll be on his knees.”
Maddie laughed. “I can handle Dink.”
“Why don’t you just lodge a complaint?” KC put her hands out, palms up and fingers apart like a traveling evangelist. “I mean the city has procedures regarding sexual harassment on the job … If you prefer, I’ll put together a short no-names piece referring to sexual improprieties in the PD.”
Maddie put her hand on KC’s arm. “I know you said that as my friend. Thank you. But I’m asking you to stay out of it. The department’s its own culture. The boys watch this girl to see if she can handle Dinkins. I’ve got to beat him on his terms: quips at five paces. If a formal complaint was made, I’d lose, even if I won. So fuhgetaboudit. Okay?”
“Your choice, I just don’t understand why you ever decided to be a cop?”
“As soon as I find the answer to that one, I promised my mother she’d be the first to know. You can be second. I have to be off. And so do you. The mayor’s press conference starts in twenty-five minutes.”
This beauty will be a wonderful addition to my gallery. Her body will be my canvas, her bed the frame. I originally found her by following the man she was with. The connection was perfect. She was perfect. It is as if my choices are divinely guided. I will take her, next.
She just sits there behind an iced cosmopolitan in a wide-brimmed glass, the bar lights illuminating her tan face, a smudge from her red lips crescent on the rim on her glass. She’s leaning toward the man sitting across from her. He’s looking at her generous cleavage. She knows he’s looking. He knows she knows. She doesn’t move. He doesn’t divert his eyes. Her breasts are just like Mother’s and they will soon be mine.
Like the ones before her, she’ll let me in. Part of a woman’s defense mechanism believes that only other women are chosen. Regrettably, for most of them this is true for there are so many deserving women. I will never be able to get to them all.
Last Thursday night, at the Knight’s residence, the police sirens, the media, and the helicopter all gave off energy. My skin tingled. This time there will be even more verve. The entire city is feeding my fantasy.
The city barely noticed when I took Folami Stowe’s beauty. She was my practice run, my off Broadway performance. Thank you, Folami. Thank you, Abigail. And thanks to all the ladies to follow. Together we will write history, make the world forget Jack the Ripper.
For now, I must remain strong and allow the city to ebb and flow its fears based on a Thursday cycle. Let stress build. Then attack. Then observe and prepare and attack again and
again. Between Thursdays I have my private time with my gallery of breasts.
All Phoenix is talking about me. This week I will bring my art to all of America, then the world.
As I live my public identity, the conversations often turn to the hunt for me. But only I know that I am the one we’re all talking about, it’s all so titillating.
To be somebody.
To be spoken of in hushed tones.
To be remembered for centuries.
Fear is reverence.
For as long as it lasts it’s better than eternal obscurity. Ordinary people die every day. Quickly buried, and even more quickly forgotten. But some of us, the special ones, live forever.
Maddie’s heels clacked against the earth-toned Terrazzo floor as she dashed across the lobby of City Hall. Thanks to the wonder of Arizona’s dry climate, her shoe no longer squished with each step. Her pant leg had dried, but the process of drying had left a white, jagged border around where it had been wet. She told herself that things could be worse, although at the moment she couldn’t imagine how.
She had hoped to go to the hairdressers or at least to touch up her makeup. But she had to settle for finger fussing with her hair while squinting into the heavily smeared stainless steel panel inside the elevator. She pressed the button for the eleventh floor that housed both the mayor’s office and the room he often used for press conferences.
She stopped outside the conference room, took a deep breath, pulled open the door, and walked in with more confidence than she felt. Her heels fell silent on the patterned carpet.
Microphones were clustered on the lectern like worker bees repairing the outer wall of their hive. The space between the podium and the seats was crammed with audio-visual technicians, photographers and videographers tinkering with their equipment. The reporters themselves were a gathering of who’s who in local media, with a sprinkle of out-of-town talent.
When Chief Layton looked at her, his expression screamed, “Get your butt up here.” Maddie quickened her pace and stepped onto the podium.
When the mayor said hello, his gingivitis nearly knocked her over. He had never had it until about six months ago, yet she had heard no rumors of any underlying health condition.
Maddie needed to talk with Doyle Brackett. Leaving a witch’s broom in her office had won him a solid laugh from the ancient fraternity of good old boys, but a bottle of mouthwash anonymously left on the mayor’s desk, now that could make Brackett a legend in his own time.
“Smile, Sergeant Richards,” the mayor said. “This is a press conference, not a funeral.”
Maddie smiled as the mayor moved forward to cozy up to every politician’s first love: a bouquet of microphones.
Chief Layton stood at the back of the podium. Maddie took a position to his right, secreting her white stained pant leg into the shadow cast by the chief’s sumo thigh.