Reginald Cook - Veil

Making his way toward them, his considerable girth demanded several people step outside the room to accommodate his movement.

“Detective Ralph Durbin, homicide,” he said. “I’m the one who called you.”

Robert nodded, introduced himself and Thorne, then extended his hand, which disappeared in the giant’s tight grip.

He glanced around the detective to get a good look at Miller’s body.

The director sat in the chair behind his desk, eyes wide, chin on his chest, jellybeans strewn all over the floor, a bullet hole centered in his forehead.

Durbin moved his frame so they could get a clear look.

“We were wondering what you could tell us about our little situation here,” said Durbin. “You were here earlier were you not, Mr. Veil?”

“I was here,” answered Robert. “What makes you think I know something about this?”

Thorne filmed the scene while they spoke.

“Sorry miss, we can’t allow that,” Durbin told her. “We know who you are, but this isn’t one of your cases, so no pictures, no video tape.”

“Then why’d you call us here, detective?” Robert asked, stepping inside the office.

“Well, when we got here we found your business card gripped tight in Mr. Miller’s fist, and several eyewitnesses place you as the last person seen with him. Can you offer something different?” Robert looked into Miller’s hollow blue eyes. His heart sank. “Like I said, I was here. Doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“Exactly what was your business with Mr. Miller?”

“A missing person’s case,” said Robert. “I questioned Mr. Miller as a possible lead.”

“Who were you looking for?” asked Durbin, pulling several sticks of Juicy Fruit from his inside jacket pocket. He wadded them together and tossed them into his cavernous mouth.

“I’m sorry, that’s confidential,” answered Robert, picking up a slight odor of feces from Miller’s body. It wasn’t uncommon for an individual to shit themselves in the face of immense fear or death. In the field, he’d seen it happen to the best. Hell, he’d almost done it himself once or twice.

“Listen detective,” Robert continued. “Do you think I’d leave my name and number in a man’s hand after I killed him?”

“I’ve seen stranger things over the last thirty years. Besides,” said Durbin, sarcastic and matter-of-fact. “Like I said, you were the last person seen with him. Now, you say you were following up a lead on a case?”

“A missing person’s case,” Robert repeated, irritated.

“But the only person who knows if that’s true has a bullet in his head.

So you see our little problem here?”

Durbin’s repetitive questions annoyed Robert, but he wasn’t going to bring up Charlie. What would I say anyway? Hey, I’m following up on a case connected to the Kennedy assassination, so back off. The only thing that would get me is a nice long stay in a straight jacket.

Thorne walked over to the detective. Tall, she still looked up at him.

“Listen Detective Durbin, or whatever the hell your name is. If you had anything real, Robert would be in handcuffs. You wouldn’t have called him down here; you would’ve picked him up. So either get on with it, or back the fuck off.”

Durbin looked down and smiled the smile of a man who knew his own strength, yet made a conscious decision to keep it under control.

“It’s just procedure Ms. Thorne,” he said, gently. “We’re required to follow up on every possible lead. You know that. I’m catching high-heat on this case. Mr. Miller was connected, respected, and well-liked.” Thorne returned Durbin’s smile, and took a step back.

“We understand,” said Robert. “But I wasn’t involved. If you’d like, I’ll take a gunshot residue test confirming I haven’t fired a weapon.

Better still, take my guns and test them. They haven’t been discharged in a couple of days, and then only at the range. What was used on Miller?”

“From the size of the entry and exit wound, and the powder burn on the forehead, I’m guessing a twenty-two, twenty-five caliber. Most likely a silencer fitted Colt. That’s probably why no one heard anything.

Sounds more like a mosquito whisper than a bullet.” Robert stroked his chin. “Then whoever did this is a pro.” Miller knew more than he revealed. Why did they kill him? Did he know where Charlie was and refused to talk? Wouldn’t that be more reason to keep him alive?

Durbin looked as though he were trying to read Robert’s mind. “It would be nice if you shared with us Mr. Veil. The man deserves to have his killer hung up by the toes.”

Robert agreed. Seeing Miller lifeless only increased his anger. “Like I said, it’s a missing person’s case,” Robert repeated. “I thought Miller might be able to help me find someone.”

“A homeless person?” Durbin asked.

“I can’t say.”

“You need to tell us something.”

“Why? I won’t say this again. It’s a confidential matter, and none of your fucking business!”

Durbin stepped toward Robert, Thorne slid in his way. “Is there anything else detective?”

Durbin’s eyes flashed from Robert, to Thorne, then back to Robert.

“There’s nothing at the moment,” he said, backing up. “But I’ll take you up on that gun residue test later, after we finish here. If anything comes up before then, I’ll call.”

Thorne moved a little closer to the detective, with a Grinch-like smile on her face. Gently, but firm, she grabbed his balls. Durbin looked around, embarrassed, grunting. Thorne smiled then slowly let go. “Just wanted to see if they were as big as the rest of you,” she said. “I’ll wait by the elevator,” she told Robert, then left the room.

Durbin thudded back against the wall. Robert remembered something Thorne once told him. “It’s hard not to be in control with a man’s balls in your hand. Without balls, a man’s just not a man.” Robert cleared his throat. “Please be in touch, and let me know when you’re ready for that test.”

Durbin mumbled something that sounded like, okay I will, and Robert caught up with Thorne at the elevator. Outside on the street he pulled her to the side. “A little heavy handed wouldn’t you say?” Thorne flashed a confident smile. “A girl’s gotta have her fun.” Robert shook his head in amazement. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Popeye. The old vet waved him over. “Wait here, I’ll be right back,” he told Thorne, and jogged across the street.

Popeye looked rattled, defeat in his eyes. “Wondered if you’d show up.”

“It wasn’t me Popeye,” said Robert. “I didn’t kill him. You must know that.”

Popeye took a swig from his brown paper bag and looked off into nowhere. “I know,” he said. “I saw you leave. I told everyone to say you were the last one seen with him. It was the only way to make sure you came back.”

Robert knelt. “What do you know? Did anyone see or hear anything the police don’t already know?”

Popeye sat back in his wheelchair, looked to see if anyone was listening, then leaned in close to Robert’s ear. “Charlie was here,” he whispered. “I saw him cut through the alley in back of the mission.

Next thing I know, the police are all over the place and Miller’s dead.” Robert watched Popeye fight back tears. “Did you get a chance to talk to Charlie?”

“Miller was the only one who really cared around here,” Popeye said to the night. “A lot of people gonna just fold up and die.” Robert put a hand on Popeye’s shoulder. He looked up, and spotted the weasel who tailed him earlier. Their eyes met, the man lowered his head, and quickened his pace in the opposite direction, vanishing down an alley.