James Troop sat with his back to the car, still breathing heavily from the little tussle we'd had.
"I need the name of whoever sent you to my office, because odds are good that whoever that fucker is, he's the guy who killed three people." I repeated myself in case he was getting second thoughts about telling me what I needed to know.
"His name is Andrew Grassley." He said hoarsely. "He works at my agency. Secretary, I think." He was taking his time as if trying to piece it all together.
"What do you know about," was all the investigating I got to do before I heard gunshots. Pop. Pop. I heard the bullets land in the car above me and I felt the adrenaline surge into my system. I took a deep breath trying to keep my head. Another Pop. Pop. I pushed Troop around the front of the car so we could use it as a barrier. If the bullets were hitting the car above me that meant the shooter was shooting from either inside the Ingersol or on top of it. As soon as I had us both around the camino, I gave a quick survey of the theater. I couldn't see anything, which was not a comforting feeling.
"You hit?" I said without looking at him.
"No." He said with what little breath he could summon. "I don't think so."
“If you were hit, you’d know for sure.”
The night was already being torn open by the loud sirens of the Des Moines Police Department, who were no doubt on their way here. I pressed my back against the car debating about going for my gun in the car and just waiting for the police. I hadn't made up my mind when I saw the first police cruiser turn carefully into the alley. It pulled forward quietly as one of the officers used the spotlight to split the dark alley in front of them. A moment later, I saw another cruiser in the parking lot of the bank next door. This parking lot was raised above the alley and sealed off by a chain-link fence that couldn’t hold back the illuminated eye of the second unit. Their light swayed around the dark alley, paying particular attention to the theater, but it would only be a couple of minutes before it moved to my camino and then to James and I.
"What do we do?" James said looking at me with desperation.
"Well, I'm pretty sure whoever was shooting at us is gone. But I'm gonna give it another minute before I stand up really, really slowly and make sure that I am not surprising any of these officers."
"Good plan." He said, taking a deep breath, trying to mirror the façade of calm I had managed to erect.
I felt myself slump against the car. It didn't make me happy to feel how relieved I was to see the police here. Originally, they had suspected me of being the murderer and even now, I wasn't really sure how innocent they thought I was. Especially since I keep showing up at the scenes of mayhem like this. But I had to admit, I was feeling very happy to not have to get in a shoot-out with anyone. I'm not a big fan of guns. In my line of work they come in handy, but I'd rather punch someone in the face than shoot them. It's way more satisfying for one. And there's a lot less of a to-do made about it for two.
I could hear the police moving around, their leather shoes kicking through the gravel on the ground.
"All right." I said to James as I started to raise my hands above my head. "Officers!" I yelled. "Officers, my friend and I were --"
"Hands up." I heard a voice on the other side of the car.
"There are two of us officer. We are unarmed." The trick here is to be calm. These officers are trained to be calm, but it's human nature to not be calm. If they see you following their instructions and doing so calmly, it puts them at ease. At least that's how I remember it. Hopefully things hadn't changed that much since I left the force.
"Stand up. Slowly. Really slowly." We started to stand. "Slowly. That's good. Keep those hands where I can see them." When we got to our feet he told us to turn around and I could see there were indeed four young cops around. The two officers from the second unit must have run around the fence, I thought, but damn, they were quick. These were the two who stood behind us. There was one who was talking to us from beyond the car and another who was looking around to make sure there was no one else in the alley with us.
"You boys just out for a stroll?" This came from the officer to my right. I could feel his sarcasm, but I knew better than to rise to the bait.
"No officer. My name is [gumshoe], I'm a private investigator. This man is James Troop and I was interviewing Mr. Troop regarding a case I am working on when we were fired upon. I believe those shots came from either inside the theater or possibly on top of the roof." Either I figured just giving a statement at this point was going to make things go easier, or I was just so relieved they were here I was gonna spill. Sometimes I can't tell if I'm putting thought into these things or not.
The police stepped slowly closer to us. "Are either of you armed?"
"No." James said quickly. Maybe too quickly. He was nervous. Understandably, but still. With the cops, it's always better to show them you have nothing to be nervous about.
"I have a gun in the glove compartment of the car." I said, quickly adding, "and the registration for that gun is in my wallet, along with my Private Investigator's License."
"Pat him." The officer across the car said, and I felt hands groping my body. Arms, armpits, back, crotch, legs. Pretty thorough. I could see from the side of my eye that James was getting the same treatment. I felt the hand remove my wallet from my back pocket.
"He checks," I heard the voice say from behind me.
"This one too." The voice behind James said and the guns got holstered.
"Wait in the car," we were instructed.
"Officer," I said quietly. "I believe Detective Edna Muldoon will want to be informed of this incident as the case I'm working on has a lot to do with a case she is working."
James and I sat in the back of the police car, with the door left open—you know, so they can say we aren’t under arrest and there was no need for those pesky Miranda warnings. The red and blue lights cast the look of tragedy and excitement all over the alley and I could see people crowding around the yellow tape the police had put up. After the violence, there's only the show left.
Edna made her way through the crowd, stopped to talk to the officers who responded to the scene and then headed directly toward us. I could tell she was less than thrilled to see me.
"You are going to end up dead soon, aren't you?" She said running a hand through her hair.
"If there's an office pool, I might get a date before Christmas," I said with a smile. "Sorry to interrupt your night."
"What are you doing here, [gumshoe]?"
"Interviewing a witness who--"
"And this is about the murders?" Her voice was angry.
"Of course." I said with a shrug. "Someone targets me, I don't wait for them to come get me."
"No, you run right at them with your arms flailing, yelling, 'shoot me.'" I smiled and shrugged. She let out a sigh and leaned against the car. "Are you getting anywhere?"
"Maybe. I'm not sure what I've got." I said. "I guess I was followed here and the killer saw a chance to take a shot at me."
"That's your statement?" She said.
"In addition to what I told the officers, yes. Should I give Clarence a call, or?"
"That won't be necessary," she said. "I won't get anything better from you. You just be fucking careful." She let out a long breath and walked away. "You're free to go, for now."
"You really think the shooter followed you here?" I had almost forgotten Troop was here before he said that.
"Oh." I said. "No. He followed you. Where can I find this Andrew Grassley?"
****
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 perspiring, 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 wherefore'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 new 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 in fact 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 incompetents, 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 personnel 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."
“I’ll give you five minutes, then I’m getting in my car and driving out of here. And any officer who stands between me and my property will have to talk it over with my attorney.” I said making a point of looking in the eyes of every officer. 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 permanent condition that will make people feel uncomfortable asking you that question."
"Always a snappy comeback, Edna." I was secretly jealous of her ability to always have one ready to go.
"[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 to 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 water tower yet?"
She stopped and I swear I saw a shiver crawl up her back. The water tower 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. And I’ll bet there’s a clue there."
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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