Having completed NaNoWriMo ’10, I’m going to share one section of my story here every Friday until you’ve read the whole thing. Hooray for easy update days! Enjoy.
From the outside, the Blackberry Lodge looked like a log cabin. The décor was actually quite jarring, considering there wasn’t a tree around anywhere within eyeshot. Stepping inside Jocelyn was greeted by a gargantuan stuffed moose head, and a slick-haired young maitre d, in that order.
“Good afternoon, Miss,” said the maitre d as he looked Jocelyn over. She could tell he was judging her. In truth, she was underdressed. At one time she had owned a mink coat and a matching wide-brimmed hat, suitable for dining out, but she had sold them when the gas company threatened to cut off her service.
“I don’t have a reservation,” Jocelyn explained apologetically. “I’m meeting someone.”
“I see.” The maitre d consulted the list he was holding. “The name of your party?”
Jocelyn had considered this thoroughly before she’d even made the trip to the restaurant; there was only one person who could have possibly arranged the meeting. “Clark, please,” she said confidently.
The maitre d paused for a moment, then brightened up. “Ah yes. Detective Clark’s table is right this way, if you please.”
Jocelyn was led through the lounge to Detective Clark’s table, where he was waiting with a cup of coffee and a large tower of flapjacks. He pre-empted the maitre d’s introductions: “Miss Beauregard. Please, sit.” Jocelyn did, but she could scarcely see Detective Clark from behind his lunch.
“Something to drink for the lady?” asked the maitre d.
“She’ll have a cup of Swiss chocolate” answered Detective Clark. Jocelyn began to protest, but he held up his hand. “I insist. You’re here at my request, after all.”
“Very good,” said the maitre d, who immediately scampered off with his list.
“Thank you, Detective,” Jocelyn said politely, but carefully.
Detective Clark didn’t waste any time with pleasantries. “You’re very perceptive, Miss Beauregard,” he said, slathering butter and strawberry jam onto his lunch. “I’ve known some quite talented inspectors in my day who couldn’t have caught a note in the back of a useless notepad in time to meet for lunch.”
“Notepads are expensive,” lamented Jocelyn, “and I go through them quickly. I have to be sure to always use them to the very last page.”
“So Barrett was right, then. There is a real notebook.”
Jocelyn winced. She’d walked right into that one.
“Perceptive,” mused Detective Clark, “but not sufficiently tight-lipped.” He shoved a forkful of flapjack into his mouth, but didn’t wait until he was done chewing before continuing: “It was Barrett’s idea to bait you into the precinct with the phony notebook, you know. He thought if he could get at you for a few minutes, he could get his hands on your notes from the Holdren scene.”
“Well, that was very naïve of him,” Jocelyn said, matter-of-factly. “Not to mention quite rude,” she added.
Detective Clark nodded in agreement. “Believe it or not, Miss Beauregard, my hands were tied on the situation. I’ve been informed by the chief that I’ll be playing second fiddle to Officer Barrett on this case. I’m lead detective in name only. How do you like that?”
Jocelyn tried to think of something that would cheer Detective Clark up. “I’m sure that’s not true. I’ve heard you’ve done great works out in Humpsville.”
“Humpsville?” asked Detective Clark, confusedly.
Jocelyn wrinkled up her nose. “Did I pronounce that wrong?” She was sure that’s where Officer Barrett said Detective Clark was from.
The realization hit Jocelyn like a dump truck filled with granite. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”
Detective Clark cleared his throat and began dismantling another flapjack. “Not sufficiently tight-lipped by half. Think nothing of it. Barrett’s no happier about being latched on to me than I am about being latched on to him. The whole situation’s a turkey, that’s the God’s honest.”
A waiter arrived with Jocelyn’s chocolate, piping hot in a large, brown mug. He was about to offer Jocelyn the specials when Detective Clark intervened again: “She’ll have the open face roast beef sandwich. Baked Idaho potato, extra gravy, pat of garlic butter on the side.”
With a nod and a chirp-like “Very good,” the waiter was off.
“Detective Clark, I couldn’t—“
“You can and you will,” Detective Clark snapped, poking a syrup-covered fork in her direction. “You haven’t worked a real case in four months, and what you’ve had in the interim has been scraps from Ted Holdren’s table. Lord above knows when you last had a good meal. My guess is you’ve been eating stale bread and fried bologna to keep the grocery bill down.”
“Soup crackers, actually,” Jocelyn corrected, a little embarrassed. “The milkman still comes around, at least.”
Detective Clark’s hat bobbed on the other side of his flapjacks, a gesture Jocelyn took to be a nod. “That’s right, you just got a cat. Few more months like the ones you’ve been having, and one of the two of you might be eating the other.
“I’ll just lay it out for you, Beauregard. I like it here. I want to stay here. I want to work here – that’s why I put in that transfer in the first place. But I’ll be bent over a barstool if I’m going to do it in the shadow of the likes of Max Barrett.”
Jocelyn could certainly appreciate the sentiment. “He doesn’t like anyone sleuthing on his turf,” she said. “He’s got the whole department under him, just about. He’s got dirt on every private detective in town.”
“Makes it hard to set up shop here, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does… but I love this city.” Jocelyn closed her eyes and spent a brief moment in reverie… just long enough to fill herself with that warm, home-y feeling. “I wouldn’t want to work anywhere else.”
“And what dirt does he have on you?”
The warm, home-y feeling evaporated and was replaced by something dark and slimy. “Nothing,” she answered, “which is why he’s had to resort to dirty tricks. Three months after I moved back here he had my whole building condemned. I came back from an investigation to find an eviction notice nailed to my door. The cleaners next to me, too, out on the street.”
“Horrendous. How’d he manage to do that?”
Jocelyn shrugged. “City council connections, I imagine. The landlord was the last holdout on a block they wanted to re-zone as a public park.” She sighed. “Which is nice, in a way. Families will be able to picnic there, once the trees are in.
“I’m not the only detective he’s leaned on, either. He ran Fratelli and Fratelli out of town… pinched Nick Hastings on bootlegging charges… discredited Dick Swanson by connecting him to a gangster family upstate. He just really hates the idea of civilians involving themselves in his line of work.”
“And how about Ted Holdren? How did he escape Barrett’s crusade?”
Jocelyn traced the edge of her cup with her finger while she thought about how to respond. It sincerely felt as though Detective Clark were leading her into a trap, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out exactly what sort of trap it was. “Ted plays clean,” she finally said, feeling out each word carefully. It was impossible to gauge a reaction from the stack of flapjacks in front of her, but at least the tower had subsided to the point where she could make out two brown, bushy eyebrows. “And because he plays clean, Detective Barrett never had anything to use against him. Detective Barrett at the time, anyway. Now he’s just an officer again.”
After correcting herself, Jocelyn figured it was best to stop talking for a while. She decided to try her cocoa, although it needed to be blown on and cooled to avoid being scalded.
“That’s exactly why I wanted to speak to you,” replied Detective Clark, who was scraping another glob of strawberry jam across his lunch. “The details of Barrett’s demotion. Rumor has it you had something to do with it, but the files on him are sealed. Can’t get my hands on them. Thought it was best to see you about it in person, off the record.”
Jocelyn hated acknowledging the fact that she had had something to do with it, but there it was. “I did,” she admitted, “but I don’t see how that helps you at all. Or Ted, for that matter.”
“Tell me about Holdren. You say he always played clean. How’s that possible, in your line of work? He never cracked a window? Jumped a private fence? Got a little too hot with a suspect? Stepped over the line at all?”
“ If he did, nobody ever knew about it. Ted was… well, he was like a movie star, really. Did you remember reading a few years back when that media mogul’s prized Indonesian orangutan went missing?”
The hat and bushy eyebrows nodded.
“That was Ted’s case. He found the thing mopping floors at a gin joint downtown, and got his name in all the papers. Folks were lined up outside his door after that… everything from fashion industry rivalries to prank telephone callers to cats stuck up in trees.” She had a sip of cocoa. “The orangutan went on to feature in an ad campaign for Plushies diapers.”
“I’ve seen those,” Detective Clark affirmed. “I found them to be childish and vulgar.”
“Golly, I thought they were real charming,” Jocelyn said dejectedly.
The bushy eyebrows moved from side to side, a gesture Jocelyn took to mean Detective Clark was shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m so rarely in the market for diapers anyway. What I gather, though, is Holdren had his pick of the town after cracking a five-star case. Is that correct?”
“Lots of softball cases for real rich folks,” Jocelyn agreed. “Everyone in my profession skirts the law from the time to time, but when you’re golden like Ted was? There’s no reason to take any risks.” Precisely two seconds passed, and then Jocelyn very nearly choked on a mouthful of cocoa. “Of course I didn’t mean that I would ever skirt… that is, I respect the law. I mean, it just comes with the territory, is what I’m saying.”
Detective Clark dismissed the thought with a mild “harrumph”. “You’re not under investigation, Miss Beauregard. This entire conversation is off the books. Ah, look there: your lunch has arrived.”
Jocelyn turned her head and saw the smiling waiter coming towards the table. Balanced precariously on his outstretched hand was a large silver platter containing a sandwich the likes of which Jocelyn had not seen in many moons. She hadn’t been quite aware how ravenously hungry she was until she was hit with the aroma of perfectly cooked meat.
“ Bon apptit, ” said the waiter, who set Jocelyn’s plate down with a flourish before quickly taking his leave.
Detective Clark waited for Jocelyn to make some headway into her meal before charging forth with his next line of inquiry. “Let’s skip ahead to your involvement with Barrett,” he said bluntly. “Seems like on the subject of his demotion I’ve heard five different stories from ten different people.”
Jocelyn found that it took a great deal of concentration not to speak with her mouth full. “What does Officer Barrett’s demotion have to do with Ted’s case? Did you find something out?”
“Exactly the contrary,” sighed Detective Clark. “Every avenue of investigation is a dead end. That’s why I wanted to speak with you today, Miss Beauregard. Look here.”
Detective Clark leaned forward in his seat, arms folded in front of him on the table. Over the flapjacks Jocelyn could now see his eyes, two muddy, sunken holes in the top of his weathered face. “The state of the crime scene points nowhere. Interviewing Holdren’s neighbors has turned up nothing. Nobody has seen hide nor hair of Ted Holdren or his pretty little secretary since yesterday morning. You’re no stranger to being blind, I should think… you know as well as I that investigations often go in circles before you catch a break.
“ But here’s the troubling thing: Officer Max Barrett, unofficial lead in this case, seems not the slightest bit perturbed about this state of affairs. In fact, the focal point of his course of action seems to be coming into possession of your notebook.”
Jocelyn wasn’t surprised. “He said I was a suspect in the case,” she said, momentarily forgetting Detective Clark was in the room when Officer Barrett made known his accusations.
Detective Clark simply nodded. “That was a scare tactic. I can assure you, if Barrett could have had charges brought on you he would have done so already. Unfortunately for him, as much of a scared winter hare as you are, you strike me as quite unflappable under severe pressure. For my part, I’m not so much interested in what might be in your notebook as I am in why Barrett is so keen on getting it.”
“He thinks there’s something in there that will crack the case open and point the way to Ted,” Jocelyn answered. What she didn’t say, at least out loud, is that there may very well have been something exactly that important hiding in her notes. She often found things would lurk in there for days before finally leaping out at her.
Detective Clark responded in a solemn, thoughtful tone: “Does he indeed?”
Jocelyn took a break from smashing the pat of butter into her potato to puzzle over Detective Clark’s question. The whole conversation still felt like a trap to her. Either that, or he was attempting to lead her to a particular point to which she was otherwise oblivious. Obliviousness was a common feature of Jocelyn’s existence.
She gave up. “Why else would he want it?”
“You said it yourself, Miss Beauregard: he doesn’t like citizens doing his job. If he couldn’t remove Ted Holdren through legal channels…”
Jocelyn had never even considered the possibility. Officer Barrett was a brute, that was certain, and he had nothing but contempt for she and Ted and the other private eyes he’d tangled with. But to resort to… this? It just wasn’t possible. For better or worse, Officer Barret was a skilled detective and a decorated cop from head to toe.
It did, however, explain why Officer Barrett was so desperate to get hold of Jocelyn’s notebook. He knew the way she operated, and he knew that if there were something, anything at the crime scene that could have incriminated him, it’d have wound up in Jocelyn’s notebook.
The roast beef that had looked so appetizing just a moment ago suddenly appeared to Jocelyn as a plate of indistinguishable mush. She began to feel somewhat quesy.
Detective Clark took the opportunity to drive his point home. “I believe Max Barrett is somehow involved in Ted Holdren’s disappearance… and I believe he believes you can bring him to task for this crime. I trust, Miss Beauregard, that your notebook is in a secure location?”
“Sure,” Jocelyn answered, as soon as she had caught her breath. “Well, my office is secure enough, I guess.”
“ Good. Keep a lid on it for now. In the meantime, I need to know exactly what it is Barrett thinks he has to prove. I want to know why he was bumped down to walking beats… and I want it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Jocelyn nodded. “It’s a bit of a crazy story, honestly. It starts with the man in the big hat coming into my office…”
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