Trueman Bradley - Aspie Detective

It read, “Urgent: 10 seconds remain to jump out window!”

  I forced myself to believe in my equations and inventions, the way Nora did and I gathered all my courage. I ran for the window and jumped out of it. I had expected to see the clear, blue sky and a scene of the street, from high above. But, instead, I hit a metal fence and bounced onto my back.

  I sat up and realized I was on a platform, with cables leading up to the roof of the building. Beside me stood a tall, thin man with a cigarette in his mouth. He had a bucket of water beside him and carried a large squeegee. When he saw me fall on his platform, his mouth opened so wide, his cigarette fell out of his mouth and down towards the street below.

  “You’re the window washer!” I said. “This is a window washer’s platform! Now I see why I could jump out the window!”

  “What?” asked the window washer. “What the hell are you doing jumping out of windows? You’re not allowed on here!”

  I noticed we were going up, towards the roof. I started to realize what the SR had planned for me to do.

  “Of course!” I said. “The window washer’s platform will lift me to the roof and I can get to the penthouse!”

  “Listen!” said the window washer. “I don’t care what you do, but get off my stage! You want to get me in trouble? Go on! Get out of here, buddy!”

  We arrived at the roof and the window washer pushed me out. He pushed a button on his platform and started lowering down the side of the building. As he lowered, he stared at me and shook his head.

  “Nut!” he shouted.

  I didn’t understand why he was offering me a nut. This didn’t seem like the type of situation to eat nuts.

  “Maybe he was asking me for a nut?” I asked myself.

  Before I could figure it out, my SR started beeping.

  “Call Buckley,” I read.

  “Okay!” I said.

  I activated my wrist TV and pressed the button to call Buckley. I was so happy and excited by my success that I was jumping. Buckley’s face appeared on my wrist TV.

  “Trueman?” asked Buckley. “Thank God! There’s a lot of noise down here. Something’s got the gangsters excited! Seems like someone gave a signal that cops are here! They’re all leaving the building. What happened to you? Are you okay?”

  “I sure am!” I said. “My SR led me safely to the roof and I can see the penthouse!”

  “Okay,” he said. “Well, what do we do now?”

  “My SR says that you should leave the building,” I said. “Go outside to a door labeled ‘elevator.’ Wait for the door to open and take it to the roof. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I got it.”

  “Okay, I need to go! Bye!” I said.

  My SR was beeping again. The compass had appeared on the SR screen and it was pointing at the penthouse. Excited and happy that my mission was almost completed, I ran across the gravelly roof, which smelled of tar. A metal back door was wide open and I entered the spacious, luxurious penthouse.

  Inside, everything was decorated in expensive teak wood and adorned with marble and precious works of art. The carpet was so luxurious, I felt like I was walking on moss. The paintings were intriguing to me. I had read and memorized books about famous artists. And some of the paintings looked familiar to me. I was so absorbed in my surroundings that I hardly noticed my SR was beeping, sending me another urgent message.

  “Send elevator to ground floor,” I read.

  The compass appeared and pointed to my left. Looking left, however, I could see no elevator. Only a wall adorned with art.

  “Wait a minute,” I said to myself. “Is that Jacques-Louis David’s painting? ‘Coronation of Napoleon’? But that’s wrong!”

  I examined the painting more closely and realized there was a red circle depicted there. With my keen visual memory, I could recall every detail of that painting as if it were right in front of me. On the central pillar of Napoleon’s coronation hall, there was a big red circle.

  “That wasn’t in the original!” I said. “Besides, that painting’s in the Louvre art gallery in Paris. This is a copy.”

  I touched the circle and it moved. I realized it was an elevator button, cleverly disguised as part of a painting.

  “Wow, that’s clever,” I said.

  I pressed the button and heard a mechanical whirring sound, like the sound of an elevator motor. Now that I knew an elevator was here, I could guess what part of the wall would open up and lead to it. It looked like a large panel of ornate teak panelling. It was very expertly disguised.

  “What a fascinating place,” I said.

  I further examined the artworks and noticed a particular style of “cubism” art that was very familiar.

  “Aha!” I said. “That is one of Marc Chagall’s paintings.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  The voice made an image of Chief Stokowski form in my mind. This mental image made my body feel tense; I felt like I was frozen in ice. The voice came from behind me and I was too scared to turn around and see if Stokowski was really there.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” asked Stokowski.

  I looked at my SR, wondering why it hadn’t warned me. To my surprise, I noticed that it had warned me. I must have been so fascinated by the artworks that I hadn’t noticed it beeping.

  “Unpleasant surprise is imminent,” I read. “To avoid unpleasant surprise: Attack Chief Stokowski.”

  I was shocked to read this. I was terrible at fighting and Chief Stokowski was much stronger than me. My SR told me how to avoid unpleasant surprises, but it couldn’t help me win a fight. But, trusting in myself and my inventions had taken me this far, without serious trouble, so I obeyed the SR’s instructions without hesitation. I raised my fists and approached Stokowski.

  “What are you gonna do?” asked Stokowski. “Hit me?”

  Stokowski started laughing. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just stood there, moving my fists in a circular motion in front of me, the way I’d seen fighters do it in movies.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” said Stokowski. “You seriously want to fight me? I’d kill you in a fight, kid!”

  My SR beeped and I stopped to look at it.

  “Urgent!” I read. “SR beeping to distract you from the fight at the ideal moment.”

  During the moment I was distracted by the SR’s beeping, Stokowski grabbed me by the lapels of my trench coat and pushed me violently. I was thrown across the room and fell into an open plastic display case. The force of my impact against the back wall of the display case caused the door of the case to close.

  “What the hell!” shouted Stokowski.

  Stokowski walked towards me. I could easily recognize the anger on his face. I expected him to open the door of the plastic display case and pull me out. But when he tried to open the door, it didn’t move. I noticed there was a small metal lock on the door. Stokowski had accidently thrown me into the display case and the door closed and locked behind me. I was locked in the display case and Stokowski couldn’t reach me. I was safe, for a while. Maybe long enough for Buckley to use the elevator and come up to rescue me.

  “You lucky little punk, you!” said Stokowski. “How the hell did you do that? I was ready to knock your head off!”

  “Thank you, SR!” I said. I kissed it.

  Stokowski started searching his pockets. Then he frantically searched the room, throwing things all over the floor and making a mess.

  “I know I have the key to that thing somewhere!” said Stokowski. “You’re not safe yet, kid! I’ll get you yet!”

  Stokowski didn’t find the key, but he opened a fire-prevention cupboard and pulled out a large axe. He looked at me and smiled. I couldn’t interpret his emotions, but I could guess what he intended to do and it made me sick from fear.

  I looked at my SR, but it gave me no warnings about any “unpleasant surprises.” I closed my eyes and prayed, trusting in my own equations and inventions.

  “I’m safe,” I said to
myself. “Everything can be summed up in an equation. My equations work. My SR says I’m safe.”

  I expected to hear the horrible sound of the axe smashing the plastic walls of the display case. Instead I heard Stokowski yelling and swearing. I opened my eyes and saw Buckley struggling with Stokowski on the floor. Stokowski’s eyes were wide open and I could recognize the fear on his face. Buckley’s face had all the signs that indicated anger. Buckley had taken the axe from Stokowski’s hands and was putting handcuffs on his wrists. Stokowski lay on the floor, breathing hard, and Buckley sat, looking at me with an exhausted expression.

  “You okay, Trueman?” asked Buckley.

  “Yes!” I said. “My SR worked perfectly! I didn’t suffer any serious unpleasant surprises! Now, we have Stokowski!”

  “Yeah,” said Buckley. “But you managed to get yourself locked up. How’d you manage that?”

  “The SR led me into here,” I said. “By being locked in here I was kept safe from Stokowski until you could arrive.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Buckley. “Let’s just hope there’s a key. As for you, Chief, would you care to explain what you’re doing in this penthouse? According to my sources, this penthouse belongs to the Mafia boss known as Benvolio. How comes it that you’re in here? Are you apartment sitting, or what?”

  “Shut your mouth, Buckley!” said Stokowski. “That’s none of your business! You’re not a cop anymore! And you got no proof of anything! You got no right to handcuff me like this! I’ll see you sent to prison for this! You and Trueman are as good as nailed! You’ve got no evidence I did anything here!”

  Buckley sat silent for a minute. Then he stood up and walked towards the display case. Taking a long, slim lock pick from out of his pocket, he opened the lock within one minute.

  “Your granddad was right, Trueman,” said Buckley. “Picking locks is a useful skill for a cop. If Stokowski here had bothered to learn it, he wouldn’t have needed an axe. But I’m afraid he’s right, Trueman. We got no evidence. When the cops come, he’ll go free and we might get in some trouble for this.”

  “You bet you will!” said Stokowski. “I’d like to see you find evidence! Go ahead! Show me where the evidence is!”

  As if in response to Stokowski’s request, the SR beeped. The SR included many of my old inventions, combined into one easy-to-use wrist device. It had my evidence-hunting invention included inside it. The compass appeared on my SR’s screen, pointing me towards the evidence that would convict Stokowski.

  I left the display case and ran towards the north wall of the penthouse. A large painting of a river scene adorned this wall. Buckley followed me, examining the painting closely.

  “Quite an art collection this Benvolio’s got here,” said Buckley. “I guess a successful gangster like him has lots of money to buy expensive artwork.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Most of this work is original. This collection must be worth millions of dollars. This painting is by a famous modern artist named George Bellows.”

  “Yeah?” asked Buckley. “It’s beautiful. Peaceful river scenes always get to me. I grew up right beside the Hudson.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Well, then I’m not surprised you like this. This painting is called ‘Up the Hudson.’”

  “Oh, so that’s the Hudson River?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, “the way it looked about a hundred years ago. Can you hand me that axe?”

  Buckley was still holding the axe he had wrestled out of Stokowski’s hands. He handed me the axe.

  “Beautiful painting,” said Buckley.

  “Yes,” I said. “The original is worth a lot of money.”

  I lifted the axe and started smashing the painting. I ripped a gouge through it, and it made a loud splintering sound as I pierced the wall behind it. Buckley’s eyes widened and he stared at me. The shock on his face was easy to interpret.

  “What did you do that for?” he asked. “You just said this painting’s worth a lot of money!”

  I gave the axe back to Buckley.

  “Thanks for lending me the axe,” I said. “And I didn’t say this painting was worth a lot of money. I said the original painting is worth a lot of money! This is a copy!”

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  I looked at Buckley in shock.

  “How long have you lived in New York City?” I asked.

  “My whole life,” he said.

  “And you’ve never visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art?” I asked. “The original painting of ‘Up the Hudson’ is hanging on a wall in that museum, so this has to be a copy! I’ve seen the painting there. Wow! I can’t believe you’ve lived here all your life and never visited that museum! I’ve only lived here for a few months and I’ve already seen the museum three times!”

  Buckley’s face turned red.

  “Well,” he said, “I always meant to see the museum someday, you know. I just never got around to it. But, anyhow, I still can’t figure out why you smashed this painting.”

  “Because my SR can detect the evidence that will convict Stokowski!” I said. “You see? Behind this painting is a secret compartment! I can see some kind of papers in there. It must be some kind of evidence that proves Stokowski’s criminal partnership with that gangster, Benvolio.”

  Stokowski started shouting and cursing. He sat up and stared at me. I wasn’t sure if he was angry or starting to cry.

  “Okay!” said Stokowski. “I’m guilty, okay? You got me! I admit it! Trueman, I underestimated you. I didn’t figure you were as smart as everyone said. Now, I see you’re smart. How on earth you managed to get past a hundred gangsters with guns and get up here, I have no idea! But I really misjudged you and I’m sorry, okay? You’re a great detective. I admit it.”

  Stokowski’s words filled me with emotion. I felt a mixture of pride and relief, to know this man who had once mocked me and was prejudiced against me was now admitting that I was capable of being a “great detective.” Everyone who had once doubted I could become a great detective now believed in me. And, what was more important, their confidence had enabled me to believe in myself. Believing in myself, my equations and my SR had solved this case, and now even Stokowski, my worst enemy, admitted that my Asperger’s didn’t stop me from being a great detective. I became so emotional, I smiled at Stokowski.

  Stokowski’s face suddenly changed. He stopped shaking and no longer seemed like he would start crying. He smiled at me.

  “Yes, Trueman,” said Stokowski. “Yes, you’re a great detective. I admit it! And, what’s more, I’m sure you’re a good man. I’m sure you’ll let me explain what happened, right? I mean, everyone’s got a right to explain their actions, right?”

  “I guess so,” I said.

  “Yeah!” said Stokowski. “Well then, just hear me out. I may’ve been partners with Benvolio, but it wasn’t my fault! You’ve got to believe me, Trueman. Just let me tell my story and I think you’ll see that I’m a victim here, not a criminal.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Tell your story.”

  “Thank you!” said Stokowski.

  He licked his lips for a minute and seemed to be thinking of what to say. When he did speak, he spoke in a pleading way. It reminded me of a child I had once seen, in a mall, explaining to his mother why he needed a video game.

  “I’m not a criminal, Trueman!” said Stokowski. “I was being blackmailed. You see, I’ve got a pretty serious gambling problem. I’ve had this problem for years. Since before I was Chief, even. Well, I’d go out and gamble most nights. I’d win a little, lose a little. Some nights I’d make a couple thousand. But some nights I’d lose almost everything I had.”

  Stokowski started blinking his eyes. Sweat was dripping down his face and he was unable to wipe it off, because he was still wearing handcuffs. Buckley took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped Stokowski’s face.

  “Thanks, Sam,” said Stokowski. “You’re a good man. I’m sorry for the way I treated you too, Sam. I hope, when I f
inish telling my story, you’ll realize that I had no choice.”

  “Go on,” said Buckley. “Finish your story.”

  “Well,” said Stokowski, “one night I was in this very casino, and I was having miserable luck. I tell you, I lost so much money, I was left with nothing. I almost had to give them the shirt off my back, I lost so much. Well, I’d had a few drinks too, so my mind was a little, um, fuzzy. I wasn’t thinking too good. I did something stupid. This guy, Benvolio, he comes up to me and starts talking to me. Like I said, I had no money. I lost everything I had. I told this Benvolio guy that I had no money and couldn’t even afford a taxi to get home. Well, he offered to give me a loan. He gave me 10,000 bucks! Just like that! Well, I shouldn’t have done it, but I took the loan.”

  “And just what were you thinking, doing that?” asked Buckley. “You know who Benvolio is! Every cop in this city knows Benvolio’s a gangster! And you took a loan from him? And you expect me to believe all this wasn’t your fault? No, it is your fault. You did a stupid thing, Chief!”

  “I was drunk!” said Stokowski. “When I sobered up, the morning after I took the loan, I paid Benvolio back. I paid back every penny! But then he started blackmailing me! He said he recorded our loan transaction on the video surveillance cameras of this casino and he said he’d show the video to the media if I didn’t do what he says. It’s shameful for a cop to get a loan from a gangster, right? What could I do? I’d lose my job! I didn’t mean to do anything illegal! I was drunk!”

  “That’s no excuse,” said Buckley. “What kind of things did Benvolio ask you to do, anyways? What are those papers there, in the wall? Something about your and Benvolio’s partnership?”

  “We weren’t really partners,” said Stokowski. “Benvolio just asked me to make sure the police didn’t discover any of the criminal activities he was doing. As for what he asked me to do, well… you recognize that bottle over there, Trueman?”

  Stokowski pointed his finger at a whiskey bottle on a nearby table. I recognized the label immediately.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s a bottle of Orkafend’s Blend Whiskey. The same kind of whiskey bottle you showed me that day I was in jail. You dropped it on the floor.”