Trueman Bradley - Aspie Detective

  “Yeah,” said Stokowski. “Well, did you ever wonder why I showed you that bottle and offered you a drink?”

  “Well,” I said, “I guess because you’re an alcoholic.”

  “No!” said Stokowski. “Well, yes. I mean, I am an alcoholic, but that’s not why I showed you the bottle. You see, Benvolio was illegally making that whiskey here in Manhattan. He produces tons of that stuff every year and sells it on the black market. Benvolio was blackmailing me, like I said. So, I had to do what he said. He told me to make sure the cops never found out about his illegal alcohol production. I showed you the bottle because I wanted to see if you knew anything about it. I was watching you closely as I showed it to you. I’ve been a detective a long time and so I can read a man’s face. If you knew anything about the illegal alcohol, I would have seen it on your face. Of course, I could see right away you didn’t know anything about it. But, still you made me nervous. All this talk in the media about your miracle crime-fighting equations and all that. Well, it made me think you might discover everything about me and Benvolio. That’s why I charged you with the State Department and tried to get your license revoked. Then, when you won the case, I guess I panicked. I’m the one who shot at your building and destroyed your sign. I thought, if I frightened you, you might close your agency or leave the city or something. I was scared of you, Trueman. I was scared you were really as good a detective as the newspapers said. Now, of course, I can see that you are.”

  “That explains why you were always trying to interfere with my detective work,” I said. “So, you didn’t really want to do anything illegal or to discriminate against me? You were forced to do it by Benvolio? He blackmailed you and forced you to hide his illegal alcohol production from the police?”

  “Yeah!” said Stokowski. “Exactly.”

  “I still don’t see what Malcolm Vrie and Eddie Sipple have to do with all this,” said Buckley. “Why were you trying to stop us from investigating their deaths?”

  “Well, you see,” said Stokowski, “any time Benvolio did a crime, I couldn’t send police to investigate, because I had to keep his crimes secret. So who did I send? I sent this private investigator, Malcolm Vrie! He was actually a friend of Benvolio’s, so he wouldn’t expose Benvolio’s crimes!”

  “Malcolm Vrie was a criminal?” I asked. “A gangster?”

  “Yes,” said Stokowski.

  “That still doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t let us investigate their deaths,” said Buckley. “Who killed them?”

  “They killed each other,” said Stokowski.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Stokowski. “You see, Malcolm Vrie and Eddie Sipple were criminal partners. But Eddie was a bit crazy. I hear he was an alcoholic, too. Eddie had an argument with that Eric Lendalainen guy and killed him. When Malcolm heard about it, he came to me and told me Lendalainen was killed by Eddie. I knew Eddie was one of Benvolio’s men, so I couldn’t let the police investigate. So, I let Malcolm investigate the case.”

  “So that’s why you didn’t give the case to Nora,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah!” said Stokowski. “Of course not! No, I couldn’t let her investigate. She might’ve found out everything. Then Benvolio would’ve been real mad at me.”

  “You still didn’t explain how they killed each other,” said Buckley. “What happened? How did Malcolm and Eddie die?”

  “Well, you see,” said Stokowski, “Malcolm was sick and tired of Eddie’s wild and drunken behaviour. He thought, if Eddie kept acting so wild, he’d end up doing something stupid and risk exposing their crimes to the police. So, what does Malcolm do? He decides to get rid of Eddie. He meets Eddie at the Hickson warehouse one day, where they both worked together, counterfeiting money, and he tried to kill him, by giving him a bottle of whiskey laced with this kind of poison, called thallium or something like that.”

  “Thallium sulphate,” said Buckley. “A tasteless, odorless poison that kills very slowly.”

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” said Stokowski. “Well, Malcolm figured Eddie would be dead soon, so he decided to take the credit for solving the Eric Lendalainen murder. He told the press that he solved the case, and that Eddie was the murderer.”

  “Why would he do that to his own partner?” asked Buckley.

  “I guess he figured Eddie would already be dead by the time they came to arrest him,” said Stokowski. “And I guess he got greedy. He wanted credit for solving a murder case. He thought Eddie would be dead and wouldn’t be able to tell anyone they were criminal partners. But Malcolm thought wrong. Eddie was a pretty strong guy. He didn’t die too fast. He was sick, but still alive. And when he heard that Malcolm betrayed him, he went looking for him. Well, he found him at the Hickson warehouse and that’s where Malcolm’s life ended. Soon after, the cops found Eddie and arrested him. But, you know, since Malcolm couldn’t be found to present any evidence against Eddie, the cops had to let him go. I guess Eddie was at the airport trying to get out of the city when the poison finally killed him.”

  “Wow, so that’s the answer to the mystery,” I said. “Eddie Sipple and Malcolm Vrie killed each other. And they were criminals. And you were only doing these illegal things because you were forced. You didn’t really want to hurt anybody?”

  Stokowski looked at me like the little boy who wanted a video game. He seemed to be pleading for my help and sympathy.

  “Of course not!” said Stokowski. “Look, I’m no criminal, Trueman! The only things I’m guilty of is having a gambling problem and a little bit of an alcohol problem! Since when is that against the law, huh? I tell you, Trueman, I’m a victim here. I didn’t do anything wrong! I only did what anyone else would do. I mean, what could I do? I couldn’t let him show that video to the world or I’d be fired. I might even go to jail! You understand me? I shouldn’t have to go to jail for one stupid decision I only made because I was drunk! I mean, that’s just not fair! I got a problem with gambling and alcohol. I shouldn’t be punished for it! Someone should be trying to help me, not punish me! I’m a victim. Can’t you see that? You’ve got to help me, Trueman! You just got to!”

  I could recognize the fear on Stokowski’s face and I was sympathetic to him. I had assumed that he was just an evil man, a criminal, and I hadn’t considered the possibility that Benvolio was forcing him to be his criminal partner. I hadn’t considered that Stokowski had any serious problems and needed help and compassion. After being so discriminated against by this man, it felt nice to have his acceptance. Not only was he accepting of me, he was pleading for me to help him. I decided the only compassionate thing to do was to try to help him.

  “Of course I’ll help you,” I said, smiling.

  Stokowski let out a deep sigh and smiled widely.

  “Oh, good,” said Stokowski. “You’re a good man, Trueman.”

  Buckley walked between Stokowski and me, waving his finger.

  “Trueman, Trueman, Trueman,” said Buckley, “you’re a total genius with equations and you’re a damn good detective, I admit. But some things, you just can’t see. Stokowski’s trying to butter you up, understand? He thinks you’re a sucker.”

  “Butter?” I asked. “Sucker? Butter sucker? Do you mean a butterscotch lollipop? I had one of those candies before. I didn’t like them much. So, if Stokowski’s trying to give me one, I don’t want one.”

  Buckley put his head in his hands.

  “No, Trueman,” he said. “Sorry, I got to remember not to use expressions around you. A ‘sucker’ is someone who’s easy to fool, understand? Stokowski’s trying to fool you! He doesn’t respect you, he doesn’t think you’re a good man. He thinks, if he acts friendly to you, you’ll think he’s your friend and you’ll let him escape.”

  “Oh…” I said.

  Stokowski’s face changed as he listened to Buckley. His friendly smile changed to a frown. I could recognize the anger and hatred in his frown. I jumped back, away from Stokowski. His face had changed so rapidly, from friendly
to hate-filled, that I realized Buckley was right. He had only been pretending to be friendly. He was trying to fool me, because he thought I was a sucker. He didn’t really think I was smart.

  “You liar!” I said. “I’m no sucker! Thanks for telling me, Sam. I had no idea he was trying to give me butter.”

  “No,” said Buckley, “the expression is ‘butter you up.’ It means he’s trying to trick you by being friendly to you.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m lucky I have you here to tell me these things. I was ready to free him. I felt sympathy for him.”

  “Yeah,” said Buckley. “Well, I’m mighty lucky to have you here with me too, Trueman. If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have caught him at all! So, we both help each other out.”

  I smiled in response. We were a good team. Exactly like Dick Tracy and Sam Catchem.

  “We’re a good team, Sam Catchem,” I said.

  Buckley smiled and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “We sure are, Dick,” said Buckley.

  Stokowski stared at us. He had an excited look in his eyes. He seemed ready to cry again and spoke in a whiny voice.

  “Look, guys!” said Stokowski, “I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m not asking for you to believe anything I’ve said, okay? Just give me a little compassion! I made one mistake, and for that, I’m looking at life in prison! When the cops see that evidence, they’ll put me away for life! You can’t condemn me to life in prison, just because I got drunk one night and did one dumb thing! I’m begging with you, just let me go. Take these handcuffs off me and let me run. I’ll leave the country! You’ll never see me again! Just, please, have some compassion for me. Let me walk away from here and try to start my life over again, in some other country. What do you say, fellas?”

  Stokowski looked like a pathetic, whining child and I was moved to sympathy again. Previously, he had been so commanding and powerful, and now he was a pitiful man, begging for mercy. I wanted to let him run away, but I remembered how Buckley had warned me about Stokowski’s tricks. I looked at Buckley, trying to guess his reactions. I couldn’t interpret his emotions.

  “How about it, Trueman?” he asked. “Should we let him go?”

  I thought about it for a minute.

  “No,” I said.

  “But why not?” asked Stokowski.

  “Because I am like Dick Tracy,” I said. “And Dick Tracy exists to get the gangsters and stop the criminals. As Chester Gould, the creator of the Dick Tracy comics, said, ‘I decided that if the police couldn’t catch the gangsters, I’d create a fellow who could.’ So that is why I’m here, to get the gangsters. And you, Chief, are one of the police who couldn’t catch the gangsters. You did even worse. You helped them commit their crimes, so that makes you a gangster too. So, it’s my duty to catch you, too. It’s what Dick Tracy would do and so it’s what I’ll do. I sympathize with you. But you chose to help the gangsters. It was your decision and so it was your fault. I know you don’t like comic books, but maybe if you read Dick Tracy, like I did, then you would have learned that it’s not good to help gangsters and you wouldn’t have this trouble.”

  Stokowski lowered his head onto his chest and sighed.

  “There you go, Chief,” said Buckley. “Looks like you might’ve been wrong. Seems like maybe a police detective could learn a few things from reading comic books, after all.”

  My SR started beeping and gave me another message.

  “Unpleasant surprise is imminent,” I read. “To avoid unpleasant surprise: Put earphones in your ears and play relaxing music.”

  I hastened to put my earphones into my ears and played Mozart’s Symphony #41 in C major. I also put on my special sunglasses, just to be sure I’d avoid the unpleasant surprise.

  Only moments after I put on my sunglasses I could see police lights on the street below. I could vaguely hear the sound of sirens. Buckley walked towards the windows and looked down at the street. Following him, I looked down and saw a dozen police cars, ambulances and fire engines. There were also at least a dozen news vans on the street below. Reporters and journalists were everywhere. If I hadn’t been wearing my earphones, it would probably be very loud. I thanked my SR for saving me from some ear pain and gave it an appreciative kiss.

  The sirens stopped and the lights stopped flashing, so I took off my sunglasses and stopped the music.

  “Aha, I can see Gwen Tone down there,” said Buckley. “Looks like our friend, Gwen, brought the police with her, as well as a couple dozen of her media friends.”

  Buckley walked to Stokowski and pulled him up by his arm. He stared at me as if expecting me to do something.

  “Well, Trueman?” asked Buckley. “Go ahead and take his other arm. We’ll take Stokowski downstairs and introduce him to the media. Just grab that evidence out of the wall, will ya?”

  I took the papers and put them in my trench coat. I then took Stokowski’s other arm and we took him into the elevator.

  As the elevator went down to the ground floor, Buckley put on a pair of sunglasses. He looked at me and smiled.

  “You might want to put your sunglasses back on,” said Buckley. “If you thought you were famous before, just wait and see how famous you’re gonna be after this story gets out!”

  I put my sunglasses back on.

  As the elevator door opened onto the street, I saw what seemed like a hundred faces staring at us. Reporters swarmed like bees and the cameras flashed like a lightning storm.

  I closed my eyes and increased the volume of my portable music player, so I wouldn’t be disturbed by the noise and lights of the media. I could feel someone pulling my arm. I struggled against the pulling hand, but I couldn’t free myself from it. I recognized the scent of Nora’s lilac shampoo. I opened my eyes and saw that I was surrounded by three people.

  “The triangle of friendship!” I said.

  “Yes, Trueman,” said Nora, “we’ve come to take you home.”

  Nora, Mrs. Levi and Sal were surrounding me, protecting me from the media and leading me towards the Lincoln car.

  “What have you been doing?” asked Nora. “There must be a hundred reporters here! We’ve been waiting outside, in case you needed help. Journalists have been gathering here for an hour!”

  “We arrested Stokowski,” I said.

  “What?” asked Sal. “You arrested the chief of police?!”

  I was about to answer him, but instead I was led into the Lincoln car and Mrs. Levi and Nora used their coats to block the windows and keep the flash of the media’s cameras from disturbing me. We drove through the crowds and onto a highway.

  “Okay, Trueman,” said Nora. “What happened in there?”

  “I think you’ll know soon, Mrs. Nora,” said Sal. “I think a lot of people will know! This will be all over the news!”

  16

  Two Ends of a Perfect Circle

  The Trueman Bradley Detective Agency was closed for the evening and it was very quiet. We had returned home, soon before sunset, and had spent all evening and most of the next day watching the news on TV. My friends heard the entire story of what happened to me at the casino. Now, it was evening and we were enjoying some relaxation after the excitement of the last few days.

  Only a few dim light bulbs lit my office, making everything seem peaceful and calm. Sal had arranged for walls to be constructed around my desk, so I could have privacy when I was working and would never be unpleasantly surprised again. This was my new, private office. Nora and I were taking my boxes of possessions from my old room and moving them into my new office. I’d been so busy since my arrival in New York City that I hadn’t even unpacked most of my boxes. I was unpacking, placing my possessions on the desk and remembering the past.

  Outside was dark and only the blinking lights of New York City and a full moon were visible. I could smell a blend of car fumes, garbage and mildewed drainage pipes; this was the smell of New York City. I had gradually begun to love this smell, because this city had been the site of my su
ccesses and the place where I’d found so many friends. I loved everything about this city, even that astringent smell.

  I walked to the window and breathed deeply, savoring the scent of the city. I looked out at the large, pale moon and admired the sights and sounds of this big, fascinating city.

  Nora came into the room, carrying my large mirror. She seemed to be struggling to carry it, so I ran to help her.

  “Let me help you, Nora,” I said.

  “Thanks, Trueman,” said Nora. “This is one really big mirror! And I like its ornate frame. Is it an antique?”

  “I think so,” I said. “It belonged to my granddad.”

  We carried the mirror to a place on the wall where Sal had hammered a nail. We hung the mirror on the nail and stepped back to look at it. I could see Nora’s reflection in the glass.

  “Beautiful,” said Nora.

  “Yes, you are,” I said.

  Nora’s face turned red.

  “No!” said Nora. “I meant, the mirror’s beautiful.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Sorry, I was thinking of something else.”

  Nora looked at me and smiled.

  “Yes, I can see that,” said Nora. “But let’s concentrate on the mirror’s beauty for now, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I looked at the mirror and admired its beauty. I could see my reflection. I was lit by the moonlight that came through my office window. With my yellow trench coat and hat, my suit, my wrist TV, I really looked like a detective. But there was another reason I looked like a real detective.

  I thought back to the day I had first arrived at Reade Street. I remembered how I had doubted myself. I had looked into this same mirror and I had asked myself if I could do it; I had asked myself if I could really succeed as a detective. I remembered how I could see the doubt in my eyes; I remembered how I looked like a frightened child, unsure of his own worth.

  Looking into the mirror now, I saw something else in my eyes. I saw confidence; I saw bravery; I saw a man who had the support of his friends; I saw a man who could be a great detective, despite all of the challenges he faced. I looked like a different man. The Trueman I saw in the mirror answered the question I had asked him, a long time ago. He answered it with the confidence I saw on his face and the pride in his eyes.