We headed back to the Clearview Police Precinct.
Officer Powell rode ahead in his pristinely kept squad car, whilst I, rather fittingly, had been forced to loiter by the bus-stop, desperate for one to arrive before the puddles around my feet grew too numerous to navigate. It may seem odd to you, or even somewhat curious, why I was unaccompanied by my little blue convertible at that particular moment. And should that be the case, dear reader, should your desire for answers prove nagging, or simply too pressing in nature, my obligation to fill in the gaps feels only fitting, I suppose...
As Lucy closed the door and bid us her unspoken farewell, I watched Officer Powell sail off into the distance with silent sirens wailing above his head. My little blue convertible remained parked up on the corner, as expected. Though, that is where all prior assumptions came to an abrupt end, I am afraid.
This time around, just fifteen or so minutes later, the sight of the poor thing stopped me dead on the spot. I guess you could say it struck me. Like...well, how should I put this?
Like a rusty sledgehammer to the back of the ribs!
Some junkie ruffian must have attempted a break-in whilst I was otherwise occupied. That, or just another stumbling drunk searching for a faster way home. Either way, there was shattered glass everywhere…with the front windscreen and both side windows completely punched out. Inside, the interior had become rife with the smell of damp leather as pockets of rain and broken glass were left strewn across the seats. The electrics were surely fried, too. My little blue convertible was going nowhere fast.
And clearly, neither was I.
I felt like a wet dog. A wet, angry dog cursing his luck and forgoing his fortunes. The only thing left to do was to call a local mechanic to come and pick up the vehicle. But alas, that would leave me three days or more without a car. Three whole days of sulking and skulking around town in the rain, without an umbrella, wishing there was something I could do to somehow repair things with the girl. The one they call Lucy Labelle, of course.
My actions had caused quite the scene back at her apartment. There was simply no denying it. And now, the roaring rift between the two of us was growing larger by the day. With my clothes torn and rinsed through with rain, nonetheless, I soon cast the alluring image of Ms Labelle to one side as I approached the precinct steps. Officer Dirkdale had supposedly requested my presence. And there I was, reporting for duty like a good little schoolboy...
It was tense inside. Officer Powell watched me enter the foyer, closely. He did so in a largely nondescript manner, with shrewd eyes and a blank, statuesque expression. Yet, the time for minor details and other such particulars would seemingly have to wait. Within the plain-bricked building housing the Clearview Police Department that very afternoon, a scene of great pandemonium was already underway.
“You tell that nosy bitch to shut her fucking mouth!”
Wham! The pages of a large leatherback ledger flew right past my ear almost as soon as I had taken my first steps inside the building. I ducked and dived out the way like one of those human-shaped cut-outs in a shooting range, just as the metal ringed binder narrowly missed my forehead and skittered across the floor.
“…get this officer away from my face, I demand to call my lawyer!”
Two voices. Two women. Both arguing at one another from across the foyer with a dozen or so desperate police officers straining to keep them apart. Officer Dirkdale’s towering figure could be seen among the middle of the pack, attempting to keep the peace amid the troublesome tides of chaos rapidly unfolding in front of him.
“You’re nothing but a busybody, ya hear me!?!”
The first female combatant was the smaller, but I dare say mouthier of the two. I could just about make her out in the far corner of the room, rising on her toes as she struggled to be seen above the crowd. She had no such problem when it came to raising her voice, however. What the girl lacked in size, and stature, she more than made up for via her animal-like snarl.
“I hope you’re all watching this…” replied the other woman on the scene, “…you’ve just committed an offence in front of at least twelve on-duty police officers! This is all beginning to look rather dower for you young lady, rather dower I must say…”
The second woman was rather unlike the first. She was older, taller, more refined in the way she carried herself. Possessing the look of a stern headmistress, the lady wore a pressed shirt with sharp black trousers that spoke of a certain class and sophistication. There was, of course, more to this woman than simple surface-level specifics, however. The furrowed lines written across her face attested to that. As did the two clenched fists swinging by her sides. They seemingly told a deeper story. A much grizzlier tale indeed.
A moment of great tension was brewing, and it had now begun to reach fever pitch.
“Get off me will you!” continued the older of the two quarrelsome women, “…it’s her you ought to be terrorising…she’s the fraud, not me!”
“Watch your mouth, lady!” replied her angry opponent huddled behind several police officers.
“There she goes again, is anyone going to do something!?!”
“I told you to watch your mouth, you fucking little whore!”
With that the wilder of the two antagonists sprung from her heels. She had spotted a small gap between the officers and jumped at the opportunity to strike. Suddenly, for not the first time in this odd little town, I recognised her face as she darted across the foyer, all twisted and contorted with rage. It was like watching an animal being released from their cage, muscles flexed and an unmistakable bloodlust in her eyes.
That face, though, her face…there was no doubt on god’s green earth that I had seen it before. And right here in Clearview, too. It was Carol. No, Charlotte? Courtney? Chloe!? You remember, dear reader? I had met her at a bar on one of my very first days in town. Crosby’s Bar in-fact. Where she downed shots of whiskey faster than a freight train, and threatened to fix me up with a scar or two just for looking at her the wrong way.
Then I remembered. Clara! Her name was Clara...
...the girl who had introduced herself to me as, Coburn's little sister.
“Fucking bitch! Get the hell outta my way!”
Thankfully, she found no way past Officer Dirkdale. The police-chief’s rather imposing mid-rift acted as a makeshift barrier, the girth of which proving enough to curtail the young lady in her tracks. Dirkdale subsequently wrapped his arms around Clara just before she could force her fingernails into her opponent's face. The second woman, meanwhile, shuffled back and held her tongue, taking in several deep breaths.
A sense of clarity was in order. Once the two ladies had been sufficiently separated, the commanding officer on scene wasted no time in making himself heard.
“Officers…” the police chief asserted, “…take her into the interrogation room three, let her cool off a little before we play ball. Quickly, quickly…”
The boys in blue got to it immediately, keen to seize the young girl and escort her out of sight. Clara howled and hollered the whole way down the corridor, pointing her foul-mouthed tirade at anyone who just happened to be within earshot. Dirkdale, on the other hand, stood up straight and reshuffled his shirt like nothing ever happened. I noticed a rather apologetic look in his eye as he motioned over towards the other woman.
“Mrs Coburn…” he began earnestly, “…I'm real sorry you had to witness that. Let me assure you, we are doing everything in our power to find out how this could have happened…”
The older woman silenced him swiftly, “…no, no, no! It’s not good enough, Dirkdale! I came to this town on business. Very important business I’ll have you know...with a lot of money at stake, too…and this is the kind of welcome I receive when I get here!?”
“…I assure you,” he continued, “…I won't let this one lie, that’s a promise. Please, for the sake of all that’s important, take a seat in room number five over there. Just past the lockers, if you don't mind…”
“You don't mean interrogation room five, do you, officer?”
Dirkdale struggled to hold his nerve, “…Mrs Coburn, please bear with us here. We’ve sat Ms Redwood down and will talk to her promptly. Then, once we’ve had our words with the girl, cooled that fiery spirit of hers down a little…we’ll make sure to see you in good time. Straighten this whole thing out…”
“Fine…” the lady finally accepted, “…but I want you to know, officer, that I will not be speaking to anybody until my lawyer arrives with all my papers…is that understood? Expect a knock anytime soon, I’ve already sent for him.”
“Very good…” spoke Dirkdale, nodding his head in agreement, “...officers, make sure Mrs Coburn is made comfortable in there. We won’t be long now…in-fact, is that…?”
The cumbersome police chief was suddenly peering directly over at me, his gaze weighing almost as heavy as he did. Up until that point my presence in the precinct had gone largely unnoticed…and oh, how I wished it could have stayed that way. How I wished I had simply remained outside and listened to the whole thing unfold through a creak in the window. That way I could have avoided all the unwanted fanfare that would soon come my way. That way, I could have gone on living in ignorant bliss, unaware of the advancing danger that was waiting right there on my doorstep.
“Yes it is…” Dirkdale continued, “…don’t worry, my best man has just turned up.”
“Me…?” I asked, slowly raising my finger to the middle of my chest.
“Of course, Lucky! Well done for finally showing your face, pal. We were just starting to miss you around here…”
“...”
“...this is Lucky everybody, he’ll be handling the bulk of the proceedings from here on out.”
The older lady paid little notice to my hasty introduction, choosing instead to carry herself halfway down the hallway mumbling something about the state of policing in this ‘bizarre little town’. The same could not be said for Officer Dirkdale and the remaining members of his squadron, however, who each glared at me as if a golden halo had suddenly appeared above my head. I felt like a young pup about to be fed to the wolves. A bloody sirloin steak soon thrown straight into the lion’s den...
“Lucky…” bellowed Dirkdale, slapping me across the back with a disconcerting smile, “…tell the truth. You thought you’d be missing out on all the fun, didn’t you?”
I said nothing, immediately regretting the fact that I had strolled headfirst into Dirkdale’s little ambush, like a puppet on a string.
“Cat got your tongue…?” Dirkdale asked rhetorically, with Officer Powell grimacing wickedly over his shoulder, “…well good. Save it for in there. You’ve got two uptight kitties on your hands now, Lucky. It’ll take more than just a nice pearly smile to get through to those two, trust me…”
A few of the remaining officers laughed at his quips. Some simply carried on eyeballing me as I made my way over to the man they called boss, the man whose word they dared not cross.
There I was, a lone detective in a room full of cops. To the untrained eye both parties presumably saw the world through the same pair of lenses. A shared perspective, if you will. But let me tell you now, dear reader, the reality could not be further from the truth. In the real world, detectives and cops are nothing at all alike. They reside on opposite ends of the spectrum, in fact. Like night and day.
“Why me?” I asked, finding my voice again “…why me, Dirkdale? You got a room full of overpaid and underworked police officers just jumping at the chance to make an honest living for themselves. Why not one of them!?”
“Lucky, Lucky, Lucky…” the police chief retorted, “…why would I send a humble member of the Clearview Police Department in there, when we’ve got ourselves a living, breathing, real life Big City investigator within our midst? Don't you want to show us how it's really done, buddy? Put your money where your mouth is, as they say...?”
I knew I was trapped playing one of his games, jumping every time he snapped his sausage-like fingers. But then a subtle notion hit me. If this whole thing had something to do with Coburn, something that might prove important in my quest to uncover the actor's unknown whereabouts...then maybe, just maybe...
...it was worth my while.
“…what’s this all about anyway? " I asked, "...what the hell happened before I walked in here!?”
“What we got here…” Dirkdale replied slowly, “…is a case of mistaken identity. Well, actually, no it’s not. It’s a case of false impersonation, with a possible link to our friend Clarke Coburn. I assume that’s still of interest to you, Lucky?”
“It is. That woman…” I began curiously, “…her name was Coburn?”
The police-chief nodded.
“Yes indeed…” he said, “…that’s Clarke Coburn’s sister, Carolyn.”
“…but what about Clara? I thought she was Coburn’s sister!?”
The police chief appeared strangely bemused by my response, as too did the rest of his blue-shirted entourage, “…Clara? I don’t know what you’ve heard Lucky, but that young lady in room number three certainly isn’t Coburn’s sister. And her name ain’t Clara, neither!”
“What do you mean?”
At once the crowd of officers began smirking across at one another, almost as if a crude private joke had just been shared around the room, and I was the only one yet to cotton on to the punchline.
“Lucky! I’m disappointed…” spoke Dirkdale yet again, “…what do you think this is, kindergarten?”
He glanced back at Officer Powell, signalling the next phase of his plan.
“Go in there and find out for yourself, Lucky! I’ve got enough on my plate with all this Wolfman business to contend with. And take Officer Powell with you, I want someone I can trust in there whilst you conduct the interviews...”
“Interviews…?” I mouthed dumbly, somewhat frozen on the spot.
“Go ahead boys…” he remarked for a final time, now waltzing back towards his office with an unlit cigar positioned between his lips, “…go immerse yourself within the art of the interrogation. Let’s see if our friend from the Big City is really all he’s cracked up to be...
...shall we?”
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