Wednesday, January 01, 2014

Back in the Saddle [Warning: Disturbing] Part 1 of 2

Adroit and I are riding west in a black, unmarked Honda.  The sun is blinding and I pull down the visor as I put “get sunglasses” on my mental list of things to add to my investigator bag.  Which reminds me...I need to add “get investigator bag” to that list, too.

I just met Adroit this morning.  He’s middle-aged, balding, and has a full-on beer belly.  He’s also very quick-witted, funny and has a kind of wisdom that comes from years of dealing with people.  I have met people like him before.  They seem very mild-mannered, but it would be foolish to mistake that for weakness.  I feel comfortable around him right away and think we will be friends.  


Adroit used to be a cop in Arizona.  He has a son and an ex-wife there (and another ex in Ohio) and tries to get back to visit whenever he can.  He misses his son, who is 11-yrs-old, and I can see a shadow pass over his countenance when he talks about it.  So, I change the subject and ask him about the case we’re going out on while we cruise through the traffic of the Big City.


“It’s a hanging.” He says.  “Male, white.  The wife found him in the basement this morning.”  Okay.  I’m assuming suicide.  Although I start thinking about how easy it would be to fake a suicide that way.  Drug the victim at gunpoint.  Maybe make them write a suicide note, but not entirely necessary.  Then, when they’re unconscious, string them up.  


I shake my head.  It’s scary that I can think that way.  And anyway, there’s no reason to suspect anything other than a straight-up suicide.  The man was 50-yrs-old.  That tends to be just about prime suicide age.  When I started doing this kind of work years ago it surprised me how many suicides  there were.  I was unprepared for the volume of middle-aged people coming in with self-inflicted gunshot wounds and overdoses.  I’d thought suicide was primarily a teen angst kind of thing.  In reality, people just don’t talk about it when grown adults take their lives.  It’s a hushed, shameful thing.  And if the family chooses to generate an obituary it is purposely vague...saying things like “Lois died suddenly...blah blah blah”.  I think it has something to do with life dreams and expectations not being met.  People have an idea of where they’ll be, what they’ll be doing, and who they’ll be doing it with by the time they reach the apex of their lives.  Then, when they start telling themselves they’re too old, sick, or tired to make it happen, they lose hope.  


I shake my head again as we pull into a parking spot along a snowy street.  I look around.  It’s a pleasant enough neighborhood, lined with hundred year old trees and equally old brick row houses.  Adroit doesn't bother pulling all the way into the spot.  I shrug and get out of the car, pulling on my gloves and buttoning the collar of my jacket as I step into the bitter cold.  After Adroit gathers his equipment, we walk across the street and climb the stairs to the front door, kicking snow off our boots as we go.

More later...

1 comment:

Margaret Harvey said...

You have done a brilliant job making sure that people understand where you are coming from. And let me tell you, I get it. Please post more updates to cure.
Debit Collector Ipswich 
Private Investigator