The Adventures of Valentin

With a bang Valentin was off and running, knocking aside trash cans and leaping over benches. Dodging between people casually strolling, he wondered why they ignored the noise that reverberated in his eardrums. They must desire a tedious, repetitive existence. He hoped for adventure, and the shot was the starting pistol.

In a moment he reached the location of the noise. He barely had time to prepare, and no time to observe, before he burst through the rotten boards stretched across the doorway. When he had recovered Valentin saw a few men and women lolling about on the filthy concrete floor in various states of iesnebriation.

“It looks like an abandoned mill occupied by squatters,” Valentin said aloud.

One man with wild hair and bedraggled beard looked up with dull eyes and said, “Who are you talking to?”

“Why, my dog,” Valentin said, pointing at Lykaia, a Norfolk Terrier currently involved in wagging its tail while urinating on the floor.

“Sorry about that,” said Valentin.

“Uh,” said the man.

“If you don't mind, did you hear a gunshot?”

“Upstairs.”

“And thus our bold adventurer came one step closer to the beginning of a great mystery,” said Valentin as he ran up a flight of narrow and poorly lit stairs.

At the top Valentin halted, pressed himself against the wall and peered cautiously around the corner. With no one in sight he slid stealthily forward, until he heard the sound of a metal object striking the concrete. He tried to leap across the hallway, but he stumbled over Lykaia, tumbled, recovered, and rolled into the room, bouncing to his feet.

Three boys, wearing the same style of torn jeans, and three varieties of the same short sleeve graphic tees (black, blue, and green) stood in formation around a still body.

It wouldn't be worth it to tackle any of them, Valentin thought. They're in shock.

Valentin moved between two of them and examined the body.

“He's been shot. Dead! What did you see?”

The boys, he understood immediately, were not prepared to answer. They appeared as dazed and glassy eyed as the inhabitants downstairs, but for a different reason. Looking around the body, Valentin picked up an iPhone, but didn't try to guess the 4 digit code. He didn't want it to lock. He stood and placed the phone in an overly large coat pocket.

One of the boys, Black-shirt, appeared to have regained his composure for he approached Valentin and said, “Should you be taking that?”

“I'd like to ask you a few questions,” said Valentin, taking out a waterproof pocket notebook. “Did you see anyone?”

“Who are you?”

“Val, reporter for the Open Ear. Here's my card.”

He passed the boy a business card, who looked at it briefly.

“Haven't heard of it.”

“Created it myself, this will be my first break. Did you see anyone?”

Black-shirt looked to Green-shirt, to Blue-shirt, and back.

“Well, we did see someone. We were here to... to...”

“Youthful indiscretions.”

“Of the fairly innocuous, but mildly stimulating kind,” said Blue-shirt.

“Did you see anyone?”

“Yes,” said Green-shirt. “We saw a short man with coal black hair and a glum face running from the room.”

“That's the best you got?” said Black-shirt.

“What's wrong with that?”

“A glum face. What's that even supposed to mean?” said Black-shirt.

“I mean that he had a glum face, man.” said Green-shirt.

Valentin left, but reminded them to call if they remembered anything else.

….

The next morning Valentin visited the police station. Passing through the entrance he nodded at Johnson and Tom, who looked blankly back at him. He vaulted over a desk marked “police only” and immediately found his arm twisted back and gripped tightly by a muscled police officer.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” said the officer.

“I'm Val, reporter for Open Ear, and you're Jenn. I recognize you from the police website, which I memorized between breakfast and brushing.”

“You don't have authorization to be in this area.”

“But I have information about a murder yesterday.”

“Murderer; short, dark haired, glasses. We already have him, name is Francis.”

“I'd like to see him.”

“That's not going to happen.”

“You've met my father, Agathon Clement, right? Chief of Police.”

….

Valentin and Lykaia observed Francis as he was led into the room. Dark hair, glasses, he even had a glum face!

“Are you my lawyer?” Francis said, as the officer left.

Valentin stood, mulling the idea, but then nearly tripped over a chair while approaching Francis. “Would you like me to be?”

The man looked towards Valentin, then to the two-way mirror, and then back to Valentin. He stood and moved back.

“Why are you in here? I don't know anything.” Francis looked again at the glass.

“Three kids say they saw you right before I murder occurred. Right before the gunshot.”

“I didn't murder anyone. I didn't know anyone. I had just met the guy a couple times, hanging around. Wait, is that a dog?”

“Why do people keep saying that!”

“You can't bring a dog in here. I mean, I might have allergies.”

“Do you, and would it help me get a confession?”

“Look, I might have been talking to him. Sometimes he didn't seem all there. Said he wanted to remember who he was, his triumph. Said he didn't feel any remorse.”

“Uh huh. What do you think Lykaia? You don't believe him?”

Lykaia growled as menacingly as a nine inch dog can.

“I had just finished talking with him. He said he might have a job for me in the future. I swear. Then when I heard the shot I ran for it.”

“You thought someone was coming for him?”

“He seemed pretty nasty.”

“Here's my card. Call if you think of anything else.”

….

Sitting at home that night, with the TV blaring, and the local newspaper open to a story about an arson, a famous opera singer, the return of an archaeological expedition, and the rescue of a capsized boat, Val considered his first case. He also considered the angry phone call from his father, going on and on about how he couldn't use Agathon's influence to commandeer a police interrogation.

About to doze off, he was awoken abruptly by a loud clang, the sound of metal upon metal. Standing in a flurry, newspaper falling about with dates; the Governor's anniversary, (3/2/16), an unsolved murder (2/21/2016), and the local election (4/1/2016), Val listened. There was the sound of footfall near the entrance to his apartment. Lykaia barked, and bound through the living room, slid across the linoleum kitchen floor, and out the dog door. In a rush Val followed, the main door flying open and slamming shut with his exuberance. He barely dodged the rusty chain fence that always seemed to rush up at him and stopped when he reached Lykaia. Lykaia was near Val's trashcan leaping against it time and again, but to knock it over.

Reaching in with gusto, Val felt his hands scrape across an L shaped object. He pulled his hand back, and then peered cautiously in. What was underneath the gun? He tilted the can to avoid touching the gun. He didn't want to disturb any remaining fingerprints. It was a piece of paper. His card! He fingered it, and placed it in his pant pocket. He walked back to the door, to procure gloves, puzzling at the returning of his card. He turned the handle of the door, but it didn't rotate. He tried again. Then he laughed aloud.

He had forgotten his keys.

….

The next morning Val ate oatmeal in his underwear while considering his mystery. He pulled the victim's phone out his coat pocket, which hung from a nearby chair, and stared at it. Then he placed it next to the gun on his kitchen table. He situated his crumpled business card alongside them. Then he stood, dressed, and walked out the door. He was halfway to the local grocery store, before he paused, hands in his pockets.

He said, “What was different about the outside of my apartment this morning.”

He heard Lykaia say back to him, “There was something there that shouldn't have been.”

They rushed back together, and in the daylight Val could see a strip of cloth caught on the brittle and rough interlinks of the rusty chain fence.

“This must have been here last night, but I missed it in the dark. I know who had the gun. But I don't know why. It's time to go the police station.”

….

“We found the boys.”

“Bring them in,” said Val.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” said Agathon. “I canceled an meeting with the Mayor, you're not even an officer, and I'm about to let you interrogate three local boys, officer Jenn, and suspect Francis. And you have a dog.”

“Why does everyone keep mentioning that?”

Five minutes later, with the small room crowded but quiet, Val began.

“We all know that two days ago a man was found murdered in an abandoned warehouse. He had no ID, but a phone was found at his side.”

“A phone?” said Agathon. “The officer's didn't report that.”

“That's because I took it before they arrived. Now if you'll let me continue. I met these three boys standing around the body, and they told me that they had seen Francis running from the scene. There was no gun, and after further inspection I went home. The next day I interviewed Francis who seemed to know a bit about the victim, but claimed he did not murder anyone. And then last night, as I was watching TV a gun was deposited in my trashcan along with my business card. I gave my business card to three of the people in this room.”

“The ballistics have been confirmed, the gun you found was the murder weapon,” said Jenn, “There were no fingerprints on the gun aside from yours. And I didn't do it.”

“My thought was, who would give me the gun.” said Val. “They weren't trying to frame me. The business card proved that. It was as if they were asking for my help. But the murderer wouldn't ask for help. So who could it be? A victim, or an suspect that wanted to be proved innocent.”

“Am I innocent?” said Francis.

“But, finally this morning it all came together when I found a scrap of cloth outside my door. In the dark the person who deposited the gun had stumbled into my fence which tore off a bit of his or her shirt. They had to run for it and I missed it at night. But it matched the shirt of one of the people in this room. Yet I didn't know why they the gun. That was until I returned to the house to gather the evidence; gun, phone, card, and cloth, and I stumbled upon the last piece.”

Val reached into his pocket, paused, puzzled. Then he grabbed the roll of newspaper that Lykaia was slobbering over, and spread it across the table.

“What is this?” said Black-shirt.

“See there,” said Val, “The date. 2/21/2016. An unsolved murder about two months ago.”

“It happened too far away. About a fifteen hour drive from here,” said Agathon. “And what does it matter anyway?”

“He knows,” said Val, pointing at Francis.

“I didn't do anything.”

“But you knew the victim was dangerous. You said that he wanted to remember something.”

“Yes...”

“The victim was the murderer,” said Val

“Of himself?” said Blue-shirt.

“No, of this other person,” said Val as he gestured at the paper.

“Valentin, it doesn't mean anything.” said Agathon. “You don't any proof to solve our problem.”

“Here it is,” said Val as he tossed a phone to his father.

“What's this?” said Agathon as he looked at the screen.

“The phone is owned by one James Johnson, and in it he details the murder he committed and future crimes. He kept a diary on it because his memory was so bad.”

“How did you unlock it?”

“He used the date of the murder 0221. He could remember the date of his 'achievement'.”

Agathon put the phone down angrily.

“This is great. One murderer is dead, but we still have another out there somewhere.”

“Nope. They are not out there, they're in here. Don't you see, someone wanted us to have the gun because they gave it to me. It was the boys.”

Agathon looked at Black-shirt, Green-shirt, and Blue-shirt.

“It's true,” said Blue-shirt. “We were there looking to buy some marijuana, but everything went wrong. We stumbled into the room just as Francis was leaving. He exited through another door just as we entered. And this man, James, must of thought we had overheard his plan. Which we did. He was planning a robbery with Francis. He pulled a gun on us, but I tackled him and the gun went off. In the shock of it, we panicked and hid the gun. We felt so wracked with guilt that we turned over the gun, and hoped that would be the end of it.”

“Well.... hm...” said Agathon. “If the evidence on this phone says what Valentin says it does...”

“It does,” said Val.

“Then your word, self-defense, and all, is going to stand pretty strong. What you need is not jail, but counseling for the trial you underwent. Jenn, could you see to them. I need to speak to my son.”

Jenn led the three boys and Francis out of the room (the last in handcuffs), while Agathon observed Lykaia playing with scraps of paper.

“I have to admit, you did well...” said Agathon.

“Thanks.”

“Stop interrupting me! I was going to say you did well, while illegally withholding crucial evidence.”

“Can I consult for the police?”

“We may allow you to work with us in the future. On a tighter leash.”

“Great. Can I put that on my business cards?”

“Get out.”