The Detective #5: The Guy in the Hat
Sometimes it happens this way. Not often but every now and then a case gets solved and you didn’t have a damn thing to do except sit there and listen. That’s it, just sit there and listen…Mine came about this way. Zinger, a guy who had been in the department for too damn long and was drinking way too much finally decided, with a lot of push from above, that he would retire and collect whatever pension he had accumulated so he could spend most of his days at the corner bar. That was where he was spending it anyway so now it would be official.
Well naturally the guys threw a party and gave him a big send off. It was all gushy, sentimental and all that shit. Me, I didn’t care for him much but he never got in my way so we never had any problems. So like everyone else I drank to his health and best wishes for a long and happy retirement. Then it was time to go and while everybody was getting their coats and stuff he pulled me aside and gave me an envelope. When I asked what was in it he told me one of his old cases. Something he looked at periodically but could never quite get a handle on it. He thought that maybe I could give it a look see when I had some time. Yeah, good luck on that. But I took it because why not? He was going I didn’t want to hurt the guy’s feelings. After he was gone I threw it on my desk with the idea of filing it away somewhere. And who knows, maybe one day when I retire I can pass it on to somebody else.
Of course I didn’t just put it away. I opened it and looked at the stuff for a few minutes. I remembered then case. It happened about three years before I came into the department. At the time the press had given it a big play for about a week or so then it was gone and pretty much forgotten since no one was arrested or accused of the crime. But apparently Zinger had been poking around quite a bit trying to find some answers. The only problem was he never found anything.
There were some pictures of the woman, the victim in the file. Nice looking woman with long brown hair and dark interesting eyes. There was a shot of her in bathing suit. Not bad, not bad at all. But of course totally useless now because she was dead. Stabbed in the chest and torso several, several times. And apparently there was some effort to dismember the body. So what we’re dealing with here is some sick, sick bastard. Or at least sick for a brief period of time and now probably walking around like any normal person doing all kinds of normal things like going to the supermarket and maybe even going to church. You just never know with people like this. Anyway, anyway, I figured why not make a few phone calls see if anybody remembers anything other than the stuff that I already had. I mean seven years is a long time, but what the hell, you just never know. I did and just as I thought, nothing. So I closed the file and put it in the drawer. All the stuff was on the computer anyway but I guess Zinger didn’t go much for that so he kept hard copies of his cases too.
It was around three in the afternoon when the front desk told me that I had a visitor. I told them to send him back…This shabby looking guy in a checkered shirt and a baseball cap came in and introduced himself. He was one of the people I had called. I looked at him he couldn’t have been more than forty two or three but he talked and moved like somebody much older. He was unshaven and his hair was practically all white. The guy just looked like he hadn’t had much sleep in a while. I asked him what he wanted and he said that he had information on the case I called about. Said that he might’ve even seen the killer. I asked why he hadn’t told me this on the phone. He said it’s not the kind of information you give out on the phone. You never know who’s listening. I told him right offered him a cup of coffee and waited for him to begin. It took him a while but when he began I couldn’t turn him off. Luckily I had my recorder on taking the whole thing down. So the next thing you see is a transcript of him telling me what he saw. And this is exactly the way he talked, in the third person.
At night he would stand there in the shadows for the longest while. Who even knows how long? An hour, two hours maybe even longer. How many nights?. Three four times a week. I don’t know. What matters is that he would stand there in the dark looking up at the corner window of the 7th floor…Now by the time he got there all the lights would be off in the particular apartment he was looking at. And that’s how he wanted it, I guess. Complete, complete darkness. That way he would know or be assured that all was right with the world. That everyone was quiet and asleep.
You see, you have to understand that there was a time when he used to be the one in residence in that place. That nice apartment at this kind of time. And she would be in the kitchen maybe cleaning up or getting a drink. And he would be in the living room sitting on the sofa or on the window ledge next to the fish tank sipping his drink and looking at the darkened apartment windows across the way. She would come in and sit on the floor next to him. They would talk in lowered voices, sip their drinks and just enjoy the luxury of each other’s company…But that was a while ago. Now there was someone else up there. Another set of legs and arms, another set of lips, another set of everything. And because the window was dark he couldn’t see what the guy looked like. But he was sure he was there. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could go very long without having a man she could curl around at night. That’s just the way she was…..He had no idea what the guy looked like didn’t know his name. But he knew how he dressed and how he looked in passing. He liked to call him “The man in the hat.” And why not? Every time he saw him the man the man was wearing a hat. A dark, wide brimmed hat that cast a shadow over his face. And that’s how he referred to him. As “The man in the hat that casts a shadow over his face.”
Note: This is when he switched back to talking in the first person.
I saw the story in the papers when the incident occurred. And of course I was in a state of shock. You don’t expect things like that to happen to people you know. Others yes, but not to people you know. Or used to know I guess would be more accurate, you follow?… I guess we all assume that we’ll get old and die in bed. And so will our friends and people we were intimate with. But it doesn’t work out that way for some of us, does it? No, it doesn’t work out that way at all.
But as I was saying, I was really surprised when you got in touch. After all eight years had passed already. Eight whole years. I had naturally assumed that right after the incident I would have been one of the first people you guys would want to talk to. So I waited and waited but no one ever called. Then I figured you weren’t interested. Maybe you’d found the killer and the case was closed. If that was the case , I hadn’t read about it. But then I’m not always as up on the latest news as I should be. So I went my way and forgot about it. Then you called and that’s when I realized that nothing had changed. So I figured I better come in and tell you what I know.
One night while he was standing there she had the lights on but the curtains were still drawn. He saw the shadow of the man in the hat and then he saw her shadow too. They were moving about talking or maybe dancing, he couldn’t tell which. Then the lights were turned out and all was dark again…..”What could they be doing up there?” he asked himself. Talking maybe smoking and drinking too, why not? And listening to music on the radio on that station that advertised “Fewer commercial interruptions”. The one that plays all that classical stuff… Her head would be on his thigh, his hand would be touching her head. Somewhere along the way there would be a lull in the conversation. Something else was taking place. Something that they both felt but neither would verbally acknowledge. Then after a while she would look up at him, he would look at her and they would rise, turn out the lights and retire to the bedroom. It was a nice way to pass the after dinner hours. And although the ending was always the same, the approach constantly changing. That was the fun part, improvising new directions to get to the same place. That was the enchantment of it all. The improvisation. And standing outside in the dark looking up at the window he could imagine it all because he had experienced that enchantment so, so many times.
Now, you’re probably wondering why I didn’t come to you right after I heard about the crime and tell you what I knew. Perhaps it might’ve helped. And maybe it could’ve. But it wasn’t my business. That’s the way I looked at it. You guys aren’t always the nicest people to talk to at anytime even when somebody’s trying to help you. Follow what I’m saying? So why do it. The sad part is everyone doesn’t feel the same way. The morning after the incident it was all over the papers. EAST SIDE RESIDENT FOUND MURDERED…..CAREER WOMAN EXEC SLAIN…..MURDER IN LUXURY CONDO BAFFLES POLICE and so on… There was even a profile of her life in one of the papers. It must’ve been a slow week for big stories but they had the facts of her life straight but the reporting was all wrong. I felt like I was reading about a stranger and not the woman I knew for all that time. I even thought about contacting the paper and straightening them out. But then I said to myself; “Stay out of it. This is none of your damn business.” Know what I wish? I wish other people felt the same way. But of course they don’t.
There was this guy Wally Russell, who was an occasional friend of hers. That bastard went to the papers and became the source of all kinds of misinformation about things he knew nothing about relating to Diana and her life. At first I was pissed, really , really pissed. But then I blinked it out and tried to figure out why he was doing this. I mean the stupid bastard hardly knew her but there he was spouting out all that shit Why?….All I could come up with is that he was grandstanding. That pathetic piece of low life scum was getting his 15 minutes worth of fame off the death of that soft and beautiful woman. I wanted to meet him and kick his ass, kick his ass good for what he was doing to poor Diana and her reputation. But then another voice inside said to me;”Let it go. This too shall pass.” And you know what? It did. It fucking, fucking did.
The woman was murdered. Her body was stabbed more than 60 times in the torso, front and back. That’s what it said in the paper. Obviously the work of someone in an extreme emotional state. Now more than eight years have passed and the killer still walks free. And the police, dumb bastards that they are still don’t have a clue. Can you believe that? They still don’t have a clue.
She’s only been dead for eight years but somehow it seems like a lot longer. Centuries or another lifetime when I used to know her. I read about her death in the paper that morning and sat in my room trying to imagine her without life. Diana as just a body. An unclothed cadaver in a drawer with an identification tag attached to her big toe. Eyes closed, arms at her side, legs together and her skin pale and colorless. Transparent even. I tried to imagine it. Tried to conjure the picture in my mind but I couldn’t. All I kept seeing was Diana full of life the way I knew her. A woman full of tricks and moods and a dozen or more blind alleys to her personality. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think that she’s lying there next to me asleep. And that all I have to do is reach over and touch her and she’ll stir, turn and ask in that soft voice of hers; “What is it hon?”…..Of course it’s just my memory playing tricks on me. Memory can do that from time to time. It does it to me quite often. I don’t mind it though. It provides a pleasant way to pass the time.
But that’s not what I want to think about. I want to think about the man in the hat. The one with the beat up looking raincoat that the police should be talking to if they had any smarts. He’s the one who entered her life after me. He’s the one she entertained with dinner and soft music and wine and the softness of her touch. He’s the one she let into her bedroom and into her arms. So he’s the one they should be talking to. Yes, they should be questioning me but they should be talking to him too. He succeeded me. He was the last one to enjoy her favors. So they definitely should be talking to him.
They met at a bookstore where he worked. I know that for a fact. She liked to search for out of print books and he was always somehow able to find them for her. Out of that a friendship evolved and beyond that, a romantic attachment. She had been married once. And her experience in that marriage made her wary and perhaps fearful of getting married again. So as a result she kept her relationships at arm’s length. And when they threatened to get really close she would terminate them. That’s just the way she was and nothing could change her mind.
But I’ll tell you now, this guy whoever he is met her after me and she opened herself up to him right away. I had to wait and toil weeks and months before she would even go out with me. But he got there almost immediately. Again I know that for a fact…I have no idea how they met but he quickly became the man in the bedroom, the man of the house. She gave him a key so he could come and go as he pleased. He didn’t live there, she wouldn’t allow that. But he had free access, something I could never manage to get. That made him a better person than me, I guess. At least in her eyes. But that didn’t bother me; I’m not that insecure a person and never have been.
For some reason he never stayed the night, I don’t know why. He always left a few hours after arriving. Again I have to guess that whatever they were doing could not be sustained for the duration of the night. So when it was finished one of them had to leave. And since it was her place he was the one…..How do I know all this? I spied on her. I’m not ashamed to admit it, Detective. I was curious so I spied. If the police had done a little spying they would’ve had the killer by now instead of running around in circles chasing their tails like they’ve been doing.
I didn’t tell them about the man in the hat. Why should I? Let them find him for themselves. Let them do their own detective work. That’s what you guys are paid for, isn’t it? So why should I do your job for you??
By day she was busy and efficient executive of a department store. But at night she was a restless and adventurous lover who appeared to enjoy a wide variety of experimental techniques. But from the tone of her letters she was someone who became bored easily. And when she was feeling that way she could be cruel. Very, very cruel. The thing about cruelty and rejection is some people can take it and some people can’t. The suspicion is she came across one who couldn’t.
Women who are one thing by day but turn into something else at night. Isn’t that a fact though? Dr. Jekyll one minute Mr. Hyde the next. Can’t ever figure them out. Shouldn’t even try.
The truth of the matter is Diana and I were soul mates in life and we still are now that she is gone. That’s why I hate and would like to destroy the person who brutally took her life that dreary, rainy morning. He probably thought he was doing the world a favor or maybe he didn’t think about it at all. People can be like that sometimes. Spontaneous and irrational and not aware of the damage they’re doing or the pain that they’re causing. Not only to the victim but to those who love and treasure her for what she was and more importantly what she might’ve been. Everyone has potential. And Diana seemed to have more potential than all. All she had to do was grow up a little and settle down a lot. But she was getting to that. I know she was. But now it’s too late isn’t it? Too goddamn late.
It’s funny how the mind works. One minute you’re thinking of one thing, the next minute you’re thinking of something else. Like right now I’m remembering Diana. Her voice, the smell of her hair, the touch of her skin, the style of dresses she liked to wear and the way she would sit looking half asleep when you were talking but hearing and digesting every word you said. I doted on that woman and would’ve spent my every waking hour in her presence if she would’ve let me. But she sometimes needed to feel independent. Feel that she was free to go where ever she wanted to go without having to look back or explain to anyone why she was going there. I told her once that in spite of what any of us say we ultimately all wind up belonging to someone. She smiled at me and said; “You’re probably right. But for every rule there are exceptions and that’s who I think I am, the exception.” What do you say when somebody makes a foolish remark like that. You shrug, you smile and silently pray for the day when they they’ll come to their senses and realize that there are no exceptions. Only people who delude themselves into thinking that they are.
When we were together in the dark we were one. I know many people say that but in our case it was true. And a union like that only happens once in a lifetime. That’s why I miss her as much as I do. And that’s why I’m so angry about what happened to her. I’m sure if I had been around it never would’ve taken place. But there’s not much I can do about that now. The past is the past and its best and you can never get it back. Still I can’t help thinking what it would’ve been like if she had lasted. The two of us together forever and ever and ever.
The breakup was coming and I knew it. All those nights in bed moving against each other was not having the same effect on her as it was on me. She was always a free bird who resisted the feeling of being locked up in a cage. So the moment she felt it she had to do something extreme. Had to fly the coop not with one but a dozen different birds. And not just fly away with them but make a show of the fact that she was doing it just to assert to herself and anyone else that she was indeed not only free but her own woman as well. And that was the hurtful, painful part. You talk and plead and appeal to reason. And when that fails, you do the sensible thing. You walk away and return to the life you had before you merged yours with hers. Only problem is, you can’t. Thomas Wolfe said it and I don’t think he ever had any idea of how right he was. You can’t go home again. And the reason is because it isn’t there anymore. Once you abandon it the terrain changes and the atmosphere takes on a completely different configuration. You can try living there again but you’ve got to change your ways. You’ve got to learn to adapt to the new environment. So that’s what I did. I learned to adapt and I can honestly say that I’m a better man for it. No question. No question at all.
I guess he didn’t know I was watching him, asshole, sonofabitch that he was, but I was. I had my eye on him right from the start. And this night rather than just standing in the dark I decided to follow him into the building keeping of course a safe distance behind. He used the key she had given him just as she had done with me. He slipped in the door quietly not wanting to wake her. Then he made his way through the dark living room that he knew so well. The cat was sitting on a chair. The one she called “Sebastian” after the character from that Tennessee Williams play “Suddenly, Last Summer” or was it Sebastian Dangerfield from “The Ginger Man”? It’s not important. What is that he slipped into the bedroom and stood there for the longest while watching her sleep. He even heard her snore and watched her turn once or twice. Finally he couldn’t wait any longer and that’s when he did the deed. He probably didn’t know that he was doing it. My best guess is that he was seized by some sort of fever that sent him into an irrational frenzy or spasm. The weapon filled his hand and the movement just took on a life of its own. When he was finished the place was a mess and the only thing he could do was leave as quickly and quietly as he came. No one saw him as far as he knew. But the person he didn’t count on was me. I saw it, witnessed every moment of it and assumed that the police was better at their job than they are. But now that I know different I had to take matters into my own hands. I couldn’t let a killer like that roam the streets unapprehended. Who knows where else he might strike? So I told them what I saw; now it’s up to them.
Now I must say that the man I spoke to today seemed very interested, very concerned. He was the one who came to see me those months ago and didn’t come back again like I thought he would. Maybe now that I visited him and told him what I know he’ll give the case some kind of priority. Maybe he will even find the killer of that woman I loved so much. And if he doesn’t I promise you I will. I’ll find that bastard even if I have to prowl every nighttime street in the city to do it. I owe Diana that much. I owe myself even more.
I was going to arrest him while he was here in the station talking to me but I thought better of it. He wasn’t going anywhere. I was sure of that. So I took a chance. I waited a couple of days put some more facts together and then when I had it all sorted out I took some men and went to where he lived. I knocked on the door; he opened it and greeted me like an old friend. I told him why we were there and he smiled and he asked us to come in. He also told me that I was making a big mistake. That the man I wanted wasn’t him but the man in the raincoat. I told him I knew but that for the moment we needed to detain him. He said alright, that he understood. The guys took him away and that was it.
I stayed around the apartment where he lived and poked around for a bit. I found a few things of interest. I found that he had saved every newspaper, every article and everything relating to Diana and the killing along with notes and letters she had written to him while they were together. And oh yes, one more thing. I found a hat and raincoat sitting in a box covered over by a blanket. They looked like they hadn’t been worn or touched in a long time.
I called Zinger just to let him know what transpired, couldn’t get him on the phone. So I went by the bar where I knew he hung out. They told me he was away in the Bahamas somewhere and even gave me a number where I could reach him. Apparently he met some woman and they hit it off right. So now he’s in the Caribbean taking the sun. Well good for him. Anything I have to report can wait. So you see, sometimes in my job some stories do have happy endings.
-RD
The Stark Naked Pen 