"I'm afraid we can't charge either of them, Mr. Ash," the police chief said, his expression sad as he shook his head.
The man was close to my age. Unlike me, the police chief had a head that was rapidly balding in the middle, and his salt and pepper hair failed to hide it.
"I know," I agreed. "But pending the time we do get some concrete evidence, I'd like them to be in your care, Chief."
"I'll do my best, Mr. Ash. If not for the strange criminals you give us and the fact that this is a high-profile case, I wouldn't bat an eyelash in your direction," the police chief sighed, rubbing his bald chin and looking at the ground.
"I just hope reporters don't catch wind of this quickly."
"That's highly unlikely," I reasoned. "It doesn't matter how well we hide it; rotten meat will always attract flies."
The chief groaned and clenched his hat and looked at me with a worried look on his wrinkled face.
I shook my head. The man was too weak to be cut out for this job, I concluded. Even though we were age mates, the man was visibly older than me.
I squinted as I looked up at the sky atop the mansion's dragon roofs of the Asian style mansion and grimaced at the stark brightness of the clouds.
The bright blue and shining yellow sun had been obscured by pregnant clouds that would soon deliver.
The sound of birds had given way to soft thunders, coupled with the sound of police sirens.
I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wasn't someone to believe in omens, but I knew this one was heavy with death.
"Let's go, Bernard," I called out to my assistant as I reached the car.
"So, was it the two of them?" Bernard's weak voice asked as we entered the dimly lit office.
"For now, yes. The pieces struggle to fit together, and while I'm not entirely sure of how they pulled it off, yes."
"It's all well within the realm of possibility," I found myself voicing out my thoughts.
"The two might have brought it in. But a body of three days wouldn't have started to stink up the place. It would be very easy to smell such a thing in a house like that." I tapped on my bearded chin and sat behind my desk.
"The police find it difficult to believe what I'm certain: this is a family thing. It's very unlikely it was a political murder." I looked up to Bernard, who was furiously scribbling in his notepad.
Suddenly, a call came in from the reception, interrupting Bernard from his note-taking.
I watched the young man go outside and bid to answer the call. Once the man left my office, I leaned back in his chair and spun it around till I could see the window. Rain had already begun to fall softly outside, but it wasn't heavy.
"Merely a drizzle, huh?" I thought to myself. I huffed, feeling the need to bring out a cigarette from my pocket as I leaned back again in my chair and observed the phenomenon.
"Perhaps this case might be more than what it shows," I concluded just as I heard a knock on the door.
"You have a visitor, sir," Bernard said from outside. "He says he knows you. He says he has an appointment."
"Let them in," I spun back till I faced his desk.
The man who stepped in was tall, lanky, and had smiling blue eyes. His familiar face however, did not hold smiles, but worry.
Beside him was a teenage boy of about 14 or 15, bearing striking resemblance to the lanky man. The man's blonde hair was slicked backwards, giving a perfect view of his high forehead, immaculately groomed mustache, and strong chin.
Frank had been an old friend of mine since secondary school. We were supposed to play golf together, as we had booked their appointment weeks prior, but the current rain would not let us.
"I don't know how everyone else our age seems to age so easily, but you… you don't look a day over 35," I joked with my old friend as shook I hand.
"Who's the boy?" I pointed towards the boy.
"He's my son."
"Obviously. You look alike," I remarked dismissively.
"I married Robert's niece."
"That explains it," I muttered in a dry tone under my breath. I couldn't care less if Frank married into European royalty.
"So, what does the boy have for us today, or is it you that wishes to tell me something?"
The blonde man shook his head and sat down, pulling the boy with him to sit on the chair beside him.
"Go on, Michael. Tell him what you saw. Tell him what happened to you."
The boy's pink skin had become pale, and his eyes were wide with horror.
"Dad took me there to see my aunt. But they were talking about women's stuff, so me and Harley…"
"Who is Harley?" I interrupted.
"Harley is his cousin," Frank took over from the boy.
"Harley is Robert's grandchild. His parents are dead, so he lives with… lived with Robert."
"Let the boy continue," I waved my hand at my friend, dismissing him.
"So, what then?" I all but barked at the boy, who flinched.
"We were playing hide and seek. Harley always found me though, since it was his house. But when I finally found a spot to hide inside the cabinets in grandpa's study, I stayed there. Finally, Harley couldn't find me anymore," the boy's face cracked into a slight smile.
"Then, I heard the door open, and while I thought it was Harley, I was happy to see that it wasn't… it was Grandpa. Grandfather sat down in his chair and was doing some stuff.
I couldn't see much because the cabinet door was closed, but even though it was, there was a slit that I could watch everything through. The door was shut a few moments after, and Grandpa told the person to come inside."
"And you didn't come outside, not even for a little moment?" I fingered one of the papers on my table as I scrutinized the boy's appearance.
The boy was dressed rather impeccably, as though every thought was put into his ensemble: a suit, a bow tie, and sleeked-back blonde hair. The boy shook his head.
"Grandpa would have scolded me," he said. "Grandpa had done it before once. I didn't want him to do it again, so I stayed hidden. I just wanted to wait until Grandpa left the study, then I would come outside."
I was ecstatic. Finally, I had an actual witness to the murder of Robert. The boy had seen it happen after all. His words carried too much weight, but being the only witness, I would rely on the boy's testimony.
I leaned over my desk, eyeing the boy intently. "Continue," I urged, as the boy flinched under his gaze.
"I must have been there for a long time," the boy began.
"But the butler, I think... I remember the man came inside the door and told Grandpa he had a visitor. Grandpa instructed they should come in, and then a white person entered.
He looked strange, the white man. I don't know where I've seen him before, but I remember that I had seen him sometimes."
" James," I muttered under my breath, gesturing for the teenager to continue.
I probed the boy, who nodded in response. "What did they talk about?"
The boy swallowed loudly before continuing, "The white man spoke to Grandpa, but he wanted to see him for a while. Then Grandpa asked, 'What do you want?' The white man started laughing and said, 'Don't you know I'm dead?'
Grandpa said he didn't have time for jokes and that the white man should say the important thing he wanted to talk about."
At this point, my eyes widened as my mind struggled to digest this bit of information. "Since when did dead people start talking?" I didn't realize that I voiced the question aloud.
Frank looked at me. "That's the exact same thing I asked him, but the boy kept telling me that's what he saw and heard."
"Continue, boy!"
The boy flinched again, "The white man told my grandpa since he's a doctor, he should come and check him just to find out if he was truly dead. Grandpa stood up... I've watched grandpa stand up.
Grandpa stood up and walked over to the man. There was a bit of silence, and then Grandpa screamed and backed up until his back hit his chair, and he sat down. Everyone was silent after that. I was so scared I couldn't move.
After a long time, the door was kicked open, and people came inside and started shouting. I crawled out of the cabinet, and I was so glad no one noticed me.
After a while, Mom suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room. It was then I knew that grandpa had died," Michael added after a long moment of silence.
His words were followed by yet another long moment of silence. It was heavy, unspoken words and questions hung in my mind, but the one at the forefront of everything: "So dead men can talk now?" I shook my head.
"It's impossible," I said out loud, suddenly standing up. "Everyone knows dead men cannot suddenly get up and walk, make phone calls, book appointments, and scare people half to death... now that one is possible. But your story makes nearly no sense."
I turned around harshly and glared at the boy, hoping to find some sort of mischief. After all, I had done similar things when I was young. Fabricating stories was just the least thing I did.
However, on Michael, I found truth and no mischief in the boy's eyes. All I saw was horror and resolve.
"What now?" Frank's voice pulled me out of his daze.
"Take him to the police," I concluded as I walked back to my seat and slumped into it.
"No," the boy protested with a fervent shake of his head. Fear had replaced the horror that was once in the boy's eyes.
"I thought about the same thing too," Frank voiced once again.
"But I don't know anyone in the police, and you're famous with them. They know you better. So what do you want me to do about that?" I was beginning to get angry with Frank's insistent interruptions of my train of thought.
"Don't you think it might be better if you took the boy to the police instead? I think they might believe him if he's with you."
"None of that matters now, Frank. What matters is if he's telling the truth."
I turned back to meet Michael's eyes.
"He's never been a liar," Frank said. "My son doesn't lie," he repeated with more force in his voice.
I believed Frank, but I needed to hear it from the boy myself. Michael looked back at me with resolve in his eyes.
"I'm not lying," the boy's voice rang true. I smiled and got up from my chair. I took slow steps until I reached Michael's slim form.
"I hear you, kid. I'm a bit of a tough nut to crack. And so is Jack."
"Him?" Frank groaned as he leaned into his knees. "The man is insane. I still have Goosebumps from when the man beat me so hard I had scars for a week. We can't call him. He's mad."
"Yes. But he'll listen to us. The police chief is a weasel of a man who can't get things done. He'll only end up complicating things from now. Besides, I've kept him a little busy with the butler and the manservant. Colonel Jack is going to make things move much faster."
"Then must we call him now?" Frank groaned and suddenly looked like his teenage self.
"I don't see why we must delay," I said. But I couldn't help but feel the slight tug in my mind that I was getting into an even bigger pit than the one that Robert's death had caused.