As I was considering what heights the renovation bills were going to reach, I heard a voice demanding something from outside the apartment. I shook my head for a moment. The voice sounded familiar. I walked around the counter, that break between the kitchen and living room, and spied a glance back out to the door and saw trusty police officer 6630 talking to a tall thin silver haired man wearing a trench coat and black rimmed glasses, whose shockingly familiar face made me swear out loud.
“Look,” ‘Dr. Dave’ MacIntyre, former cable celebrity and all round expert on all things occult, sounded just a little irritated. Maybe even prissy, as only a Englishman can. “Do I have to wait out here while you go over every little thing. I was requested to assist on this case. I was, In fact, by your very captain. Shall we call her and discuss it, then?”
“Sir,” The police officer was replying. “We have procedures to follow.”
That was funny. Officer 6630 has let me right in. Hadn’t he…
“I was told to come here to meet Detective Speaks-With-Fingers and the property manager – what’s his name – John Smith. I trust he’s here?”
“Detective Fingers is here.” The cop confirmed. “Just give me moment and I’ll check with him.”
God, British accent, flailing arms, TV celebrity occultist. I shook my head. The morning was going from bad to worse.
I hesitated for a moment, stopped and watched. He followed his mini-tirade by offering his credentials, showing a batch of papers of some sort. The big policeman looked at it nodded, and pointed with his head towards me.
I looked over at Fingers, who had come out of the bedroom, thinking, what the hell was I doing here? This was a possible crime scene. How was I even allowed in here?
I was thinking I should call Vaclav right away. So I pulled out my phone.
His number went to voice mail. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Emily’s go to lawyer didn’t spend the daylight hours in the office.
He was strictly a night owl, if you know what I mean.
This whole situation seemed completely at odds with the reality I had become used to. Should still be used to.
“You can go in.” the uniformed officer finally said, ticking off his tablet. “Detective Fingers is… just over there.”
“Thank you,” the good Doctor replied in a haughty tone. “Thank you very muchindeed constable.”
He then pulled himself and his light grey coat dramatically away from the man and turned again in my direction.
I quickly backed up, thinking hard about my place in this, as I made my way back to the relative safety of the kitchen nook.
Dr. David Macintyre? Metro police were now hiring TV occultists as their experts. I shook my head. I guess everyone needs work.
Still, the former king of reality exorcism? Actually, the man’s face used to be everywhere. But I hadn’t heard much about him lately.
How long you been off the air? I wondered silently. Five years was my immediate guess.. Of course he still appeared on other so called news shows, they would trot them out on CNN or Fox or local station every once in a while when some ritual murder or live action role-playing group got out of hand.
And he was expert Fingers have been talking about? And shook my head again. Does his captain want to figure out exactly what happened here, or just get on television and some cheap publicity at Emily’s, and perhaps my expense?
It made everything a bit clearer though. That must have been his car I had seen earlier. Dr. David MacIntyre, ‘Expert on Everything Occult’, traveling the continent in his Cadillac Convertible. Yeah, he had driven around in a brown 68 Deville.
Man he used to be big. There was even a whole episode where he met up with Dubya at the White House. When was that? 2003 maybe?
And then, in 2008 and he’d practically fallen off the radar. Show cancelled, no more billboards, or celebrity appearances.
Just up and fucked off to God knew where.
There was even that rumor a couple years ago he had dies somewhere inNew Zealand.
No such luck. He seemed as lively as ever. Was he looking at using this to get back into the limelight? At Emily’s, at my expense?
Did he really want to talk to me? God, I hoped not. I surreptitiously turned to look across the counter to see him walk up to Fingers, introduce himself, turn around as he took in the whole scene dramatically, as though there were camera’s still watching his every move..
And then he was looking right at me. And his eyes narrowed. Was that recognition? He even started with a smile with, yeah, those British teeth of his.
How the hell could that be? The man didn’t know me. We hadnever met, ever. Still, his gaze held me for a moment powerfully, before I forced myself to look away.