CEDAR CREEK, MICHIGAN
Chapter 36
SHERLOCK HOLMES AND HANK

Then he went out to Underhill’s house and started looking around. He checked each room downstairs but found nothing except a lot of tagged rental furniture from Handy Home, Inc.

The basement door was open. The lab boys had already cleaned the place out, but it never hurt to look around.

“Damn, I hate cellars,” Hank muttered as he went down the rickety stairs. A piece of fluffy doll stuffing sat on the bottom step. He picked it up and looked at it. “Probably nothing,” he told himself. He put it in his pocket anyway.

It was the usual basement, with boxes scattered everywhere.

“What’s this?” he used his best Sherlock Holmes impression. “I say Watson, let’s have a look!”

Watson, as he was a figment of Hank’s imagination, didn’t answer.

Hank swatted at the flies buzzing around the fruit cellar. The door was half-open. He pushed it all the way open. Broken fruit jars covered the floor, with glass shards and syrup scattered everywhere.

“I’d say a struggle happened here,” he told Watson. Not that it took any brains to figure that out. A few cereal pieces were scattered around. Nothing else caught his eye. He headed for the second floor.

There was a stale smell in the house. Hank peeked into each bedroom. The kids’ rooms were filled with typical toys and clothes scattered around.

The master bedroom was nothing special, just another piece of fluff on the carpet next to the bed. Hank leaned down to pick it up and noticed a white cardboard edge.

“You missed a clue, boys!” Hank crowed. He reached for the business card. “In the event of injury or loss, call—what the hell? The plot thickens.”

Hank poked his head into the master bath. Running his fingers around the inside of the bathtub, he discovered no scum.

“Clean as a whistle. But I bet they forgot the trap.”

He lifted the grate and pulled out a bundle of debris from the drain. Placing it in an evidence bag, he noticed there were several long red hairs tangled in the sticky buildup.

“Ah ha!” Suddenly, he felt like someone was listening to his diatribe. “Hello?”

No one responded, so he went back to his work.

“He bathed her here, maybe after he killed her. Smart cookie.”

A daily planner was askew on the nightstand. Emily Underhill was neatly written inside. Hank thumbed through the organizer, stopping on the month of July. Here it was, in fine female scrawl. Another piece of the puzzle.

July 10, 9:30 a.m. Rev. of Faith, Carrington. Take Sunshine Boys brochure.

Hank gathered his finds and took them out to the car, along with a box marked PFC Underhill that the lab guys left behind. He drove past Barney’s house; the porch was covered with fresh flowers. Sudden pain surged in his chest, a stabbing, deep heartache. He tamped it down and headed for the station. He had no time to be a crybaby.

Hallie Ruben arrived for her first official day of work early that Saturday morning. The yellow tape around the station was gone, and so were the Sheriff’s deputies. She used her brand-new key to open the door. All the buttons on the ringing phone were lit. The first call of the day signaled things to come.

“Cedar Creek Police, Hallie Ruben. How can I help?”

Time flew as she noted each call on a pink message slip. It was two in the afternoon, and she still hadn’t had a chance to make a pot of coffee. The phone jangled again.

“Hello,” she snapped irritably. “Cedar Creek Police.”

“‘Lo!” Ernie, the tow truck driver, shouted into the mouthpiece.

“May I help you, sir?” Hallie dropped coffee into the filter with one hand.

“Hank, there? Before she could answer, he kept talking. “Just tell him we picked up a car on North Territorial early Thursday morning. Charlie said I should call it in.” Ernie sounded like he had his head in a large drum.

“You picked up a car near the O’Bryan place?” she felt the rush of a hot tip.

“Yes, Ma’am. Sure did. Somebody took it from our lot, though. Left a fifty. Came in the night, like one of them ninjas,” Ernie snorted.

Hallie wrote as fast as she could, trying to get it right, and said, “I’ll tell him as soon as he comes in.”

“You do that, tell him Ernie’s Towing, he’ll know.” Ernie hung up before she could reply.

Hallie added the message to the spindle, which was already crowded with at least thirty others.

Hank sat in his squad next to the funeral home. He rummaged through the Underhill box, looking at photos and other odds and ends. At the very bottom, he found the certificate. His heart pounded just a bit too quickly, and he’d worked himself into a sweat when he drove up to the station at three o’clock. He wasn’t smiling, but he looked calmer.

“Hallie, my friend!” He tried to keep his excitement in check, but it slipped out anyway. “Damn, I’m glad to see you.”

“I made coffee,” she said, handing him the last message.

“Interesting,” Hank frowned. “This whole thing stinks. I’m finding all kinds of weird stuff that doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“All kinds of stuff. It just doesn’t add up. There are more fingers in this pie than I can count. You know, I found some stuff at the parsonage that will make your hair curl—more.”

“You don’t like my lovely curly hair?” Hallie mimed a sad face.

“I believe your hair is stunning. You are a goddess.”

God, I think I’m going to throw up. Are you serious?”

“Afraid so. Now, as I was saying, this scenario looks like a situation where extraterrestrials invade planet Earth. Apparently, the Carrington clan was as jumbled as a jigsaw puzzle with some pieces missing. Fly’s parents were mother an—hold onto your hat—son.”

“No!”

“Yup. And there’s some kind of government connection. This medal at the burial site looks brand new. It’s not some old piece of junk like that condom Barney and I found out there.”

“That’s gross,” Hallie said.

“Right. It is. Life’s gross. Are you listening?”

She nodded.

“Good. Then here’s my logic train, Hallie. I think this Underhill fella is an unknown factor. And believe it or not, I think he’s extraneous. The key is Sarah Underhill, and a helicopter, and a sneaky, little, no-good, swarthy bastard named Firdaus.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Glad we agree on something,” Hank said. “Here’s the kicker. I found a piece of paper in Underhill’s shit. It indicates that Sarah Underhill’s real name is Azara. And she has some kind of number, like a license plate. Whatever we’ve stepped in isn’t the ordinary Cedar Creek cow pie. I think we’re going to have to do some unconventional investigating.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I’ve got a few things to check out — the hospital, for instance. I’m trying to figure out where to go next. Maybe Gene Walker left something behind. A clue.”

“I’ve got to answer this phone,” Hallie turned away. “You just let me know if you need help, okay?”

“Thanks.” He watched her handle the calls like a pro. She was a beautiful and capable woman who made his heart sing, but a gnawing pain kept lingering. He wandered back to Barney’s office and sat down.

The tears started silently, but after a few minutes he was crying openly. He didn’t come out of Chief Barney Deters’ office until the sun dipped below the horizon. When he finally did, his eyes were dry, and like a hunting dog on a trail, he was focused on his quarry.
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