The Rookie

Sergeant Blake Billingsly, found the front door of the property wide open, television blaring and a fat ginger cat perched in front of it, oblivious to the intrusion. Finding the remote, he clicked it off, only to hear a deep, menacing growl coming from the furry statue. It turned and stared directly at the policeman, holding his gaze until the television came to life once more. Sergeant Billingsly turned the sound down, shook his head in confusion, then started his reconnaissance of the property.

As he was about to climb the stairs to the second floor, his partner squawked over the two-way. She had found a body. He told her to hold her position, call for back-up and touch nothing. Senses heightened, Bill hurried to assist his new offsider.

Earlier, rookie officer, Kate Yearling carefully crept down the worn, wooden stairs to the basement of the house, her flashlight sweeping through the darkness, searching for the cause of the disturbance she and her senior officer had been called to. There was an electrical smell and the sound of rushing water. Her light fell upon the shape of a body and water gushing over it, from a pipe in the wall.

George Persimmon, lay face down on the floor of his basement, water nearly covering his head. A large man, known for his online persona of ‘Tasty’, was famous for his cat, Fat Cat, and the videos he posted of their antics. She called it in.

Less than ten minutes later, the house was cordoned off and the front lawn was a parking lot of law enforcement vehicles, power and water trucks.

Another vehicle approached and parked among the others.

A tall, gaunt man, unfolded from his 1965 Mini Cooper like a marionette being pulled from its case. Languidly, he strolled toward the house, easily stepping over the police tape. He resembled a cartoon mortician.

Detective Clive Underhill, ignored the protestations of a young officer who tried to stop him, and spying sergeant Billingsly, waved to get his attention.

“Sergeant. What can you tell me?”

“Yes detective. Well…ah, we found a body in the basement…”

“Never mind, just walk me through the scene.”

The two men moved toward the home, with the sergeant coaxing the taller man to the house proper, but the detective had other ideas. “Take me to the basement. I need to see the body.”

In an obvious fluster, the sergeant led him to the door of the basement, which was at the side of the building. “Here you are sir. The body has been removed though, and is in the coroner’s van, just over there.” He said pointing back over his shoulder.

With a huff of indignation, the detective turned on his heel, leaving the befuddled officer where he stood. In the meantime, constable Yearling, approached her superior officer from behind and tapping him on the shoulder drew a surprised squeak from the older man.

“Jeez, don’t sneak up on a man.” “Sorry boss, I just wanted to know what you wanted me to do next? Oh, and who’s the skeleton?” “Skeleton you say! There stands one of the finest police detectives this city has ever known. Clive Underhill is famous in these parts. Haven’t you heard of the case of the ‘One Legged Man’? He found his missing leg, when no one else could. He deduced, just by breathing the air, who killed Mrs Potter, in the case of the Pungent Pugilist. My dear girl, you could learn a lot from this man, just by being in his presence.” Constable Yearling was taken aback by the look of shear horror her comments had caused. “Sorry boss. Anyway, what else can I do?” “Look, listen and learn, my girl, but stay out of the way.”

Yearling quietly left to check the perimeter and keep the impatient media at bay.

The recently deceased George Persimmon was a local legend himself. He and his cat were treated like rock stars wherever they went. They were often called on to present awards, open new buildings, they even received the key to the city. Kate Yearling had only moved to the area recently, after graduating from the academy and while she was across most social media platforms, she had never heard of Fat Cat, or its owner.

With nothing to do and a taste for snooping, she went back to her patrol car and pulled out her phone to get some intelligence on the victim and his world.

Her mind was blown, Kate Yearling hadn’t realised how many cats had dedicated space on the internet, and after ten minutes spent scrolling through the vast mind-numbing expanse of feline frivolity, Kate had seen enough. Scanning the property, she noticed an extraordinary amount of security cameras. Was the cat so valuable, it needed that much protection? Following a hunch, she began searching the inside of the house.

It was an expansive building. The vast open plan ground floor had little to show her, with no obvious place to hide what she was looking for. Climbing the stairs to the upper floor, she found multiple rooms, each with another camera facing it. There was no evidence of human inhabitants, except for George himself, and of the five doors she came across, only three would open. One was a dedicated room for Fat Cat, throne and all, a bathroom and the other, its owner’s bedroom. Entering the latter, she searched for a place where a server room could be hidden. To have so many cameras, she knew there had to be a very complicated setup to run it and a decent computer to store the video files.

Nothing in the ensuite and no obvious doors on any of the walls, she spied the closet. It spanned an entire wall, but she found nothing but clothes and shoes, though Kate was surprised to see so many sequined dresses and gorgeous expensive women’s shoes, when she knew George Persimmon was a bachelor.

Taking a breath to consider her next move, she heard a muffled sound, like a fan running, but from another room. The cat’s room adjoined this wall and Kate saw nothing unusual on it when she checked earlier, so taking out her flashlight, looked for evidence of a hidden door. It didn’t take long until she pushed the right panel, and it popped open.

Officer Kate Yearling grinned with delight; this is why she became a cop. All those hours spent listening to murder podcasts had inspired her, now she was in it, for real.

It was a small space. The fan noise was a dedicated air conditioning unit, the rest of the room was taken up with a large sever unit, with multiple storage drives, a wall of monitors showing the entirety of the property, including the inside of the locked rooms, and a laptop on a desk which barely fit in the remaining space.

The laptop was open and still logged in, clearly George had left the room in a hurry. Kate sat herself down and began her search.

Meanwhile, down in the basement, Sergeant Billingsly was wading through the water, searching for clues, at the command of Detective Underhill, who was speaking to him through the broken window of the basement. While the sergeant was doing his bidding, the detective noticed some blood and fur on the broken windowpane. Though he thought it irrelevant, he knew better than to ignore it, so made a mental note to tell the forensics team. “Detective”, the sergeant called out, “there’s a work lamp lying in the water. That might explain why the power was out. It must have fallen in the water and tripped the circuit.” “Well done, sergeant. I think I have all I need. Now come out of there, you’re standing in water man.”

Sergeant Billingsly sighed and made his way outside. He found Detective Underhill talking to the media contingent and a murmur had begun to spread through the waiting onlookers. Underhill took a few steps back from the crowd as the lights and cameras were turned to focus on the imposing man. Billingsly approached him, “Detective. What’s happening?” “Seargeant, I believe I have enough information to wrap this up. Just as well too. I’m having dinner with the mayor this evening and I daren’t be late.

Detective Clive Underhill turned back to the waiting reporters, his lips forming a wide grotesque grin. He’d played this part many times before, but never tired of the attention. Unfolding his arms and stretching them out like a vulture approaching carrion, he spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished members of the press, it is a sad day.” He was internalising his sorrow. “George Persimmon was a personal friend as well as a local hero. He and his little kitty put our otherwise unknown city on the world stage, and he was happy to showcase his hometown to the world.” Pausing to absorb the moment. “After careful and thorough investigation, I have concluded that his death was caused by misadventure. While attempting to repair a broken water pipe, he electrocuted himself when his work light was knocked onto the wet floor. It is not common knowledge, but some time back George had a pacemaker fitted due to a heart condition. I believe that split second of electric current that passed through him, till the breaker tripped, was enough to cause a heart attack. Drowning may also be a factor; the coroner will confirm the details.”

There was a low murmur rippling through the crowd, and as the waiting reporters began to ask their questions, he raised his hand to stop them, noticing a very animated conversation between the sergeant and his junior. Sergeant Billingsly was shaking his head and holding her arm to stop her interrupting the detective. He was unsuccessful.

“What is this all about?” The tall, thin man demanded, coming in so close, the two police officers had to awkwardly look up to address him.

Attempting to take control of the conversation, Billingsly started. “It’s nothing detective. Young Kate here is getting ahead of herself.”

“Hey boss, gimme a break. I worked it out. Let me tell him, before he makes an idiot of himself on camera… Ooh. Am I too late?”

“Tell me what.” Underhill sneered, laser marking the young officer with a glare.

“I, ahh, found some stuff on his computer. He was one weird dude.” She smiled the whole time.

“Go on.”

“Cool. I went for a wander around and found a creepy room full of tech. He had surveillance cameras everywhere.”

“In the basement?” Billingsly asked.

“Actually no, but there is one on the fence over there, facing that little window. See how all of the cameras face inward. Weird, yeah? Anyway, I checked his emails and online profile and there was a lot of hate from other famous cat owners, their followers, even the RSPCA, accusing him of mistreating Fat Cat.”

“Are you suggesting one of these haters set up his electrocution?” Underhill’s sneer returning to his thin features.

“No, not at all. Like I said this dude was weird. I found two rooms with racks full of money and what looks like packages of cocaine. The rooms are locked, but the cameras are everywhere.”

“No! I have known this man for ten years. There is no way he could be dealing drugs, and me not know about it. It’s utterly preposterous. Billingsly, I’ve heard enough.” Detective Underhill turned to walk away. A red glow emanating from his usually pallid complexion.

“Now Kate, look what you’ve done.” Billingsly stammered.

“Wait. Detective. He was murdered.” Kate called out, loud enough for the reporters to hear.

Underhill stopped. His shoulders dropped. His head fell forward. He slowly turned. “What?” He snarled.

“It wasn’t an accident.” Kate was beaming. She’d dealt with this sort of arrogance her whole life; she wasn’t in awe of this scarecrow.

“Okay, I’ll humour you. Who killed George Persimmon?”

“That’s the wrong question.”

“Oh for God’s sake. What?”

“Yes. What killed George. It was Fat Cat. George Persimmon made a file of attempts made on his life. There is a folder on his server. I looked at a couple of these before checking today’s footage. Fat Cat once turned the gas stove on, while he had his back turned; George nearly died from the gas. Another time, it knocked the hair dryer into the bath, with George in it. Luckily it wasn’t plugged in, but it looked very deliberate. Earlier today, Fat Cat hopped out of its bedroom window, made its way down onto the garage, then that garden shed, and waited by that little window till George came down to the basement. The cat was very patient. After a few minutes, it reached through the broken bit and knocked the light off the ledge. You can see the flash in the footage. Then Fat Cat wandered to the front door and sat in front of the TV until we arrived. It’s all there. The forensic tech guys are going over it now.”

Clive Underhill was seething. Like a movie vampire, he swooped on the girl and grabbing her arm, dragged her away out of earshot of anyone. “Okay, girlie, what’s your play. Who sent you. It was that Sherlock Holmes wannabe from Shelbyville. Wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know who that is. Anyway, I didn’t mean to make you look bad. I just got lucky, I guess.” Kate was enjoying herself. Then, pulling a photo from her notebook, she handed it to the now gobsmacked giant in front of her. “So, apparently, our friend had another secret life they kept from the general public, and they had a friend.” The photo was of two drag queens, one, rather fat, in heels and a gorgeous sequined gown, the other a very tall skinny one in a shiny black dress, a mass of giant feathers framing their head. On the back it was inscribed, ‘Tasty Treats and Betty Spaghetti, Happy New Year, 2022’. “You know for a celebrated detective, you make a great drag queen.”

Sensing a threat to his reputation, Underhill’s demeanour changed. “You know, you showed great resourcefulness to uncover the truth and even greater courage to challenge me the way you did. You could make a great detective one day. Work with me and I will teach you everything you need, to be a renowned investigator.”

“I think I’ll have to pass. You couldn’t handle me, and I don’t want to be handled. Anyway, I don’t want to work with you, I want your job…One day.”

With this final comment Constable Kate Yearling left the slack jawed detective to join her colleagues.

Authors notes:

The photo above is of George, my wife's 16 year old cat, who I affectionately refer to as 'little bastard'. He regularly interrupts my sleep (4am most mornings) for food, then decides he doesn't like the food I offer. In his defense, he may have something like cat alzheimers. He is very old. Needless to say, he was my inspiration, because I truly believe cats are evil and will one day rule the world.