The Big White Samoyed

            I downed the last half of my scotch as I heard the faint drum of dainty knuckles on the door. “Come on in, why don’t ya,” I said, flicking a bit of ash off my cigarette. The door creaked open to reveal a pretty little lady with wide green eyes and a gloved hand on a slim waistline. Pearls shone at her ears and throat. “So what’s your story, sugar?”

            “I’m Cecelia Lamont. Well, soon to be that is, my wedding is in a couple of weeks. I guess I’m still Cecelia Ferguson until February 11^th,” she took her leather gloves off and my eyes were drawn to a glistening diamond on a thin gold band.

            “I’m Stanley Brookwood, but just Stan ’ll do for you,” I said with a wink.

            She flashed a dazzling smile, not missing a beat. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? My brother and I both live around here, we recently inherited the mansion down the road, the big white one that’s been abandoned for years. By the way, the back door’s always open, if you need to investigate something in there. Anyway, we’ve just been cleaning up a little, finding a few things inside worth saving. But, since we’ve inherited the mansion, my brother has been attacked twice. Once from behind, at night while walking his dog. It was raining and someone crept up from behind and put a gun to his head, but it jammed and as soon as the attacker realized it, he ran away. And the second time, as he was leaving his office someone from an apartment window shot three times at him and missed. By the time Robert phoned the cops the gunman was nowhere to be seen.”

            “So he never saw his face,” I rubbed my leathery hands through my graying hair and on my cheeks; I was due in for a shave. “And what are your ideas on who the killer might be?”

            “That’s the thing, he never falls on the wrong foot with anyone. It’s what I just don’t understand!” She stamped her heeled boot uselessly against the hardwood floor and shook her shiny brown ponytail back and forth.

            I chuckled. “Well, you should start spending more time with your brother, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned all these years in this business, it’s that there’s no such thing as an honest man.”

            She blushed and I noticed the circles under her eyes, by the looks of it she had been worrying a lot lately. After a moment she said, “I assure you, I know my brother very well, at least better than I know my fiancé. Anyways, Rob’s a man of habit; everyday at eight o’clock he walks his dog, Sammie, a big white Samoyed. He walks down to the alleyway, then walks back past my house, waves at me through my kitchen window, and goes back home. Sometimes he checks on our new property. It’s just down that way,” she pointed out my window and nestled amongst the quiet residential neighborhood I could just see the peaked white roof of the Ferguson mansion. It was different than the other houses around here, isolated by large run down gardens and empty patios, and enclosed by a tall iron gate.

            “The only person I can think of is this crazy man who lives near us,” she continued. “My brother always sees him petting cats on the street or staring into the neighbors’ windows. This man calls the police whenever Sammie starts barking.”

            “And this inheritance, it’s recent?”

            “Why yes, very much so. Just about three months – well around the time when I met Neil, so that would make it about four months ago.” Her eyes flicked to her gleaming ring. “It was quite a surprise, it’s from a great aunt who recently passed away. Our family has always been small and me and my brother are almost the only ones left, so we got the property.”

            “And was it a large inheritance, or just the land?” I asked, my eyes searching her pale face, lingering on those green eyes, trying to find more meaning in their emerald depths.

            “Quite a lot, more than I know what to do with. That’s why Rob and I are saving most of it away for when we get old.”

            “Well, looks like both o’ you best be watching out,” I said.

            “My husband’s got a revolver and nasty temper when he’s angry. I think I’ll be just fine.”

            “Alright. I’ll get back to you in a few days with info about whoever’s trying to do you brother in and all the while I’ll keep him safe.”

            “Please don’t let Robert know about this, he would never want to know anyone was taking care of him, especially after that lecture Neil gave him… My fiancé just likes to give advice, thinks he knows best. Even after he lost a fortune on the stock market,” she muttered.

            “Point taken, darling, you’ll be hearing from me,” I said with another wink. She dropped a heavy envelope on my desk.

            “I think that’ll be enough. Do look after him for me, won’t you?”

            “Not to worry my dear.” I tipped my hat as she strode out of the room.

            I leaned back in my chair and lit another cigarette. Interesting case, sounded like the killer was a close friend, someone Robert must know. In the past few weeks I had gotten a few calls from worried neighbors about the cat man that Cecelia mentioned. Petty things – stealing the trash bins, lounging on front lawns, playing with pets. It seemed like it would be his style, to go sneaking up on his victims like that.

            There was something strange about the way Cecelia talked about her fiancé, the way she purposely displayed her ring and was so exact about the last names. Four months was a pretty short time to meet a man and have a wedding planned, but then again I never did completely understand women.

            It was time for another drink, now that I was done for the day. I gazed out my window towards the white peaked roof where Cecelia had pointed earlier and leaned back in my leather chair, still thinking about the case. The sky was slowly turning deep navy blue and it was almost time to head home.

            But no sooner than I had poured myself a third glass of scotch I heard the piercing sound of gunshots – two of ‘em. They came from the south and not too far off. Whatever had happened, it was sure going to be a long night.

            Heading down the street, gun in hand, I had a sick feeling in my stomach that I might know who the victim was. I took a shortcut through the alleyway that went between a few houses and rounded the corner to see a man with a large white dog bounding after him. I breathed a sigh of relief – apparently I didn’t have to worry about Robert or Sammie at the moment.

            He kept his head down and hands buried deep in the pockets of his black trench coat. The dog was panting heavily and a short leather leash dangled from its collar. I turned to say hello to Robert, but he was already past me and halfway up the alley.

            Now sure that Robert was headed home safely, I still needed to investigate the gunshots and make sure that no harm was done to the innocent residents of this sleepy city. After walking a few more minutes I found myself before the entrance of the Ferguson mansion. If anything funny was going on around here, it would probably be inside these gates. I gripped my gun inside my pocket and proceeded slowly. The moon cast an eerie blue glow on the whitewashed walls and the trees around me creaked furiously in the wind. I went around to the back, where I knew the door would be open. After that I didn’t have to go far.

            Right there in the foyer, was a man sprawled facedown on the ground, with his head turned to one side. I took out my penlight and saw that there was a bloody spot in the small of his back, just about where the kidney would be. He was only wearing a thin black sweater, which was strange on a cold night like this. I looked up at his head and saw that the second bullet had gone through the skull. Never got used to it, seeing a dead man, even after all these years.

            I took his wallet out of the pocket of his slacks, wondering what a nicely dressed man like this would be doing in a run-down mansion. I pulled out his ID and read the name: Robert J. Ferguson. I looked at his outstretched hand and saw there was a broken leather leash wrapped in his fingers. His sweater was covered in short white hairs. I focused my penlight on his eyes – they were a deep emerald green. My stomach churned.

            My temples throbbed with the thought of breaking the news to Cecelia, so I lit another cigarette and made my way for the door. The glint of metal caught my attention on the ground and I bent down to see a small bloody bullet. It had come from a Magnum 357. Wrapping it in my spare handkerchief, I tucked it into my inside breast pocket. Now that I had gotten all I could out of the crime scene, I needed to track down the man in the alleyway. Whoever it was, I suspected he was the killer and would have Robert Ferguson’s jacket. Not a very smart criminal – couldn’t even remember to bring a coat.

            I walked back up the street quickening my pace, with the thought that the killer was on the loose and could strike again at any time. Movement near the sidewalk caught my eyes and I peered into the darkness to get a better look. In the shadows of a large eucalyptus tree, was a man with long hair leaning against the trunk of the tree. On his lap was a black and white cat.

            In my pocket, my hand on the gun tightened as I approached him. “You, sir,” I said gruffly.

            “What d’ya want now?” he slurred. I saw a half empty liquor bottle at his feet.

            “What are you doing here this late?” I asked him.

            “Go to hell!” he said, waving an arm at me and giving the cat another pet.

            I took my gun casually out of my pocket and twirled it. “How long have you been here?” I knew this time he would answer.

            “An hour? Two? What’s it t’you, anyway?”  He was just barely visible in the light. He was wearing worn out corduroys and a ratty dress shirt. I had a feeling I could get some answers out of him.

            “Did you see anybody pass by while you were here?”

            “Well, besides Annabelle here,” he said, smiling and motioning to the cat. “There was just that goddamn dog that scared my poor baby off.” He paused, and I scoffed as he stroked the cat and cooed in its ear. “D’you hear it comin’ back?” I listened and could hear a faint jingle coming from up the hill and in a moment the Samoyed romped into the street, looking just as panicked as before.

            The cat slithered out of the man’s arms and darted into the brambles nearby. After one feeble attempt at standing he leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes; some men just can’t hold their liquor. But even though this crazy man had reason enough to want to kill Robert, he would probably be here all night. I needed to let Cecelia know about her brother, so I made my way up the street towards her house.

            I knocked loudly three times and the door swung gracefully open.

            “Stan, what’s the matter?” she asked, her big green eyes staring into mine.

            “Look, honey, you better sit down for this one,” I said, leading her to the couch. I heard a noise from the back of the house. “Who else is here?”

            “It’s just Neil, don’t worry. He just got home from work, he’s washing up. But please don’t tell me… it’s Robert isn’t it?” The pained look on her face erased the little suspicion I had for her; Robert was clearly someone she cared about.

            I nodded and handed her a handkerchief for the tears that she had welling up. “He passed away not less than an hour ago, in the mansion. I’m sorry I couldn’t do my job for you.”

            “No, it’s not you Stan, it’s my fault. I knew I should have come to you earlier. But in the mansion you said?” I nodded and placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. “That can’t be! Only just thirty minutes ago I saw him walk back by my window and wave to me. I don’t understand, maybe I’m just confused. Oh my, I just need a moment to myself please,” she said faintly while walking out of the living room.

            A few seconds later a tall lanky man with dark greased hair stepped into the room and glared at me with yellowish eyes. “Good evening, detective,” he said. I nodded back and took off my hat to survey him better. His cheeks were red and he was wearing nice leather dress shoes that were a bit dusty. His brow was furrowed and his shoulders were tense; he looked a man who had something on his mind.

            “Why don’t we all have a drink?” I said. “It’s gonna be a tough night for all of us.”

            “Of course,” Neil said stiffly, moving toward the cabinet. “So what’s the story?”

            I lowered my voice. “Her brother’s in the mansion, dead. Shot around eight thirty I’d say, give or take a little.”

            Neil’s face turned white. “Poor Robbie,” he said. “Always getting mixed up with the wrong people. There’s some tough guys around at the office.”

            “Oh yeah?”

            “God bless him. Poor Robbie, poor, poor Robbie.” Neil’s back was to me, mixing the drinks. “I wonder what happened to the dog?”

            “He’s around,” I said, distracted by a few white hairs on the back of Neil’s dark brown slacks. The pieces were starting to come together. Cecelia and Robert had just come into a large inheritance. Neil and Cecelia’s wedding was in a few weeks and her brother had just died. What had she said to me – that Neil had lost a lot in the stock market? It all fit, I just needed to wait for him to slip up. “Look, Neil, you had better hire a damn good professional to take care of the body. The wound isn’t pretty.”

            “Where was he shot?”

            “Right through the back o’ the head.”

            “And where’d the other bullet go?”

            “I never said anything about no second bullet, mister,” I said menacingly, taking a step forward.

            “I was just making small talk, detective, no harm done,” he said putting his hands up and backing away towards the cabinet.

            “If you’ve got any wits you’ll stay put,” I said, taking my gun out.

            Cecelia came into the room, her makeup smeared down her cheeks. “Stan, is this yours? I know it’s not Neil’s…” She trailed off as she saw my gun was trained on her husband. She was holding a black trench coat covered in white hairs.

            “Calm down, sugar, I can explain everything,” I said as I saw her start forward.

            “Now look what you’ve done, Cecelia. I told you it was a stupid idea hiring a goddamn detective. They’re all dirty crooks anyways,” Neil said, spit and sweat flying off his face.

            “Stan, please tell me what’s going on,” she said weakly.

            “All right, but you better stay put and shut it,” I growled at Neil. Now turning to Cecelia I started to explain, “After you left my office today I heard two gunshots and right away went to go investigate. As I was goin’ down the alley, I passed a man I thought was your brother because he had a big white Samoyed with him. I went on down towards your mansion, because I thought that’s where the gunshots came from. Turned out I was right, your brother’s body was in there with no coat, no dog, and two bullet wounds. Came back up here to tell you the news and I start talkin’ to Neil. He asks me about the second bullet even though I hadn’t said nothing about any second bullet – see, he musta’ have been there to have known that. That jacket you’re holding is Robert’s.”

            A look of realization spread across Cecelia’s face. “It is, it has Sammie’s hair all over it,” she said, examining it.

            “Yes, after Neil killed your brother he took the jacket so he could walk by your window and wave to you so you wouldn’t suspect anything was wrong. He wants your money Cecelia. Don’t you see? Kill Robert and marry you, he would have access to it. And I suspect if you got too difficult he’d knock you off too, the greedy bastard.”

            “Neil, I don’t want to believe that you would do this. Please tell me he’s wrong,” she said, pointing at me. Her eyes were welling with tears once again and her knees were shaking. The trench coat slipped out of her grip and landed on the floor with a thud.

            “Cecelia,” I said. “Check the pockets.” I looked at Neil, whose hair and face were shiny with grease and sweat. His fists were clenched tightly, but he made no move to speak or act.

            Cecelia reached her hand into the black fabric and pulled out a gun. Her delicate fingers curled uncomfortably around the hard metal barrel of the Colt Magnum 357. I had a match. As I pulled out the bullet taken from the crime scene, Cecelia’s face twisted painfully, realizing the truth. “You filthy liar,” sobbed Cecelia, her voice getting higher. In an instant Neil was lunging towards the gun that Cecelia was holding, but in one simultaneous motion she threw the gun across the room with one hand, and with the other slapped him gracefully, but firmly, across the face. Stunned, Neil staggered and I took him down to the ground, pushing my gun into his back. Cecelia shook out her hand, took off her engagement ring, and threw it on the ground in front of him. “I’ll phone the police,” she said, with an angry, tear-stained face.

            After a short while she returned into the living room and the sound of sirens could be heard. Neil, whom I still had pinned against the floor, started talking. “Cecelia, honey, you believe all this? You know I’ve always loved you. Please, c’mon, honey.”

            “I said shut it,” I said, shoving my gun harder into his back. “Beggin’ might work for good ol’ Sammie at the dinner table, but beggin’ ain’t gonna work for you.”