Cultivating Despair

By Miik YS

Death is easy; it’s life that’s hard. The Angel of Death, or AOD as he dubs himself, provides a public service by eliminating those he deems sleazebags. Because of his fascination with chess, he never attacks his targets directly. Instead, he takes those related to the target off the board one by one while tormenting his true victim until that target commits suicide.
Detective Hauteman is new on the job at the state police Major Crimes Homicide unit. She investigates a suspicious death others would rather classify as an accident. More bodies pile up. They seem like accidents, but always involving family members of the first victim.
Detective Hauteman’s captain suspends her for investigating the deaths even after he orders her to stop. With AOD selecting his targets based on his whims and planning moves steps ahead like any chess master, plus her captain growing more enraged when she refuses to cease investigating the deaths, Detective Hauteman struggles to unearth any detail to shed light on the killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miik YS
• Release date: Aug 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005332723

Miik YS

The story is important, not me. I craft stories that are enjoyable at a surface level. The works include other levels of imagery, symbolism, and meaning should the reader want to delve deeper into the stories.

Book preview

Chapter One

A young woman with long chestnut hair swept into a loose ponytail checked a video feed on her laptop; a hunched over man crouched alone at a table in another room. She donned her mask for the Covid-19 regulations before grabbing the file on him and a pen then heading out of her office, up the hall to her colleague's office which she stepped into. It's time. The pungent bouquet of the older man who hadn't showered that morning wrinkled her nose and forced her teeth to clench, so she backed into the corridor to wait for him.

The overweight older man in his mask padded out with his own file and pen. She followed him into the interview room with the waiting man at the table, holding her breath when she had to walk in his wake. The older coworker sat across from the hunched over man with no mask and his hands tucked under the table, so the young woman dragged her chair to the end of the table to place as much distance between her and the two men.

The eyes of the stooped man with the peach fuzz hair flicked from the older man to the younger woman and back a full ten seconds before he squeezed his eyes shut and screamed nonstop in a whiny, high pitched voice for a middle-aged man. I can't be in here with you. I need my own space. I can't stand this. You're torturing me.

The older man activated a screen mounted on the wall and waved the woman out of the room. He closed the door and escorted the woman into the next interview room where he flicked on the video so they saw the still screaming man, and he saw them. There. How's that? Is that better? Now you have your space. He waited for the man to calm down. Okay? Can you answer some questions for us?

The man, now alone in the room, quieted and crouched with his head near the tabletop, still hiding his hands under the table.

Let's start with something simple. What's your name? The older compatriot waited. I'll go first. I'm Dr. Caol-Inntinn. Most people just call me Dr. C. He motioned for the woman with the ponytail to speak.

Hi, I'm Dr. Sluw. Can you tell me your name? She evoked a motherly quality in her voice despite her young age.

The man cowered further. His puckered face and protruding lower lip signaled he might cry. Stop tormenting me. I just want to be left alone.

Dr. Sluw pressed the mute button. Don't you find it odd that he took so long to react when we entered the room? It's like he was thinking about how he would respond to our presence.

Nonsense. Dr. C waved at the air in front of her face. He clearly panicked. You'll learn in time that this is nothing unusual. Patients can be like that.

I know that. I'm talking about his specific reaction. Normally when a patient is upset by a behavior, such as us entering the room, the patient responds right away. There isn't such a long lag. That tells me this guy is putting on an act.

Oh, that's your expert opinion, is it? Listen, when you've been doing this as long as I have, you'll see the patients in a different light. They didn't teach you humility in med school, did they.

I'm all for humility, but I won't be hoodwinked. She studied the man on the screen a few seconds then faced Dr. C. Nor browbeaten. Think about it. Dr. Sluw flipped through the file on the man. If he really has an issue being in a room with others, why is there no mention of that in here? How many times recently must he have been in rooms with other people?

Oh, give it a rest. Dr. C unmuted the video link. So, can you tell me your name? Can you sit in the chair and face us so we can see you better?

The patient glanced around the room until he spotted the camera above the screen. He sat at the table, still crouched and swimming in sweatpants and a sweatshirt many sizes too large, but raised his head out of the shadows for the first time.

Oh, my. Dr. C leaned closer to the screen and camera. What happened to your face? Did someone beat you? How did you get all those bruises? Who did that to you?

You did. The man's voice still cracked as if ready to burst into tears.

No, we would never do that to you. We're doctors. We're here to help you. I don't know what you've been through, but you're safe now. No one will hurt you here. Tell him, Dr. Sluw.

She nodded.

His lips curled up at the ends for a fraction of a second and then turned down again. When the heat kicked on and the forced hot air from the vent in the ceiling made noise, he again cowered with his face by the tabletop.

Do you know where you were when you were beaten? Dr. C leaned toward the screen.

I don't know where I was. I don't know where I am. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what'll happen to me. I'm lost. How can you torture people like this? How can you be so mean? What did I ever do to you? Please just leave me in peace. Death is easy. It's life that's hard.

Dr. C muted the link and stood to pull up his pants over his round belly. It's pointless to continue right now. He needs a little time to adjust to his surroundings. We'll try this again later. Have him taken back for now. I know you were top of your class, but you have to keep an open mind. You can't make a snap judgment and then force the facts to fit your diagnosis. There's a reason they paired us up while you start out here. They haven't put me out to pasture just yet. I still have some things to teach you. And I'm telling you that I haven't seen such a pathetic husk of a man in many a year. Show some compassion. He pulled down his mask and strutted out.

Chapter Two

A white-haired man fumbled with his Covid-19 mask and struggled to hoist his medical case from the passenger side of his car. He shuffled up the driveway taking only baby steps toward the gray-haired woman hovering at the front door. Hello, Jane. You know I gave up my practice, right? I still have my license, so I figured I'd come when you called, considering how long we've known each other. You should wear a mask when someone enters your--

Dr. Cogi, it's John. Come quick. Can't you walk any faster? She held the door for him.

No, not really. Where is he? Up in bed? Did he come down with--

No, not upstairs. Jane tugged on the doctor's arm while slamming the front door. This way. She led him to the kitchen.

If he isn't feeling well, he should be in bed. I told him to take it easy. We're all getting up there in years, you know. I can't remember when--

Here. Jane opened the door from the kitchen to the basement. He's at the bottom of the steps. I went down before. I can't rouse him. I hope he just knocked himself out cold falling down the stairs, but I'm afraid it's worse than that. Please help him. I thought calling you was faster than calling an ambulance since you only live around the corner.

Dr. Cogi performed his old man shuffle down each step.

Oh, for God's sake, hurry up, will you?

I can't move any faster. Although he trod on each step deliberately to secure his footing, he tripped at the bottom and landed on her husband. He pressed his finger on the man's wrist and then neck. There's no hurry here, Jane. I'm sorry. John's gone. He was already gone when you failed to rouse him. No one could've helped him. I'm so sorry. Checking his watch, he noted the time of death, 11:07 that sunny Saturday morning, the day after New Year's Day. He examined John's neck and didn't bother with the rest of the body. The doctor required a couple minutes to ascend the stairs back to the kitchen where he found his friend, now a widow, slumped on the floor, mumbling.

What happened? How did he die? She sobbed.

Don't you worry, Jane. He didn't suffer. He must've died instantly. Rest easy knowing it was quick. He helped her up and guided her to the living room couch. Put your feet up. You've had a bad shock. Come on, lie down. Do you want some water or something stronger?

Jane said nothing. Her lips trembled and occasionally she uttered moans or groans.

I have to notify the authorities. You stay there. I'll take care of this, okay? It's just a formality. It's clear this was an accident. He produced his cell phone and placed the call. Afterward, he plopped on the floor beside the wife. So much for the new year starting out hopeful. The doctor's eyes followed the Christmas tree on the other side of the room from the floor to the ceiling and back down.

Dr. Cogi knelt on the floor beside the couch in silence a long time, holding Jane's hand.

Jane turned her face to him but struggled to focus her leaking eyes.

He wiped her cheeks. You'll get through this. So what was he doing?

She shook her head and answered between sniffles. Who knows? You know him. He was always puttering around the house. He always found things to do. He always kept busy. I heard him clomping around down there. At first I got worried that maybe he fell, but then I heard more noise, so I figured he was just moving stuff around or something.

Distant sirens grew louder and halted out front. The doctor let in two masked town police officers. I'm Dr. Cogi, a friend of the family. Ms. Doel phoned me. You see I live just over there. He pointed out the front door as they entered. Her husband fell down the cellar stairs. I pronounced him dead. Cause of death is a broken neck. He escorted the two officers to the cellar stairs then returned to focus on Jane.

One of the officers obtained keys from the widow to open the garage door downstairs so no one else had to trample down the cellar stairs.

I should've known. Jane shook her head.

Don't beat yourself up. We can't spend our lives in a protective layer of bubble wrap. He lived his life on his terms. How many times did he say that he's had a good life?

No, I should've known when I saw the angel of death.

You're in shock. Just relax. Maybe I'll give you a sedative. He dug through his bag for a bottle and extracted a pill. The doctor fetched her a glass of water and ensured she swallowed the tablet.

***

A slight woman jiggled her head while tilting it back to arrange her black hair so her bangs and shoulder length straight hair framed her face. She clicked the answer icon to activate a video call on her laptop.

Detective Hauteman, is now a good time? The bald caller in the rumpled suit grinned.

Captain Vastakohta, sure, I've been waiting for your call. Happy New Year. She smiled back at her boss.

Happy New Year. Hey, before we get started on the status update, I wanted to congratulate you for your performance in court before the holidays. That defense lawyer thought he was so clever trying to trip you up, but you didn't let him fluster you. You walked through each item, and you presented yourself as a model of competence and professionalism. Well done. He bobbed his head.

Yeah, I expected that tactic. If I don't have a problem staring down the barrel of some scumbag's gun, I sure as hell can deal with some fool who didn't understand the very things he was trying to use to confuse me.

He probably thought you were some submissive Asian woman, but you spanked him. Maybe when he saw that he'd be cross examining someone named Hauteman, he didn't expect someone like you. Maybe he considered you just a lackey, so he underestimated you.

Hauteman was my late husband's last name, and so mine. As for lackey, I don't think so. I've seen it in so many demeanors. When some people deal with a minority or a woman, or both since I'm Vietnamese, there are subtle cues that show how they think you're beneath them. He underestimated me at his peril.

Yes, he did. So anyway, are you hung over from celebrating New Year yesterday?

She shook her head. No, I don't drink.

A state police homicide detective who doesn't drink? Now you make me wonder what's wrong with you. The captain chuckled.

Yeah. It's the typical story. I like it too much, so it's better I avoid it.

Wise if you can stick to it.

It'll be eleven years next month. I don't even get urges anymore. After my late husband's death back then, I decided it was time to turn my life around.

You don't look old enough to have gone through everything you have, you know, with your husband's murder and all the cases you've worked.

That's good. Maybe the scumbags I hunt down will underestimate me, too.

Now you're back at the top of the list of people I admire.

Great. That means I'll be getting a raise, right? She leaned back from her desk and folded her hands on her waist.

Ha. Don't hold your breath. We hired you because of your outstanding close rate, and you aren't disappointing us. Captain Vastakohta tilted his head from side to side. It looks like you're getting settled just fine. That's a nice room behind you.

Yeah, I've got one room set aside as my home office. She moved aside to show the bookcases, the gas fireplace switched on, and the French doors leading to a patio. I've got to say. The detective resumed her seat in front of the computer. I really like the way things are organized here. Rather than wasting time driving to some building just to check-in then head out again, having us live and work in our assigned territory cuts out a lot of wasted time. So does having a research team at our disposal. I can't tell you how many cases went nowhere in past departments because the one in charge didn't have the skills to dig up information critical to the case. Leaving us free to investigate out in the field while a team of professional researchers unearth every scrap of information about all involved in an investigation has really made a big difference. We detectives still get to decide what's important. It's just the right mixture. We aren't buried under minutiae, and we aren't hung out to dry with our skivvies blowing in the breeze. I've noticed the research team members are even starting to learn how I work and are fine tuning and anticipating what information will be useful. I just--

The captain cocked his head. What?

Nothing. Sorry. I'm done sucking up. I didn't mean to gush.

I see it as someone who's enthusiastic about her new job. It sure beats those who are burned out... and just don't... give a-- Hang on. He checked the number calling his cell. I have to take this. Don't go anywhere. The captain muted the video call. A moment later, he resumed. This is right up your alley. I have a death for you to check on. It seems an elderly man fell down his basement steps and broke his neck. I know you were hoping for a quiet holiday weekend, but this is protocol. Captain Vastakohta provided Detective Hauteman the address of the home, one town over from her, and the few details he had from the phone call he just took.

So refresh my memory. Does this town have its own police force, or do they share a resident state trooper? Detective Hauteman reviewed the information.

It's their own police force, but because it's such a small town with so few officers, they aren't trained in homicides, or in deciding if a death is suspicious, so we provide those services to them to augment their force. They're waiting for you before they release the body. I won't bother dispatching medical personnel the way we usually do since there's already a doctor on site, but our medical examiner will still autopsy the body.

I'm on my way. She checked her weapon out of her safe and snatched her Covid-19 mask off her desk after Captain Vastakohta terminated the video call.

***

Detective Hauteman rolled up to the home of John and Jane Doel seven minutes after the two local police officers. She parked her unmarked SUV with the emergency lights mounted inside the windshield on the street and donned her Covid-19 mask while trudging up the driveway where one of the officers, an overweight older man just putting his mask back on, met her.

My partner opened the garage around back so no one else has to step through the scene. Just follow the driveway. She'll meet you there.

Detective Hauteman nodded without slowing. The ground sloped around back where the driveway led to the garage under the house. A masked officer with the figure of a small linebacker waited by the open garage door and offered to bump her elbow in greeting.

The detective read her name tag. Officer Study?

It's pronounced Stew-Dee. She spoke louder to be understood through her Covid-19 mask. It rhymes with Judy.

Officer Studi, I'm Detective Hauteman. Where's the body?

The officer escorted the detective into the garage and to the immediate doorway into the cellar on the right. The body sprawled partly in the doorway and partly on the stairs. They both stepped over the body's legs. Detective Hauteman glanced around the cellar. The stairs, with only a single parallel railing at waist height, ran along the wall dividing the garage from the cellar from the bottom doorway into the garage to the doorway into the kitchen above. The detective studied each step a few seconds from the vantage point of the cellar floor then focused on the body.

The officer reviewed her notes. The deceased is John Doel. He was 86 years old. The doctor pronounced him dead at 11:07. COD is a broken neck.

Detective Hauteman pulled out her cell phone and texted her captain. The death is suspicious. I need a forensic team ASAP.

So this is just a cut and dried accident, right? You know, I'm interested in becoming a detective.

Really? Then practice on this scene while we're waiting. First off, did you unlock the garage?

I did. I got the keys from the wife... Jane Doel.

Okay, was the door between the garage and the cellar already open?

Yeah. His feet were against it just the way you see them now.

What about the lights down here? Were they on, or did you turn them on?

Oh, they were on.

And I have to ask. Did you or anyone else move the body? Detective Hauteman's phone chimed, so she checked the confirmation text from her boss.

I didn't. The wife came down the stairs to try to rouse him. She's too frail to move him. The doctor who pronounced him dead also came down the stairs. He actually fell on the body. He's even feebler, so he didn't move it, either.

Detective Hauteman folded her arms and leaned against the fieldstone wall. Okay, so now look at the scene as if you were the detective. Don't assume anything because the obvious assumption is that the old guy fell down the stairs. What do you see? Start with the staircase.

I don't know. The steps are painted battleship gray. They don't seem slippery.

Look at the stairs in relation to the cellar.

The officer stepped back. She bumped her head on a beam supporting the floor joists.

That might be a clue smacking you in the head. The detective grinned.

That the ceiling down here is low?

If the ceiling is low, what does that say about the stairs?

Uh, oh, that they're shorter than a full flight of stairs between two floors.

Exactly. You don't know what'll turn out to be important until later, so it's important to note anything unusual. Why is a shorter staircase potentially important?

The officer ran her eyes up and down the stairs. Well... oh, there are fewer steps to fall down... so you'd think it would be harder to get hurt.

Yes, excellent. I don't know if that's true, but it's certainly a possibility. So we have one item to make this death suspicious. Not enough by itself, but let's keep going. Focus on the body now. What do you see?

The officer squatted beside the body, careful not to touch it. He has scrapes on his forehead, both cheeks, and his chin. It looks like he had a bloody nose a little, too.

Keep going.

His knees are ripped and bloody. This elbow, too. I can't see the other elbow.

Good. Now if you were trying to reconstruct the scene to account for how the deceased broke his neck and got bruised, what would account for it? Picture him at the top of the stairs. How did he fall?

The officer stood beside the stairs in the basement and motioned with her arms. If he stood at the top and fell face first, that could account for the bruises on his face.

All of them? You need to be precise. If he hit his forehead, nose, and chin, that would mean his face was straight ahead. How would he get bruises on both cheeks?

Maybe once he broke his neck, his head flopped around?

Possible, but then if he's sliding down face first, when did he break his neck, and how did he land feet first with his head highest up the steps?

Officer Studi considered. If his foot kicked out from under him, he could've fallen backward, striking his neck on the edge of a stair. That would explain how he broke his neck and how he landed feet first as he is.

Very good. So look at each stair. Tell me what you see.

She scanned each from the floor so she didn't contaminate any. This one has blood. So does this one. This one has skin and hair. So does this one. There's more blood on this one.

Okay so if the deceased has facial and cranial abrasions and lacerations, and a number of steps all the way up have traces of his hair and blood, what does that say about your idea of him sliding down on his backside?

He couldn't have gotten wounds anywhere except his backside... and maybe his elbows and one cheek.

Right. So keep trying. The detective paced along the side of the stairs.

If he tumbled down, like somersaulting, that would explain it.

Now you're starting to think like a detective. So taking his height into account, how would a tumble account for the wounds?

The officer again used her arms to indicate where his body would be. She ran through several scenarios. Shit. That's why you pointed me at the short stairs. No matter how you run it, the staircase isn't long enough to account for all the bruises. He'd have had to fall down the stairs a half dozen times to get that beat up. Officer Studi adjusted her Covid-19 mask.

Bingo. Give that officer a Kewpie doll. The only reasonable explanation for those abrasions is multiple falls down those stairs. Even if he curled himself into a tight ball, he couldn't have hurt himself that far up the stairs to leave blood and hair on so many steps.

It could still be suicide, couldn't it?

Detective Hauteman chuckled. "That would have to be one determined sad sack to throw himself down a flight of stairs a half dozen times. Look at his