The Little Girl

By T. F. Mann

Nigel Delphian was a poor misfit without direction when he surprised everyone around him and joined the navy. As he embarked on his new adventure, Nigel had no idea that his decision would place him on a path he never expected.

Within a year of enlisting, Nigel became an otolaryngology technician who witnessed the medical field through the eyes of a keen observer. It was that interaction that spawned a dream within him to become a doctor. After completing his duty, Nigel set out on a transformative journey working three jobs to put himself through college and ultimately gain acceptance into medical school. But when his girlfriend became pregnant and he eventually became a single parent of his young daughter, Abigail, Nigel’s life forever changed. Instead of attending study groups and student parties, he found himself at birthday parties as a single father doing his best to fit in. Would his dreams slowly drift away or would Nigel find a way to make his professional aspirations become a reality despite his personal challenges?

The Little Girl is the true story of a young man’s quest to fulfill his dream of becoming a doctor while juggling the duties of single fatherhood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Oct 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665712057

T. F. Mann

T. F. Mann is a spine physician who has always loved writing in many forms. His first book, The Little Girl, was inspired by his experiences after gaining custody of his young daughter while attending college. Today, he lives and practices medicine in South Carolina where he enjoys spending time outdoors and with his family.

Book preview

Chapter 1

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A ugusta, Georgia, nestled quietly within the Savannah River Valley in the northeastern part of the state, was bordered by the dark waters of the Savannah River, which divided South Carolina and Georgia on its meandering run to the Atlantic. The city had been established in the early 1700s and named after Augusta of Saxe-Gotha by James Oglethorpe. According to folklore, the city was the namesake of a red-haired beauty named Augusta, a woman of the night known to steal the the hearts of men—along with their wallets. Supposedly, she had been so stunning that men lamented the loss of her interest more than the loss of their wallets. The only recognition Augusta enjoyed was that it hosted the Masters and was the birthplace of the Southern Baptist denomination.

There in Augusta, Nigel Delphian worked for a group of otolaryngologists while finishing his undergraduate degree at a small community college unavoidably named Augusta College. He was an ordinary young man whose trials and tribulations were the essence of all. He was the mirror of our accomplishments and the reflection of our failures. He was all of us and none of us.

Nigel stood five feet, eight and a half inches. The last half inch was as important as the first five feet. His dark brown eyes matched his short, kempt hair. He had sharp facial features, with a dimpled chin and two small brown moles on his left cheek, which ensured his description as cute by most women, a disappointing compliment for most men. Words like handsome and good looking were preferred once testosterone injected males’ souls and puberty transformed their bodies. Although he had heard the compliment many times, he always found it uncomfortable. He lacked an appropriate response other than a smile, usually one engineered without a word’s breath crossing his lips.

His tumultuous upbringing had begun on the morning of September 19, 1966, when he discovered the coldness of the world in a delivery suite within the community hospital in Patchogue, Long Island. The chill remained with him. From that moment on, his journey had been an arduous one. He had been born into a lower-middle-class family, low enough to be looked down upon most of his life, which had fathered a battle within the core of his being. The opposing sides of hidden envy and feelings of inadequacy fought hard for his soul.

Unaware of the events that had taken place the night before, Nigel was uncomfortably stretched out on an old foldout couch in the spare bedroom of his mother and stepfather’s small home, which he’d escaped to years before. The home had three bedrooms, and the two bathrooms were just large enough to fit a sink, tub, and toilet but little else. The house was located in an unremarkable neighborhood consisting of other unremarkable homes closely assembled along narrow streets. There were no garages, only carports for families to display their entire collection of useless objects for all to see. Parallel streets cut through the neighborhoods like lines on graph paper. The tall pines found scattered among the brick homes were the only redeeming quality of the otherwise redundant neighborhood. They gave the area a regal appearance as their large branches sprawled over the homes like mothers hovering over their children.

Nigel breathed deeply and looked over the shadows of his small room dimly illuminated by the light of early dawn. It smelled of mediocrity, and everything his eyes touched appeared mundane. For a moment, he couldn’t remember which day of the week it was. He really didn’t care. It was just another day destined to be disregarded, as many others had been before. He stared out his bedroom window at the colorless morning and noticed the widower Mr. Alton walking his Chihuahua up to the corner as the widow Mrs. Parducci met him halfway, as she did every morning. Nigel sat in his dark room and watched them carry on an animated conversation while ignoring the Chihuahua relentlessly barking at Mrs. Parducci.

Jesus, Nigel whispered as he fell back into bed, wondering how much more of this he could take. The alarm went off again, and he quickly sat on the side of the bed to slip on his pants, unable to tell which leg he was putting in first.

For somebody who doesn’t drink coffee, he’s the best coffee maker I know! Every time I make it, it doesn’t taste this good. The voice of his mother, Mary, practically sang as she took a sip from her mug.

Nigel shuffled into the kitchen and gave her a smile. He said with a yawn, Maybe it’s because someone else made it.

Mary looked at him for a moment and replied, You may be right, but it is good coffee. She studied his face and asked, Are you feeling okay, Nige? You look tired.

Nigel’s stepfather, Richard, looked up briefly from his paper as Nigel listlessly replied, I am tired. I didn’t get much sleep because inorganic is kicking my butt.

Mary sipped her coffee as Nigel turned to fill a cup of coffee. She looked at him and saw her little boy standing at the kitchen counter. She wanted to give him a hug but paused. She knew he didn’t want that anymore. He scarcely said goodbye when he rushed out the door.

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It was the beginning of summer, and the Savannah River Valley was already sweltering. So far, the year had not brought much rain, and the flora was suffering. Those without air-conditioning were being plagued by sun demons testing their sanity. After his morning classes, Nigel sat finishing his tuna sandwich in the upstairs kitchen of the doctors’ office, as he had done many times before. The lunch hour was one of his favorite times of the day. It was not the palatal pleasures he enjoyed most but the twelve women he worked with, who kept him well entertained. He sat there in his usual way, hiding the empty person lying just beneath his skin’s surface. As he sat there half listening to the table conversation, his thoughts were again preoccupied with the idea of his uneventful day thus far.

His name was Vaughn Caleb, and he wore beads around his head and neck. His house had all these symbolic American Indian works of art, and candles were burning in every nook and cranny! Lisa said as she crunched a carrot.

What? Lynn bellowed in her usual loud voice with a touch of southern flavor. Nobody has a name like that!

The rest of the girls simultaneously attempted to silence her with a loud Shh!

I’m just saying, the guy is obviously a phony with a made-up name like that! Hell, it sounds like two last names if you ask me.

Laughter filled the room as Helen blurted out, I’ve known several people with names that sounded like two last names. It’s not so unusual.

I know, Nancy replied, laughing. I once worked for a doctor named Doctor. We all used to get the biggest hoot out of saying Dr. Doctor!

Please, can I finish my damn story? Oops, sorry, Nancy, Lisa said apologetically as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. He’s an old Indian and has been doing this for many years. He looked into my eyes for about two minutes and then began telling me about myself! He knew how I ate, things that were bothering me, and the important vitamins and foods I needed to eat to start feeling better. He told me why my skin is the color it is and how I can get rid of the impurities in my system.

What a bunch of bullshit, Lynn said as she looked over at Nancy to see if she disapproved. How much did these words of wisdom cost you?

Seventy dollars, Lisa replied.

Lord! There is only one thing I would pay a man seventy dollars for, and he would have to be tall, dark, and handsome! The group giggled as Lynn arched her back to stretch, displaying her full figure. She glanced over to see Nigel watching her and gave him a smile as she fumbled with her rings.

Lynn! Nancy said disapprovingly.

You are in rare form today, Lynn Balter, Vickie added in a jovial voice while peeling an apple.

Lisa looked across the kitchen table at Nigel and saw the grin on his face, Well, what do you think, Nigel?

Was he laughing as you left? asked Nigel while winking at Lynn.

I’m serious! What do you think? she asked again.

I think he’s a quack who just became seventy dollars richer. You didn’t give him my name, did you?

Nigel, you have a call holding on three-one, please, a sultry voice announced over the intercom system.

She tries to sound so seductive, Lisa scoffed. She rolled her eyes.

I know, Lynn said. She twisted her napkin into a phallic shape. She probably gets excited when talking into that microphone!

The room filled with laughter.

Well, on that note, I think I’ll go back to work, Nancy said. She scowled as she threw a can into the recycling bin.

Nigel chuckled as he picked up the phone, This is Nigel.

Hello, Nigel. Are you alone? The man’s voice sounded as though he needed to clear his throat.

Hello, Grandpa Early. I’m eating lunch at the office. What’s up? Nigel asked.

I have some bad news for you. But I think you may want to hear this while you’re alone, he said.

Nigel noted a strange quality in his voice that sent a sensation over his body, as though cool water had been poured over him. Sure, let me, uh, change phones. If we get disconnected, I’ll call you right back. Nigel’s voice had already become shaky.

As he hung up the phone, Lynn said flirtatiously, We all know it’s a girl you’re calling back. What’s her name?

As he walked out of the kitchen, his cologne spread over her like a spiderweb in the early morning dew. Lynn closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and smiled as she watched him walk away.

Nigel picked up the phone in the library and said, Well, Grandpa, what’s so important that you’re calling me at work?

Nigel, this is difficult for me to tell you, but we wanted you to be the first to know. Please try to—

Jesus, Grandpa, what is it? Nigel interrupted, trying not to yell.

It’s Melanie. She left in the middle of the night and took Abigail with her. There may have been some trouble—we’re not sure. His voice trembled as the last few words left his lips.

Nigel’s left hand closed into a fist as his face contorted with a look of agony. There was a moment of silence as his thoughts raced.

Nigel? Nigel, Grandma is on. Are you okay?

What happened? I mean, why did she leave? Nigel asked while holding back a scream.

We don’t know. She just left and took Abigail with her.

Do either of you know where she might have gone? Nigel asked anxiously.

A wave of laughter floated into the library from the kitchen.

No, we called several of her friends but haven’t found out anything. Nigel, are you coming down here? Grandpa asked.

I don’t know right now. I’ll call soon. Nigel hung up the phone and dropped his head into his hands. His mind reeled as he sat trying to understand what he had just heard. He stared across the library at a wall filled with medical books and journals but saw only his thoughts. He rubbed his head and thought of only one person as he whispered to himself, Abigail, where are you?

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Thunder rumbled in the distance to announce the coming rain.

Did you hear thunder just now? Melanie spoke to break the uncomfortable silence that had occupied the last ten minutes.

Yes. It’s supposed to rain this afternoon and into the evening, Nigel answered flatly.

Abigail wiggled slightly as she slept on Melanie’s shoulder. Nigel stared at his daughter, and the thought of not seeing her beautiful face every day brought on a dull ache near his heart. An airplane landed, and the roar of its engines reversing startled Abigail awake. She lifted her head, looked over at Nigel, and smiled while holding her arms out for him to take her.

Hello, beautiful! Did you have a good nappy time? Nigel spoke in a childlike voice. He lifted her to his face and stared into her eyes. He studied her face as she chewed on her fist and then put her thumb in her mouth. I love you, beautiful. Very much. He turned to Melanie. Does she have to stay in the car seat the whole time on the plane? he asked in a concerned tone.

No, once they turn off the Fasten Seat Belt light, she can sit with me, Melanie answered while staring at the planes.

As the hour approached three o’clock, people began passing by more frequently to enter the small gate area. It started sprinkling, and Nigel looked up at the clouds and closed his eyes as the water moistened his face. Abigail began cooing, and Nigel opened his eyes to find her staring up at him with her unsteady head extended backward.

Let’s go inside. They’re getting ready to board, Melanie said.

Please stay out here so I can hold her a little longer, Nigel said.

Nigel, please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.

I’m making it difficult? You’re taking my daughter hours away from me!

It’s over, Nigel. You don’t expect me to stay around this hick town. I need a change, and Grandma and Grandpa will help me make a new start, she said matter-of-factly.

I guess you figure going down to Grandma and Grandpa is going to make life easier. Truthfully, it probably will! Nigel replied bitterly.

I’m going inside to board. Now, let me have her so I can board early, Melanie said as she started to take Abigail.

Nigel turned away and awkwardly pleaded, Please wait.

He hugged Abigail and slowly rocked back and forth. After breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and held the breath so he would not forget her scent. A few moments passed before he reluctantly exhaled. He held her tightly against his chest and kissed her soft head. He could feel her small hand grasp his gold necklace and felt her breath on his neck.

Daddy loves you, Abby. Daddy loves you, he whispered.

Thoughts of running away with her ran through his mind. He had an odd feeling about letting her go so far away—so far that he would have little effect on her personality or on her life, for that matter. He turned and placed Abigail gently in her mother’s arms. Melanie quickly turned and went into the boarding area. As Nigel followed, he almost began to cry before taking a deep breath and swallowing hard to stop himself.

The gate area was filled with people by that time, and a voice announced over the intercom, Passengers who have small children or need assistance may board now at gate three.

Nigel was expecting Melanie to board the plane without saying a word; it would have been her style.

Surprisingly, she turned and spoke in a caring voice. Take care of yourself, Nigel. I’ll call you soon.

With that, she turned to board the plane. Nigel watched Abigail’s face resting on her mother’s shoulder as the two of them walked down the corridor toward the waiting jet. His eye caught his daughter’s, and they stared at each other as her hand suddenly went up as if she wanted him to hold her before quickly she disappeared around the corner. Nigel waved until she was out of sight and found himself still waving for several more seconds.

As he turned to leave, he almost ran into a couple with two small children boarding the plane. He watched as the man and woman walked away holding each other with one hand and a child with the other. The two children’s feet were moving quickly to keep up with their parents. The older child was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who turned to look at Nigel as she walked by. It was as though she could sense that something was bothering him, but she quickly turned away as her mother pulled her arm to keep up.

As he walked out of the building, his feet barely left the ground. His body felt as if it had become detached from the world around him. He thought of the many disappointments and pains life had dealt him, but none had struck him this deeply.

Like many people before him, he wished he could ride the wind back to steal from it the one wrong decision that ultimately altered many events that followed. He sat down at a small table in a grassy area outside the terminal. He hadn’t noticed that the rain had begun to fall more steadily as he stared at the other empty tables before resting his head upon his folded arms. He envisioned Abigail crying as she called his name, and he quietly shuddered.

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Nigel? Nigel, are you okay? a female voice asked in a motherly tone.

Nigel looked up and saw Rachel’s concerned face looking down at him.

She realized he had been crying while alone in the library. To save him from embarrassment, she bent down and hugged him. Rachel was a tall, fair-skinned woman with striking features and flowing dirty-blonde hair that rested on her shoulders. They shared an attraction for each other that added excitement to an otherwise tedious workday. The fact that Rachel was married was a burden that Nigel struggled with every moment they were together. His feelings for her had become much stronger than friendship, but he could not tell her, for fear of jeopardizing the very friendship he valued so much.

Nigel pulled back and took off his glasses to wipe his eyes. I shouldn’t have let her go, he said as he looked at her.

Who? Rachel asked with a confused look.

Abby. I shouldn’t have let her go. Melanie disappeared with her last night. His voice was low and unsteady as he looked at the floor.

He could hear paper rustling and water running as the girls finished their lunch in the kitchen. He gazed into Rachel’s sparkling green eyes and felt as though he might hug her again, but he refrained.

She reached over, placed a hand on his arm, and quietly said, Nigel.

Chapter 2

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A ugust was one of the hottest months in southern Florida. Temperatures reaching more than one hundred degrees in the shade were not uncommon. The air was so warm that sprawling cats disregarded the prowl, while dogs lay panting in the shade, dreaming of the chase. The humidity became remarkably high as sweat seeped from one’s pores seconds after reluctantly leaving the soothing pleasantry of air-conditioning. Breathing became laborious as the hot air expanded heavily within the lungs. It was said that if you stood quietly enough, you could hear the leaves drying under the relentless sun. This torrid environment had an undesirable effect on the human spirit. Tolerance became a victim as the rage of discontent reared its violent head. Emergency rooms filled with its victims during those sweltering months. Many times, the violence was so inhumane and bizarre that even the most seasoned emergency room physician was riddled with disbelief.

The night of August 23 was one of the hottest of the year in the Lee County area. The weather bureau proudly reported a chance of potentially record-setting highs. As Job Tedesco sat dozing in his van outside Malcolm Durst’s large ranch-style home in a gated community on Sanibel Island, sweat dripped slowly from his double chin that boasted his love of food. His clients called him Mr. Tedesco, but to his colleagues and a few members of the police force, he was known as Fatman. Tedesco was the type of fellow who always looked as if he had slept all night in his clothes. No matter how much time he took in making himself presentable, he was in disarray five minutes after he finished dressing. He was an awkward-looking man and walked with a limp due to a deformed left leg. Polio had infected his spinal cord at age six, which had left his leg with limited muscle mass, partially paralyzed, and one and a half inches shorter. His head was almost perfectly round and sat upon his shoulders, hiding the short neck that supported it. His beady eyes, which were almost black, constantly scanned the surroundings.

Even if one disregarded his awkward physical appearance, the loud squeaking sound his leg brace made as he walked could not be ignored. His doctor had tried many times to fit him with a new lightweight plastic brace, but Tedesco remained adamant about adhering to the security of his old one. He kept his house and office at a cool 64 degrees due to his natural aversion to heat, which stemmed from the many hot baths he’d been forced to tolerate during his youth. He always had been told that it was to help drive away the polio. At the time, he’d been sure it was some form of torture masterminded by his father because of his disdainful attitude toward his son’s disability.

Tedesco had the reputation of being an honest and fastidious private eye, a reputation he never had set out to create. He was an overachiever by nature, a characteristic shared by most polio survivors.

Tedesco had been hired by Mrs. Durst to gather information about Mr. Durst’s infidelity. She planned to divorce her husband and prosper financially in the settlement. She wanted plenty of evidence to ensure her victory within the judicial system. Tedesco had spent the last three days watching the Durst residence. He did so under the direction of Mrs. Durst, who had left the country because she knew her husband would eventually bring his mistress to the house in her absence. At this point, Tedesco had gathered enough pictures to incriminate Mr. Durst, but his wife wanted pictures of him and his mistress in the house.

Mrs. Durst’s high-pitched voice still rang in his ears: I want pictures of that bastard screwing her in our bed! Then the judge and my lawyer will bury the son of a bitch!

Tedesco often wondered why she wanted pictures of him having sex with another woman. Pictures less explicit would have been enough for a divorce proceeding, but she paid well, and that was all he needed to know.

Tedesco was awakened suddenly as bright lights from an oncoming car entered his van and chased shadows through the interior as the car approached. He remained reclined in his seat and looked at his watch to check the time. Eleven thirty-eight. This had better be you, Durst. I’m sick of this goddamn job already, he mumbled in his midwestern dialect as a band of light moved down his face.

The light metallic-blue Jaguar XJ6 pulled into the driveway of the Durst home.

And we have a winner! Tedesco said with a smile.

As Mr. Durst and the mistress got out of the car, Tedesco slid farther down into his seat. He stayed there until they had entered the home. He then grabbed his camera and quietly opened the door but was startled by a soda can that sounded like an alarm as it fell onto the street.

Shit! Tedesco said under his breath as he picked up the can and looked around to see if any suspicious neighbors had been awakened.

Within moments, Tedesco’s shirt became soaked with sweat as he walked across the lawns toward the Durst home. A dog barked, and he immediately froze before going down on his good knee. He stayed in that position and felt his heart pounding as adrenaline raced through his body. There was no moon that evening, and he felt confident he would not be easily spotted. After wiping his sweat-drenched face on his shirt, he ran his hands over his crew-cut scalp as he got up and quietly walked toward the backyard.

Inside the Durst home, Ann was admiring the many works of art. The sculptures and paintings were carefully placed to accent the beautiful furnishings. I can’t believe we have been seeing each other for two years, and I have never been in your house, she said loudly from the living room.

As she walked back into the study, where Malcolm was pouring their drinks, she continued. But truthfully, I don’t care to see the house tonight. I only want to see your bedroom! The floor, the bed, the bathroom, the dresser. She stared at Malcolm with a grin and began unbuttoning her blouse.

You will see all that and more, my sweet, Malcolm said in a monotone voice.

Ann slipped off her skirt and out of her blouse as she looked over at Malcolm, who was squeezing limes into their gin and tonics. What’s wrong with you tonight, Malcolm? You seem distant—even preoccupied.

Malcolm looked up and saw that Ann had taken off her clothes. As she stood there, his eyes studied every inch of her body. Her long dark brown hair was pulled back in a French braid. She had brown bedroom eyes that easily seduced with her confident stare. She was petite, and her black lingerie complemented her small, firm breasts and athletic body.

With her question still lingering in the air, Malcolm replied, I’m sorry, dear. I had a fight with Kate this afternoon. I hate arguing with her when she is away at school.

Was the argument about us? she asked.

I really don’t want to talk about this now, he replied.

Malcolm was a tall, thin man standing just over six feet. His graying hair and lined face were the confessions of his middle age. For the last year, Malcolm had had a constant look of worry on his face. Ann, feeling awkward, decided to change the subject.

See something you like? She giggled while turning away to let Malcolm see her black lace thong.

God, you are beautiful, Malcolm said as he walked toward her with their drinks in hand.

Make me more beautiful, she said seductively.

Although he was smiling, his face was expressionless. I will, my sweet. I will.

As she stepped back, she took off her bra and looked down at her breasts. They are very excited. You like them like this, don’t you?

Malcolm placed the drinks on an end table and walked over to her. He grabbed her hair to pull her close and then kissed her deeply.

Take me to your room, she said with a sigh.

He easily picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

The Durst home was designed so that no room was without at least one window. For the thirty-five seconds Ann had been in the study with her bra off, Tedesco had shot an entire roll of film. Mrs. Durst had assured him that getting pictures of them in the bedroom would be no problem. Their bedroom was at the back of the house, and the entire back of the room was glass, which faced a large wooded area.

When Tedesco had questioned her about the problem of taking pictures of a darkened room, she’d told him in a tearful voice, The pervert loves screwing with the lights on! At least he did when we used to have sex.

Tedesco couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, but at the same time, he hoped it was true.

As he made his way to the back of the house, he became excited at the thought of seeing the mistress naked. As predicted, the lights in the bedroom were on, and Mr. Durst was undressing. Tedesco did not see the mistress initially, but after a few moments, she walked out into the large master bedroom. She was still in her thong panties as she walked over to the glass. Tedesco watched as she bent over and took off her panties while still facing the glass and then looked back at Malcolm as she stepped out of them. Tedesco was in a catatonic state as she stood up to display her beautiful body. Gaining his senses, he started snapping pictures at an almost uncontrollable pace.

Malcolm slowly walked up behind her and began kissing and fondling her naked body as she slowly turned to return the erotic pleasures.

Tedesco’s hands shook as he felt his heart race. Well, well, well. He breathed heavily. Look at this. Suddenly, he was unable to advance the film in his camera, and he realized he had run through thirty-six exposures. Damn! he grumbled as he quickly replaced the film and again focused on the bedroom. At that point, he only saw her on the bed with her hands between her legs.

Jesus! he whispered as he zoomed in on her.

She raised herself up onto her elbows and smiled. Tedesco zoomed out, and there stood Durst, holding what looked like long strips of red cloth. She rested back on the bed and spread her arms and legs wide to the corners of the bed. Durst tied each arm and leg to the bed, kissing her as he secured each knot.

You perverted bastard, Tedesco whispered.

He watched as Durst stood up at the end of the bed, and again, he zoomed in on the mistress’s face. Her expression was filled with sexual desire and then, suddenly, transformed into a look of confusion. Tedesco lowered the camera to look into the room with his own eyes and saw Durst standing at the foot of the bed, pointing a finger at her and obviously yelling. Tedesco again raised his camera to get a closer look and watched as Durst walked over to the side of the bed and knelt down. Tedesco could see that he was crying and moved his lens to her face—she was yelling while writhing to free herself. Tedesco continued to take pictures and again focused on Durst as he slowly got up, said something to her, and walked out of the room.

Tedesco watched her face to see if he could figure out what was going on. As he focused in, an uneasy feeling overcame him. He knew what the look on her face revealed: fear.

What the hell? he said while putting the camera strap around his neck.

He watched as Durst entered the room again, holding a small, rectangular box. Raising his camera, Tedesco quickly tried to focus on the box just as the lights went out.

Shit! Tell me this isn’t bad, Tedesco said as he moved out of the woods and walked as fast as he could to get a better view.

He stood beside a large oak tree and looked into the darkened room. He could barely see Durst on the bed, wrapping something around her head.

Damn! Tedesco said as he limped up close to one side of the room.

He cupped his hands around his face as he peered into the glass and saw her legs rapidly moving and her arms extended upward, trying to reach Durst as he sat straddling her. His hands were on her face. Within seconds, her arms dropped, and her legs slowly writhed below him. Durst remained on top of her with his hands clutching her face.

Realizing what was happening, Tedesco ran as fast as he could to the side entrance, the whole time repeating, Oh God.

The side door was locked, and he fumbled for the keys in his pocket as he panted to catch his breath. His hands moved in an uncoordinated fashion as he rushed, but finally, he whisked them out to search for the key Mrs. Durst had given him.

Once he found it, he tried to fit it in the keyhole, all the while saying, What am I doing? What am I doing?

As the words left his mouth, the door unlocked, and he stepped into the home. Immediately, he heard a distant sound coming from the back of the home. As he headed toward the sound, his leg brace squeaked louder than he had ever heard it before. He thought about a plan of action if Durst had a gun and realized he couldn’t come up with one. With that, an unsettling thought came to him: You could get killed.

Upon his entering the hall leading to the bedroom, the sound of Puccini’s La Bohème filled the air, but it was suddenly interrupted by Durst’s disturbed voice: Who’s there? You stop, or I’ll shoot!

Please don’t shoot! I’m unarmed! Tedesco yelled, and then he continued, hoping to buy some time. I’m unarmed.

Durst continued to wail in anguish. Tedesco searched the walls in the dark hallway to find a light switch. His right hand, moist with sweat, slid easily along the wall until he felt a switch, and on came the light. From where he stood, a portion of the bed could be seen. Part of the mistress’s arm and leg were easily seen—they were not moving. Durst was sitting on the side of the bed with his arms folded across his knees, holding a pistol in his right hand.

He looked up at Tedesco’s awkward appearance and mumbled, I don’t know you, but I’m sure you’ve been paid to watch me, right? Well, you’re gonna like to watch this.

Tedesco wanted to move or say something but could not. He just stood there looking at Durst as if paralyzed. It seemed as though he could no longer feel his own body. His muscles no longer listened to the inner command that demanded he run far away. He could only feel the sweat as it ran from every pore.

It doesn’t matter now. I’ve been dead for years, Durst moaned.

There was a long pause as Durst sat staring down at his gun. Again, the operatic piece filled the air. He looked over at the stereo and then at the body on the bed and cried, Why did she do this to me? My little girl hates me. This will add clarity to the confusion. Durst raised the gun to his mouth, but then he withdrew the gun and pointed it at Tedesco.

As Tedesco tried to move, he slipped and fell backward. As he lifted himself up onto his elbows, he noted the gun was still pointing his way. Durst was looking directly at him, but Tedesco could tell he was staring through him.

I’m not going to shoot you. The enemy is not in here; it’s out there, Durst said, waving his gun toward the window. He laughed with a rhythm born of confusion and nurtured by chaos. Suddenly, a serious look fell over his face, and he said, I just want you to deliver a message to Kate. He again pointed his gun at Tedesco. Tell her I’m sorry and that I love her very much.

With that, he lifted the gun to his mouth.

Wait. Who’s— Tedesco searched for more words, but the thunder from the barrel of the gun silenced him.

As the ringing in his ears subsided, a woman’s voice soared with an aria that disregarded the tragedy Tedesco had just witnessed.

Tedesco watched as Durst’s body seemed to move in slow motion backward as he fell onto his side and then headfirst onto the floor. Immediately, Tedesco saw a large amount of blood oozing from the side of Durst’s neck. He got up and proceeded to the bedroom, imagining what he was about to see. On the bed lay the mistress with cellophane wrapped around her head several times. The cellophane over her nose and mouth had been sucked inward as she tried to gasp for air. Knowing she would have no pulse, he felt obligated to check for one anyway. He placed a shaking finger on her pulseless carotid artery. As he looked at the blood-splattered wall and bed, he smelled an odd scent. He realized the smell was fresh blood mixed with the urine that soaked the sheets where she had soiled herself. He felt he might vomit but took a deep breath before slowly returning to the kitchen to call the police. The background music changed as a lonely violin caressed the air with a flowing melody.

Police Department. Is this an emergency? said the vacuous voice.

Yes, patch me through to Sergeant Booker. This is Mr. Tedesco. I’m a private detective; he’ll know me, he said in a sullen voice.

He was put on hold, and the beeping sound became more unnerving with each passing second.

Fatman, what the hell is so important that they’ve called me at home and interrupted the game? Somebody sure as hell better be dead! Booker joked with his quick New York accent.

You’ve gotta come over to 16 Mariners Way on Sanibel Island. There has been a murder and suicide. The last three words seemed to bring the last hour into the realm of reality, and he suddenly had to sit down. And, um, I’m in the house where it happened.

What! Fatman, Jesus, this is not the type of case you’re usually involved in. What the hell are you doin’ there? Have you called the neighborhood security? Booker’s voice became serious.

I’ll explain everything when you arrive. I haven’t talked to anyone except you since it happened.

Well, don’t worry about that. I’ll call them and send over some cruisers right away. And, Fatman, don’t touch anything else. Just wait out in front.

Tedesco hung up the phone, walked out, and sat patiently on the front steps.

Booker was an Italian who always spoke as if he had two minutes to recite a ten-minute speech. He was stocky, but his head seemed disproportionately small for his body. By the time Booker arrived at the scene, the neighborhood had become busy with police and reporters, and as he approached the crowd, he easily spotted Tedesco and waved him over. Tedesco explained everything as accurately as he could recall but found it difficult to understand, even though he had been there and had been somewhat involved.

Then he asked me to deliver a message to someone called Kate, Tedesco said in a lethargic manner.

I’m sure that’s his daughter. Jesus, you must’ve been shitting bricks! Booker laughed.

As several uniformed cops passed by, Tedesco overheard them talking about the crime scene.

I’d give the bedroom a five.

Five! Bullshit. Maybe a three-plus or four-minus, certainly not a five.

Bullshit nothing. What do you think the fragments of teeth in the wall were—art? That easily takes it up to a five!

He’s right, Junior. You obviously haven’t seen enough crime scenes!

Tedesco looked at them with a confused expression.

These boys have developed a splatter scale—you know, for the blood. It’s always a topic that leads to heated debates, Booker explained as he looked over at Tedesco, who looked pale. You gonna be all right, Fatman?

Yeah, I’m going home.

As Tedesco drove home, his thoughts were consumed by the events of the evening. Until this case, he had always chosen jobs with little chance of violence.

I should have finished college and become an accountant, he said, shaking his head.

He stopped his van at the end of the driveway and stared hopelessly at his home. His eyes followed the climbing vines that were slowly engulfing the exterior walls and sighed. The smell of humidity hanging in the air was soothing to him as he slumped in his seat. Loneliness once again captained his emotions. Upon entering his front door, he looked around for a moment and then went straight to his bedroom to collapse onto his bed without removing any clothes; darkness quickly sequestered his senses.

Tedesco’s body jerked as he was once again awakened by the dream. It occasionally had some variations, but it often ended with the blood being squeezed out of his left leg by a faceless being trying to pull him into a giant bath filled with boiling water. His eyes opened quickly and focused on the blinking red light of his answering machine. He reached over and hit the message button. A loud beep rang out.

Hello, Job. It’s your sister, just calling to say hello. Me and Mama haven’t heard from you in a long time. Call us back when you can. Love ya. Her voice echoed in his room.

Tedesco smiled as the sound of her hanging up completed the message.

The machine beeped again. Hey, Fatman, it’s Generotti. Listen, give me a call back as soon as you can. I have a missing-person case I’d like your help on. And get your hand off your pecker!

Five beeps signaled there were no more messages.

What an idiot. Tedesco laughed as he rolled over to see the time.

The LCD on his clock showed 10:34 a.m. He groaned heavily as sounds of crying and gunshots echoed in his mind. Generotti was one of Tedesco’s few trusted friends. They had been doing business together for more than ten years. Since his parents’ vicious divorce, he did not find pleasure in the company of most attorneys, but he liked Peter Generotti a lot.

Generotti was an exception to the rule. He was an honest man who generally dealt in custody cases. Most of his clients were ordinary women fighting for custody and financial support for their children. He had a genuine interest in finding the right home for the children. His latest case, as Tedesco was to find out, had several unusual components.

The sound of his phone ringing startled him, and he picked it up before the second ring sounded.

Hello? he answered in a sleepy voice.

Wake up, Fatman! You’re sleeping the day away! Generotti’s boisterous voice was almost too much for Tedesco to handle.

What do you want, Peter? Tedesco’s voice was devoid of the light humor.

What the hell is wrong with you, Job? Generotti asked in a concerned tone.

I just had a bad night last night. It involves the case I was working on. I don’t really want to talk about it right now, but the name on the file is Durst. I’ll tell you about it some other time.

The Durst case! Jesus Christ, Job, it’s all over the news and on the front page of the paper this morning. You never told me you were involved with them.

Yeah, well, I became much more involved than I wanted to be last night.

So you’re the private eye they referred to in the paper.

I guess so. I will tell you it was one of the worst nights of my life. Let’s talk about something else, Peter, Tedesco said as he rolled onto one side.

Sure, Job, some other time. Listen, the reason I have been trying to get a hold of you is that I have a new custody case, but it’s not your typical situation, Generotti said with an air of obvious excitement.

What does that mean? I don’t like the sound of your voice. You’re not usually this excited about a custody battle.

I must admit this one could be interesting. I got a call several days ago from the mother of a guy named, uh, Nigel Delphian. I don’t know a lot of the details, but I’ll tell you what I know.

I’m listening, but what’s with all the happy-to-be-alive crap this morning? What—did the wife give it up last night after your groveling for an hour? Tedesco asked dryly.

I see you’re finally awake!

Tedesco cleared his throat and said, So tell me about this Nigel person.

Peter shuffled some papers, picked one up with handwritten notes, and said, I’ve only talked with the mother. Like I said, she called me from Augusta, Georgia, stating that her son has been divorced for almost a year. Apparently, his ex moved down here with their daughter, who is now about two. Anyway, she said the mother has full custody of the daughter, and both mother and daughter have recently come up missing.

Does she think they were kidnapped or killed, or did the mother split with the kid?

She said they just disappeared. I am still trying to figure that out. Anyway, the mother took off one night and took the little girl with her.

So what does she want from you?

She wants me to help gain custody of her granddaughter—you know, once she’s found.

"What about the son? What