Ty Callison for Kennebec7 (#10)
[Interrogation 4]
When Phil Weiss heard Sandy’s question about Miranda’s ghost, he just shook his head in disgust for the fifth or sixth time since I’d been there, and walked away from the veranda. He was headed, I assumed, for a place more like a real home for him~ his office.
Sandy’s father, Arthur, shushed him vigorously. Sandy, you don’t say things like that around uncle Phil. He just lost his wife a week ago. Then Arthur glanced at me to see how I was regarding the scene. There’s a policeman here, Sandy. He’s going to think we’re all. . . Arthur managed a chuckle. It’s all Sandy’s nonsense, Mr. Callison. Don’t take him seriously. He likes to shock.
He’s an ex-policeman, dad. Anyway, he knows all about ghosts, don’t you, Sheriff? Sandy grinned impishly at me.
I smiled back. Tell me about your aunt Miranda, Sandy.
You mean—about her ghost.
Whatever. What she talked about with you in those last days. Anything.
Arthur felt compelled to caution his son. Sandy, don’t clown around. Heidi hired this man to investigate Miranda’s… Again, Arthur got himself into a sentence he didn’t want to complete. Death, he finally said.
She’s in my head, Sandy said, his expression becoming almost lachrymose.
That would be Miranda, Sandy?
Sandy nodded, his eyes set on mine. Arthur looked worried. Sandy, I suggest you take the boat. See the islands. I will talk to Mr. Callison.
Arthur, I said, not taking my eyes away from Sandy’s. In these family things, I usually interview one person at a time. Maybe you could leave your son and me alone for a little bit. Then, you and me can have our own chat.
No, I want—
Go take a shower, dad. You stink.
Oh… Arthur seemed to suddenly realize that he was standing there, disheveled in his pajamas, beads of perspiration on his face. It was mid-day and we were in southern Thailand. Mai reappeared with a bathrobe. Arthur draped it over his arm, taking a quick sniff at his armpit.
Oh, he said again. Mr. Callison, you have to understand; my son is a comedian. He’s not serious…about anything.
Dad – take a shower.
Arthur turned and stumbled as he disappeared inside the house.
I turned back to Sandy. So Miranda’s ghost is a joke?
Sandy stared at me with a tentative smile. What do you think, Sheriff?
You tell me.
Like I said, she’s in my head.
I had told Jill two nights earlier that I noticed something a tad peculiar about Sandy at our first meeting. I had called it a ‘perversity.’ But maybe, that’s not the right word. It doesn’t completely cover the whole phenomenon I’ve seen occasionally. Maybe I should say it’s susceptibility. Any way, I would just ride along with it, like I usually do.
What does that mean?
I get her thoughts. I don’t deserve to be here, that sort of thing.
I don’t deserve to be here? That’s Miranda, not you, Sandy?
I don’t know. That’s what it feels like.
Whatta you mean, that’s what it feels like?
Well, it’s sort of…a buzz…and goose bumps on my head.
And how do those sensations relate to the thought~~ I don’t deserve to be here?
Sandy grinned at me. You’re taking this seriously, Sheriff. This is so cool.
I yawned. Then I sat up in that nice wicker chair. I saw the sweat on the boy’s face, a stain on his shirt under his armpits. For me, I felt the breeze off the ocean. I wasn’t sweating yet. What were you doing the night your aunt went out for her walk in the rain, Sandy?
I told you before, I was at that club in Krabi.
The Rocky Bar.
Yeah.
I’ll have to take a look at it.
Yeah, take your broad, Sheriff.
Are you trying to annoy me, Sandy?
That’s what I do, Sheriff.
What time did you get home from the Rocky Bar the night Miranda had her accident?
You think someone pushed her?
What time, Sandy?
I don’t know. What did I say last time?
Were you stoned?
It happens, Sheriff. I’m a child of my culture.
Take a guess, Sandy. When did you get home the night your aunt was killed!
He jumped off the floor and screamed at me with a demented expression on his face, Tell him, asshole—one-fifty-seven! Then he seemed to collect himself with a self-conscious grin.
That’s pretty good, Sandy. On Tuesday, you said it was one-forty-five. Not bad. Was that supposed to be Miranda?
He slid me that lopsided smile he occasionally affected, Oh it was her, Ty. Really, Sheriff. She gets mad at me, but it really wasn’t my fault.
Mai appeared timidly at the doorway to the veranda, peering at us, looking anxious, wondering what that outburst was all about.
[To be continued]
Ty Callison
Krabi, Thailand
06-19-2010