The Blue Man on the Porch
“Still not back.” Cyndia dropped The Whitechapel Horror onto the couch. She stretched as she moved toward the kitchen, and glanced toward the front door.
The blue man with a butcher knife locked eyes with her. Cyndia hesitated and lunged for the rusty shotgun her foster mother kept in the umbrella stand next to the door. She rammed it against her shoulder.
The blue man had disappeared from the front door window.
Her chewing gum cemented in her mouth. The back door was locked; she always locked up when left at the house alone. She moved to the back of the living room. She could see both the front door, down the hall to the bedrooms, and the archway to the kitchen, and could jump out the window if necessary. The cordless phone sat on the end table until she grabbed it.
“911. Please state the nature of your emergency.”
“There’s an intruder outside the house. He had a knife.” Cyndia took a deep breath and leaned her back against the wall. She answered the operator’s questions while balancing the shotgun on her shoulder. “I’m here alone. I looked out the front door and saw him through the window. Big knife, butcher knife. Can you give the cops a code word? Okay. There are three entrances, the front door, the patio door, and the back door through the garage. All doors locked, but the garage is open. My foster mother isn’t back yet. My name is Cyndia Taeurs. He was blue. No ma’am, not wearing blue, his skin was blue. It could have been make-up.”
Blue lights flashed from outside. Voices came up to the front porch and then moved back.
She kept the operator on the line until there was knocking at the back door. She eased into the kitchen, keeping her back toward a wall.
“Miss Taeurs? It’s the police. Cagney and Lacey.”
“The police are here.” She ended the call and opened the back door. Two uniformed officers had their guns drawn. Cyndia pointed the shotgun at the floor. “It’s not loaded.”
“Are you injured?” The younger officer with sympathetic blue eyes asked.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Officer Hilden is going to check to the rest of the house. Show me where you saw the intruder.”
Cyndia led him into the living room while his partner headed down the hall. “I was reading on the couch. I got up and saw him at the front door. Grabbed empty shotgun and he was gone. Backed away and called 911, Officer?”
“Peterson. Did you notice if he was bleeding?”
“No, but I only saw waist up. He was blue and had a butcher knife. You found blood out there?”
Officer Peterson frowned. “What do you mean he was blue?”
“His face was blue.”
“A mask?”
“No, his skin was blue.” Cyndia pressed against the door window to see the blood they had seen. “Oh, the neighbors are coming over. Do you need to put up the yellow tape?”
Officer Peterson said something under his breath. “Hilden, we’ve got to protect the scene!” He yelled down the hall.
The taller officer with a bald head came back to the living room. “Rest of the house is clean.”
“Backup ain’t here yet and we have onlookers arriving.” A roll of thunder punctuated the statement. “And now the weather.”
“First that weird plane crash, now this.”
Cyndia put the shotgun back in the umbrella stand and followed them into the kitchen.
“Miss Taeurs, you stay here.”
“The hell I am. What if that guy decides to circle around and come through the patio? Besides, I know the crime scene rules: don’t touch anything, don’t touch anything, don’t touch anything.”
The two cops exchanged why-did-it-have-to-be-us looks, but made no more arguments as they headed out the back door. Hilden moved to the crowd gathering in the front yard. Peterson went to the patrol car and came back with a roll of the crime scene barricade tape. “Just stay back.” Peterson told her as he moved toward the porch.
“Did you guys walk in Mrs. Baton’s flowerbed?” Cyndia frowned at the trampled daylily.
“No,” Peterson looked down. “Geez, we’ve got a footprint. What kind of shoes was this perp wearing?”
Cyndia moved closer. What she could make out in the black potting soil reminded her of a duck’s foot. Swimming fins would be longer. The wind gusted. “You better pour the plaster soon. I think it’s going to rain.”
This time Peterson didn’t bother muttering the swear word. “We don’t have plaster. Forensics has plaster.” (Double check)
That was a dumb move. Cyndia trotted into the garage and scanned the storage shelves. The long plastic box holding Christmas ornaments looked wide enough. Eyes and brains might solve the crime, but you had to have admissible evidence for court. And Forensics always gets to the scene after everybody else.
She dumped the boxes of ornaments gently onto the concrete floor. A swipe with the hem of her T-shirt made sure she wasn’t transferring any debris. Then she presented the plastic box to Peterson. “This should cover the footprint.”
“Resourceful, aren’t you?” He carefully set the translucent box over the portion of the flowerbed. The yellow tape was wrapped around the porch columns.
“If you can’t roll with the punches, you wind up dead.”
Screams turned everyone’s head to a nearly identical house one lot over.
Peterson threw down the yellow tape. “Hell, now what!” He ran toward the screams. “Hilden, keep them here!”
Peterson threw down the yellow tape. “Hell, now what!” He ran toward the screams. “Hilden, keep them here!”
Cyndia ran after Peterson. The Millers’ front door was open, and Mrs. Gregory stood on the threshold screaming. Peterson pulled his gun and he joined her. His other hand grabbed the walkie-talkie clipped to his shoulder. “_________________________. Found a homicide site. Two bodies visible. Alert homicide and send more backup.”
Mrs. Gregory sobbed now, collapsing against Cyndia. Red splattered on the golden-yellow walls. Mr. Miller lay in front of the door on his stomach. A puddle of blood spread over the ceramic tile right inside the door. Mrs. Miller sat on the couch, her head bent over the back with her chin pointing at the ceiling. Cyndia hugged Mrs. Gregory.
“How many people live here?” Peterson still hadn’t holstered his gun.
“They … they have three kids.”
“Stay here and don’t touch anything.” He stepped into the house, avoiding the blood and the body.
Cyndia hugged Mrs. Gregory. The older woman showed no signs of stopping, and the shoulder of Cynthia’s T-shirt was already soaked. She frowned watching Peterson step around bloodstains on the carpet. Stains that looked the same as the footprint in the flowerbed.
#
Morning sunlight poured into the kitchen. Cyndia sat down at the end of the kitchen table, as far from Mrs. Baton and the stove as she could get without leaving the room. She felt like Mrs. Gregory was still attached to her shoulder, even though that had happened hours ago.
“We can’t go on the front porch.” Mrs. Baton gave the grits a quick stir. “And the poor Millers. This used to be such a good neighborhood.” She glanced at Cyndia, pursing her lips.
Cyndia cast her eyes down at the kitchen table. The cops had already interrogated her enough. More commentary from her foster mother wasn’t necessary. She had missed something in Mrs. Baton’s tirade.
“All those stupid mysteries you read, planting ideas in your head. You just dreamed up a prowler.”
“Right and my imaginary friend broke into the Millers, killed them, sauntered over here, and left imaginary blood on the porch.”
“Don’t get impertinent. You just wanted an excuse to call the police. And they actually had the nerve to tell me where I should keep that old shotgun. We don’t need the notoriety and you just revel in it. We’ll never get people to move out here now.”
Cyndia slammed her hands on the table as she pushed herself up. “If I hadn’t called the cops, we wouldn’t have found the Millers until they started decomposing!” She stormed out the patio door.
The late morning sunshine thawed her skin. Being a moody teenager had its advantages; Mrs. Baton didn’t follow her to the back yard to continue the tirade. Probably calling her case worker to tattle on the latest insolence.
She walked to the bench set next to the hedge blocking the yard from the trees. The lake lapped slightly with the breeze, so she watched the ripples kiss the shore that touched the yard. She was tired, up all night, answering the questions of detectives who doubted her judgment. Well-read detectives, one hadn’t liked it at all when she said Inspector Lestrade was mentally quicker and Inspector Japp had better manners.
Her pointy chin rested on her knees. He hadn’t been wearing a mask or make-up. She was ready to swear to that in court.
A bright light hit the back of the house like a camera flash. Paparazzi already? Shouldn’t they still be taking pictures of the Millers’ house? She stood up to look. All that was beyond the hedge was the still heavily wooded area not cleared for house. And the silver dome that had ballooned among them.
Anything that doesn’t fit the pattern must be investigated. Cyndia pushed through the gap in the hedge into the park.
The tall trees filtered the sunlight. The underbrush was kept cut down to prevent anyone not buying because it is unattractive. The silver dome was actually a life-sized, flying saucer right from a faked UFO picture. She touched the smooth surface. It felt like a car, only thicker. It was parked at the edge of the trees and an open patch. She pressed against the metal and it didn’t dent. Thicker than a car.
Something flickered. The silver metal vanished, leaving trees everywhere. But the saucer was still here, she could feel the smooth metal under her fingers. A sliver of light cut the trees. She ran her hand along the saucer, moving closer to it. It was a door with a ramp to the ground. Cyndia walked up the ramp. Too bad I don’t have a camera.
Inside was a normal-sized room, an office desk, a couple of seats bolted to the floor around the desk, two doors leading away from this room. Except for the stark metal and lack of decoration, it could be anybody’s office. “So much for exotic alien technology.”
The door slid shut behind her. Cyndia jumped. No buttons, no doorknob, no movement no matter how hard she waved her arms. “Abduction is a federal offense around here!”
Another door opened and an orange blob slithered out. Cyndia didn’t back away from it. “Let me out now!”
The orange blob moved faster than she gave it credit—straight for her. She threw herself to roll away, but the orange grabbed her before she hit the ground. She beat her fist, but it was hitting Jell-O. Warm Jell-O, tough Jell-O that didn’t break, covering her head. Her lungs burned.
Something hard pressed against the back of her neck and it stung. Suffocated by a giant alien jelly fish? At least that wasn’t a demise predicted by all those mysteries.
The orange pulled back from her face. Cyndia inhaled before pushing against the orange blob again. “Let me go! Let me go!”
It was saying something; at least she thought the sounds coming from it were supposed to be talk. It finished pulling away, and she landed on the floor.
Cyndia rolled to her hands and feet, and stood up.
The blob was keeping his distance now, continuously making those noises. He was changing shape, forming legs and arms and a head.
Having a head to yell at clicked something in her head. “Who the hell do you think you are? What the hell did you do to me? Who the hell are you? What the hell are you doing here?” Her fists balled up.
The head had a face on it now, a human face in orange Jell-O. And he was stilling twilling and chortling at her. Fists were effective earlier. She folded her arms over her chest. “I want out. Let me out.” I can be reasonable despite what Mrs. Baton says. “Let me out right now.” Oh this was hopeless, he obviously didn’t understand English. “They leave the language barrier out of tabloid stories.”
“Twilt… sorry. I am sorry for the incursion. It was the only way to mitigate communication. The nanobots should have established a link by now.”
Cyndia grabbed the back of her neck. She could see something metal floating inside his orange body. “You put robots in me!”
“Tiny ones.” The orange, translucent lips smiled.” “Otherwise, we could not speak. They translate. It is common practice when you have not time to learn the language.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Murdock. I am an IGA agent. Inter-Galactic Agency for the Apprehension of Felons and the Investigation of Criminal Activities,” he added.
“You’re an alien police officer?”
“For all purposes, yes. And you are?”
“Cyndia Taeurs. Why are you here?”
“I am tracking an escapee. IGA did not anticipate his coming to such an insular planet.” Murdock moved to his desk. “The ship crashed twenty-five kilometers from here. This is the closest population center.”
Cyndia felt the hair on her arms prickle. “What did he do?”
“He murdered,” Murdock glanced at her, “whole families.”
“The Millers.” She bit her lip. “Do you have a mug shot?”
“Mug… shot… are you thirsty?”
“No, it’s a picture used to identify people when they’ve been arrested.”
“Ah,” he turned to what looked like a laptop computer on the desk. “This is Thestern. He is an Odrichan.”
A figure rotated on the screen. A blue humanoid, his torso and head covered in feathers, his legs lost the feathers to hard scales and webbed feet. “I knew it wasn’t make-up!”
“What? You have seen him?”
“Last night on my porch. He killed the Millers.”
“What!”
“He must be a serial killer to feel the need to kill right after crashing here. I kept telling the cops it wasn’t a mask or make-up.” She looked away when the figure turned his orange eyes away.
“I must see the crime scene. Thestern may have left clues.”
“Lots of luck, it’s still roped off. That and our front porch. Even though forensics finished last night. I didn’t even get to see them work, so busy trying to make me change my statement.” Cyndia uncrossed her arms. “How about becoming a house plant or something?”
The brow ridge over Murdock’s eye hollows lifted. “I can create the shape. Provided it is the same mass. But I cannot change my coloration.”
“Well so much for the sneak you in idea.”
“Is it possible to sneak in?”
“I happen to know that the locks on the Millers’ kitchen window are broken. I just boosted Harry through it last week when he got locked out.” She stared at the revolving blue figure. “He was only ten.”
Murdock didn’t turn his head; the facial features slid across it to look at Thestern’s revolving image and back up to her face. “Is this who you saw?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down. Tell me what happened.” He turned off the laptop.
The chair in front of the desk was surprisingly comfortable. He settled behind the desk and listened as she went over last night one more time. How she had just gotten up and saw Thestern through the window. How she and the cops found the blood, the footprint, and the Millers. How the cops and Mr. Gregory had to pry Mrs. Gregory off of her. He only interrupted to ask what a certain word she had used really meant. Completely different from the grilling last night, and she appreciated that.
“You have an excellent grasp of essential details and a concise recall of them.”
“Thanks. This is only the five hundredth time going over it. And I haven’t even been interviewed by the press yet.”
“Press?”
“Reporters, journalists.”
“I understand.” He had a really good disgusted expression for a mass of orange. “You speak very knowledgably about these crimes. Are you in law enforcement?”
“No, I’m too young. I’m a mystery junkie. It’s something special, to be the detective, to be able to see what nobody else can. They’re the only ones who want to help people these days. Sure, they get paid—‘cause they got to eat too—but it ain’t compensation for the trouble they go through.” She glanced at his expression and suddenly felt warm all over. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you my whole treatise on the subject.”
“On the converse, it is very illuminating. You may be the best qualified person to help me. Thestern will kill again just as he did on Odricha 4.” Murdock moved from the desk. His bottom half hadn’t made legs and he moved across the room like a slug.
“Wait a minute,” Cyndia followed him to the door. “I’m qualified ‘cause I like mysteries?”
“And you stayed and talked rather than running and screaming.”
“Oh. So what do you want me to do?”
The door led to a curving hallway. The first door on the right opened into a small storage room.
“I have to see the crime scene. Since I cannot go personally, I need you to deliver my robot eyes.” He reached into a bin on a chest-high shelf and pulled out a cylinder as long as her arm. “All I need you to do is put this in the house and press this button.” It was the only button on the top of the cylinder. “Let it back out and it will return to the saucer.”
“Kind of big for a flying camera, isn’t it?”
“It has scanning capabilities as well. Not as advanced as a coronerbot, but it will suffice. Will you do this?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll be Archie Goodwin to your Nero Wolfe.” Cyndia took the cylinder.
“Who are you talking about?”
“More fiction, Nero Wolfe is a detective who never left his house so he hired Archie to do all the leg work. Works for us, right?”
“I submit to your superior knowledge of the stories. You best go now.”
Cyndia left the hidden spaceship. She hugged the cylinder to her chest. Aliens and alien cops, and she was helping in a real investigation! The house was dark; no crisis in the subdivision was going to interrupt Mrs. Baton’s regular routine. Good thing, Cyndia didn’t want to deal with her.
A peek through the front door window revealed nothing amiss in the neighborhood, and more importantly, no cops at the Millers. She skirted around the end of the fence that didn’t reach the bank of the lake, and was in the Millers’ back yard. The rope ladder up to Harry and Frank’s tree house swayed. Margaret was too little to climb up it. Cyndia swallowed hard, and trotted up to the smallest window facing the back yard.
The sink right under the window inside was dry. She set the cylinder in it, and pressed the button. Lights flashed along the sides. It lifted up and bobbed through the kitchen, heading toward their living room. Cyndia wiggled loose from the window sill and dropped to the ground. Her knee banged against the siding.
She sat down with her back against the house and rubbed her knee. Robots might be a way to go with forensics. You could program them to be impartial, but could you program them to think of everything?
“Hey!” The shout jerked Cyndia to the present.
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