The Devil and the Detective Read Online Free

The cab came to $24.45, but I got a receipt, because I’m on a case. Even though I was in love with Elaine Andrews, I thought, I still had to charge for expenses, though I’d of course buy her the odd drink, and perhaps even dinner sometime. I hope she calls today, I thought, while lying on the couch, with my eyes closed, determined to sleep some more, determined to escape my hangover, and then I fell asleep for a few more hours.
    When I woke up, I poured some juice, drank several glasses, and then I got into the shower. The washroom filled with steam while I washed and repeated fragments of conversation I’d had with Elaine silently in my head, though occasionally out loud. Elaine still hadn’t called. I wondered again why. I must’ve embarrassed myself, I thought. I must’ve told her that I love her, I thought, told her that I love her on the day, not the day after or the day after that day, but on the day her husband was found on the couch with a knife in his chest. I exposed my loathsomeness, after several Scotches, to Elaine Andrews, I thought, in all its grotesquerie. ‘What a stupid thing to do,’ I said. The water was hot and the washroom filled with steam while I clutched my head under the near-scalding water. She’d told me about her love for her now-dead husband and I responded by saying, ‘I love you,’ though she spoke French, so I might’ve even said something as stupid as ‘ Je t’aime, ’ I thought, as I stood under the hot water in the steam-filled washroom while clutching my head. ‘ Je t’aime, ’ I said. ‘ Je t’aime, mon amour. ’ Though I might not have said anything, I thought. I might’ve been on my best behaviour, and acted gentlemanly, even though I love her. Perhaps because I love her, I thought, I acted gentlemanly. I thought hard, hoping that I’d behaved gentlemanly, while I finished my shower in the near-scalding water.
    â€˜The phonebook,’ I said. I knew her address – 19 Tower Street – so the phonebook ! (If I didn’t drink, I thought, perhaps I’d be a better detective.) Under a small pile of books sat my stack of phonebooks. I searched my most up-to-date phonebook and sure enough, under her name – not Gerald’s – was their number. I wrote it down on a yellow Post-it and stuck the note beside the phone. I wondered what I would say. I wondered how to engage her. I wondered if I should begin by apologizing for drinking so much while on a case. I’ll tell her I won’t drink for the rest of the case, I thought. Until this case is finished, I will no longer drink, though that might be a difficult promise to keep, for it’s impossible to know for certain how long a case will go on for; many remain unsolved, as I’ve said already, and then there’s no end … I stared at the number and thought about dialing, and what I’d say, what I’d say to Elaine, when she answered. There’s no need to feel embarrassed, I thought. Your job’s to solve a case, not to worry about how you’re perceived.
    I decided to record the conversation for my records. I set up my recording device and tested it before calling Elaine. I called a local florist and asked how much it’d cost to send a bouquet of flowers to 19 Tower Street. The florist, who was a woman, a woman of approximately fifty, I guessed, though I was probably wrong, asked me what kind of bouquet I was looking to send and I said I was looking to spend around twenty dollars. She said, ‘For delivery, you have to spend a minimum of forty dollars.’ So I said, ‘Okay, for forty, what could I get?’ She asked me what was the occasion and I said I wasn’t quite sure and then she asked me if it was for a wedding or a funeral or just because and I hesitated and then said just because. She told me that for forty dollars they’d put together a very lovely bouquet, a