Deaf
A mask of silence covered the nerve center of San Francisco, and the sun was emerging from behind wispy white curtains to an empty theater. Inspector Hieu Trang wondered how another day of COVID-19 would unfold. Ammonia disinfectant on the floor twisted his nose, and five minutes into moving office files around and assembling them into piles to persuade himself there was some order, his cell phone vibrated.
“Inspector Trang, I have a caller saying he has information about the unsolved bay murder. Want to talk to him?”
Hieu said yes and waited for the connection.
“Hello. This is Inspector Trang, Homicide. Who is calling?”
“I have information about the murder, but I want to remain anonymous. You the detective in charge?”
“I’m working on the case. You can talk to me.”
Hieu looked up at the city and county calendar and clock. It was May 7, 2020, 30 minutes past eight.
“Check out bmichaels on Discord. Bye.”
Hieu called Larry Leahy, Lead Inspector, the 60-year-old who had begun Hieu's training a little more than a year ago. James Haggerty, San Francisco’s Police Chief, had berated Hieu on the last case for not discovering and interviewing a key witness in a felony murder trial before the trial had begun. Hieu's training period had ended before the reprimand. Larry usually picked Hieu over the others, and this was their seventh joint murder investigation. It was the sixth where Hieu made the mistake, and now he was fired up, anxious to do this case the right way, prove himself worthy again, and save face in front of 300 competing inspectors.
“Larry, can I come see you?”
“Uh huh. What’s going on, Hieu?”
“I got a call on Case Number 23. I’ll bring my laptop.”
The thirty-one-year-old walked in and squeezed out a smile.
Larry sat back and said, “When I asked Haggerty if you could join me on this case, you know what he said? ‘You love him, don’t you?’ My legs stiffened, but people who have little to say like Haggerty, except to yell, are never happy. You’ve learned to let people talk and talk some more and get themselves into a hole.”
“Yeah, you told me that, Larry.”
As Hieu dragged his chair next to Larry’s, the balding veteran said, “He's on my case because two months have passed since we learned the identity of the man in the bay. So, what did you learn?”
Hieu opened his laptop and logged into Discord. “The tipster said to check out bmichaels.”
“Who?”
Hieu entered the name into the search box, and up came the blog.
Together they read the most recent entry.
Bmichaels Yesterday at 5:15 PM
Today my boyfriend and I had an argument on the phone, but I called him back and we made up. I posted another pic of myself on Instagram. The last one got 200 hearts. Thank you, guys.
Anonymous Yesterday at 5:16 PM
Why don’t you ever post a pic of your boyfriend?
Bmichaels Yesterday at 5:17 PM
He’s traveling.
Anonymous Yesterday at 5:19 PM
How can he be? We are under lockdown. The last pic was you kissing a different guy. You shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing, and he should drop you. What kind of girlfriend are you? Discord’s loose lounge lizard. Maybe he is MIA.
Bmichaels Yesterday at 5:21 PM
We are healthy, and I’ll take a picture of him when he returns.
“What is all this?” Larry asked.
“I don’t know. The entry said something about a missing guy.”
“We don’t even know who these people are.”
Hieu answered, “Let’s keep reading. The tipster said look at this blog. Discord is like other chat rooms, and you never know what you’ll find. Haggerty wants this case solved, and so far, all we know is the dead man's name and that he was a local radio announcer.”
Bmichaels 05/05/2020
Men and women should be free to experiment even if they are in a committed relationship. I know my boyfriend has fooled around. He never listens to my side. He’s so quick to judge.
Anonymous 05/05/2020
People who don’t like something in their own personality will accuse someone else of the thing they don’t like about themselves! It's called transference.
Bmichaels 05/04/2020
Here are some pics my boyfriend took of me late this morning…right after we woke up. Let’s see if this gets more likes than the last one.
Anonymous 05/04/20
Why do you pose naked? Do you really think he wants your ugly images sent around the world so perverts can whack off? When a guy searches for what he can jerk off to, are you hoping he sees you? You’re sick. I’d rather look at a guy with a dirty pink shirt pulled up over imaginary titties than at you. And it’s not Whack-Off Wednesday, dear. One of these days, “someone” is gonna do something terrible to you. Watch out!
Bmichaels 05/03/2020
I’m offering a rechargeable g-spot butterfly vibrator that warms up and has 10 vibration modes. Good for women and couples. Only $20. Better than Amazon.
Anonymous 05/03/2020
I’ve seen cheaper ones. What about your boyfriend? Is he using one of those new pink ones? Does he frequent Chaturbate when he’s supposedly traveling, and who does he favor—women, couples, or men???? Why doesn’t he post????
Bmichaels 05/03/2020
I have more than 15,000 followers. My highest rated posts are on food, clothes shopping, children’s toys, and family. My Jimmy Choo shoes pic linked my Instagram and it got tons of hearts. I just want to thank you for buying my products. You know the most important person in my life is my boyfriend.
Anonymous 05/03/2020
Superficial glutton. Shoes, shoes, shoes.
Bmichaels 05/03/2020
My boyfriend is a successful radio sports announcer. He is local, so if you live in the Bay Area, you’ve heard him. Ironic, isn’t it, he speaks for a living and I’m deaf.
Anonymous 05/03/2020
Too bad you can’t hear him on the radio. He’s terrible and howls like a mad wolf.
Bmichaels 05/03/2020
I have more Instagram pics on Gigi Hadid, my idol. Some people say I look like Beverly Michaels, movie star of the 50’s. My boyfriend says I do.
“That’s it. Successful radio announcer. It’s Brock Rocket, our man in the bay,” Hieu shouted. “Please hand me the file.”
“Trial?”
“No, Larry, the file.”
Larry sifted his pile, opened the manila folder, and read the report, while Hieu listened.
“Body found March 28, 2020. Name – Brock Rocket, DOB 7/10/1993. Address – 48 Genoa Place, San Francisco, Ca. Height: 5'11. Weight: 175 pounds. First interview: we interviewed the person who found the body, Terry Rocket, brother. He wanted to visit Our Lady of Lourdes Church – that’s the corner of Hawes Street and Innes Avenue, Hieu – but the gate was closed, and he walked a little further to India Basin Shoreline Park, in violation of the shelter-in-place order. You asked, ‘Why were you violating the shelter-in-place order?’ ‘Itchy feet. Cabin-fever.’ You asked, ‘What did you see?’ ‘The body lying on top of rocks. It looked sort of mummified. That’s when I called 9-1-1.’ The call came in at one thirty-four in the afternoon. We judged Terry Rocket to be telling the truth. The medical examiner’s report is the next page. Ligature marks on the neck were observed but no other discernible evidence of foul play. No fingerprints due to submersion. Body found dressed in partially disintegrated clothing and observable women's panties."
Larry started laughing.
Hieu said grimly, “We need to call Terry Rocket and find out more from him. He didn’t say anything about the blog we just read. It will take too much time to get a court order to force Discord to release information about the blogger. Interviewing Terry a second time is our best shot. I listened to Brock Rocket’s radio show a few times, and what I remember is his howling. Callers were in an uproar.”
On a hunch Hieu googled werewolves and found a rare disease called lycanthropic intermetamorphosis, which he had to pronounce three times. “Rare psychiatric disorder of delusions and hallucinations leading a person to believe he has become, or is becoming, a wolf." Hieu looked over his cell phone at Larry and said, "What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t even believe his real name was Rocket." Larry looked in the report, handed Hieu the file, and pointed at Terry's cell phone number.
Hieu called. “Mr. Rocket, this is Inspector Trang. Thank you for coming in to see us and giving us information about your brother. However, you left something out. You didn’t mention a blogger talking about a successful radio announcer.”
“What?”
“Your brother was a radio announcer. The blog says he’s been missing. Yep, he’s missing all right...he’s dead.”
“I don’t know anything about a blog.”
“Yes, you do. Either you tell me now, or I’ll come to your house and do this in person.”
Hieu could hear something like a yelp. It was queer, so queer he felt his grip on the phone tighten, causing him to look at Larry, whose mug registered curiosity—sympathy—homage, all at the same time.
Larry whispered, “How’d you know what Discord could give us?”
Larry thinks I’m pretty awesome, Hieu thought.
“Tell me what you know about the blog, Mr. Rocket.”
“Nothing.”
“What is the real name of bmichaels?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you Anonymous?”
“No.”
“So…you read it!”
“So what? I don’t know this woman.”
“You do. She was Brock’s girlfriend!”
“I...didn’t know her very well.”
“You did. If you don’t tell me who she is, I will be ringing your doorbell.”
Come on. Give me what I need.
“All right. Her name is Rachel Spillane. I met her a few times.”
“Where?”
“At Brock’s place.”
“What’s her address?”
“I have to look it up.”
“Give it to me now.”
“748 Innes.”
“Thank you. Be available and don’t leave town. Good-bye.”
“We have the address.” Hieu shut the laptop.
In the lobby, he blew Larry a kiss, their way of getting going. Charity, the police services aide, saw it. Arching pleats in her forehead they had seen before, but this time she said, “You fags.”
“Our garage stinks. It needs a good washing. Maybe it will get one – it should,” Larry said loudly. “This case has been like climbing a tree without spikes.”
“When was the last time anyone saw you hanging from a tree?”
They sat in Larry’s red Chevy Equinox and searched for the building, not an easy thing to do from the front seat in a city with tiny address plates often covered by vines. Hieu was thinking about the error in Case Number 22, the one in which he had failed to interview a key witness, and now he had goofed again. He had forgotten to ask for the phone number of the blogger, Rachel, and they would be lucky if Rachel was home, but pressing forward with an in-person interview was better than a phone interview anyway. A cold drop of sweat stabbed his armpit.
"An electrical cord was used to kill our man in the bay," Larry said, "but we have no witnesses."
The building was gray and anemic red, street level glass block, industrial-looking, architecture-less, like every new residence in the city.
Hieu spoke into the car radio, “2222. Show me as 1020 for 748 Innes. Hold me out as primary.” It was 10:35, and because his pistol was tucked away, his back hurt a little.
The odor of valiant efforts to remove pollutants like machine oil that had been deposited by the Navy before the shipyard was closed lingered in the warming air. Hieu smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in a grey pin-stripe suit, pocketed his sunglasses, and rang the doorbell.
They were buzzed in as if Rachel Spillane expected guests.
Larry twitched. “That sound hurts my ears.”
“Are they working?” Hieu asked.
Like an old lady, Larry whispered, “The hearing aids are tiny," and he touched his right ear and said, “I’ll turn the volume down and stand by here in the lobby.”
“Keep your fingers crossed,” Hieu said, pointing to the lobby camera aimed at the front door.
“Yeah, that’s it, give her your Hollywood smile and bronzed movie star face.”
Hieu walked through a long hall dimly brightened by glare coming from the lobby and a few wall sconces.
He couldn't see Larry anymore and knocked.
Nothing happened.
He remembered and pressed the doorbell.
The door opened.
She stood, statuesque, dazzling platinum hair, a silver dagger-like pendant nestled between bosomy magnificence, dressed in a short indigo-blue leather jacket over a floor-length blue and white striped number. And she wore a face mask. Hieu quickly withdrew his own and placed it over his mouth and nose, yet he could smell Daisy Eau So...something, the same perfume used by his wife.
“Good morning. Who are you?”
He flashed his badge and said, “I’m Inspector Trang. I’m investigating a disappearance.”
“Nice to meet you. What does it have to do with me?”
“Were you expecting someone?"
"Not really, but you'll do."
"May I come in?”
“Of course, Inspector,” she said, as if she already knew him.
A handful of hot pink fingernails encrusted with jewels grasped his hand firmly. She turned in ebullient fashion, swirls of platinum topping her head like a dollop of whipped cream on a gin fizz.
Lighting from table lamps opened a small world into her life. Hieu estimated her to be 135 pounds and 5’6. A bleach blond Medusa flashed across his mind. A Persian red runner lined up nicely against a brushed gray silk couch that looked like an ice cube covered in dust.
On the couch was a brown and gold Louis Vuitton and sticking out of it was the head of a chihuahua. When it bared itsy-bitsy teeth, gold ribbons on both ears danced, and then the pooch smiled.
“Please have a seat. I think Goldie likes you. You can remove your mask. I'm removing mine.”
Hieu slid around on the couch until his feet were firmly planted and pulled the mask down below his chin.
She stuffed the dagger pendant down, as if to hide something.
“I might seem a bit overdressed, but you never know who might stop by.”
During COVID-19 lock-down?
Hieu said, “I know it may seem odd, but I don’t know your name.”
“Rachel. What’s your first name?” she asked.
“Hieu.”
He thought her better than an ice cream split as she bent over and anointed his nose with a kiss that could extinguish a burning match.
It’s my line of work to do what I do.
“Hieu,” she said, as she sat down between him and the chihuahua and picked up a pink beverage, “I’ve been drinking sweet Kool-Aid, but now I need something to marshmallow me. I get very romantic when there’s a wee bit of alcohol...lipstick to my lips, making them moist and sweet.”
They seem pretty moist to me, and her red lips can’t get any hotter than my face.
“What do you drink?” Hieu asked.
“What do I think?”
“No, what do you drink?”
She started laughing, and he joined in her mirth.
When she had regained some composure, she said, “Proseco mixed with vodka and a little coconut milk to smother the smell.”
“Would you like me to make it for you?”
“Yes. You’re such a gentleman.”
Hieu got up and walked around legs exposed now by a long, long slit. He patted the doggie. The wet bar was next to the computer table, and as he got closer, he saw the hearing aid. It was identical to Larry’s.
A bottle of Proseco sat in a silver bucket of melting ice, and two antique-cut glasses signaled her intentions. The milk container lay against the liquor bottle. He held it up and said, “How much coconut?”
“More than a thimble, dear. Use the shot glass. Please fix yourself one and put two striped straws into the glasses…one for me and one for you.”
Hieu did, but his intentions were different, handed her the glass, sat down, and slid a coaster in front of himself.
“What’s your last name, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Spillane.”
“Where is Brock?”
“Pardon me? Oh, you’re interested in both of us?” she asked.
The first admission.
“No. I just wondered about Brock. The situation here makes me a little nervous.”
“You’re so boyish, and I like that. He won’t be here. Can I tell you something?”
Now we're getting somewhere.
Her head hung low. “I have this blog. A reader is bothering me, and it scares me.”
“What did he say?”
“He said someone is going to hurt me.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
She grimaced.
“He came here once.”
“What? You know who he is?”
Hieu could see her dark roots.
“Yes.”
“Did something happen?”
“Yes. He was into kink.”
“What kind?”
“He wanted to strangle me. He said it got him aroused. I refused to go along with it. He put his big hands around my neck and tightened his grip. I kicked him in the groin with my knee, and he doubled-up. I ran into the living room and shouted, ‘I’m calling Brock, and he’s right next door.’ He left all bent over. I slammed the door and locked it. I listened for his footsteps.”
“He left the building?”
“Oh yes he did…yes he did. I started crying, but Goldie came to me and licked my face over and over. She’s my only real friend. I hope you’re not that kind of man.” She lifted her head and said, “Are you?”
“No, I’m a real nice guy. My badge is real, Rachel. Did you report him to the police?”
“No, I can’t do that. They wouldn’t believe me.”
That’s crap.
Hieu caught a glimpse of a Ruger 9MM Pink Frame Alum Slide, poised next to Goldie.
“Did you kill Brock?”
“What? What did you just say? Of course, not. I love Brock. You better leave.”
“I'm not leaving. I see the pink gun. Stand up. You're under arrest for murder.”
“Murder? I have a permit for the gun. I can show it to you. The gun is for protection, not color, you bastard.”
“You're lying. Stand up.”
Hieu was now standing over her, she looking up in disbelief.
“This will make you look like a fool, and your name will be in the news...because I will call the radio station where Brock works.”
Hieu hesitated. Again, he had jumped to a conclusion too quickly. Brock was killed by a cord.
He said, “The radio station where he used to work.”
What would Larry do?
He sat down next to her.
She moved closer to Goldie and the pink gun.
“Uh, you said Brock disappeared. Was that after the kinky man?”
“No, no. Brock is travelling. Busy man.” She giggled.
The sudden mood change is weird.
“You know what his last name is? Rocket! And is he a rocket! And he's boyish just like you.”
Her pearl white teeth and creamy complexion re-gleamed.
I couldn't compete with a guy named Rocket.
“Do you expect him to return?” Hieu asked.
“I don’t really know.”
“Do you think something happened to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you worried?”
“Yes, but I have to stay positive...and here you are.”
They chatted for a while, and she asked a lot of questions, like where Hieu grew up, if he was married, what he did in his free time, and she warmed up again. Hieu had some lies to tell, all primed in Larry’s car on the way to Innes. All the time he was thinking about dead Brock.
She said, “My mother died when I was five and my sister was six. My father sent us to a Catholic boarding school for girls. The nuns tried to comfort me, but I felt abandoned. My sister’s a hearing person, you know.”
She pulled out a long silver pin and platinum curls cascaded down and touched the couch back. Immediately, Hieu felt something oddly theatrical about the apartment, as if everything had been staged, her face too heavily made up and hair too fantastic, the dagger pendant glinting menacingly, the kiss and concocted drinks, and the pink gun...was it a prop? A golden pot full of hot-house black roses hanging above her intensified the unnatural setting.
“The roses are...beautiful.”
“What about me?”
“I like the jeweled Buddha on the table.”
“Are you Buddhist?” she said, reaching over and stroking Buddha’s feet, which were tucked up against his tummy.
“Yes.”
“That’s nice. Buddhism has a way of calming even the most stressed person. I get stressed over lots of things, like my beautiful handicap. It adds to the lure. If you look over there, you can see the cord that runs from the doorbell under the rug and loops over to that speaker on the wall and my hearing aid, which reminds me, I took it out for you. You’re so interesting.”
“You’re doing pretty well without it.”
“I'm a pretty normal girl.”
“Yes,” he said.
“So, what about the disappearance you're investigating?”
The doorbell rang.
Rachel looked.
“I’ll get that.”
“Thank you, Hieu. Who could it be?”
His legs felt like noodles, but he managed to get to the door.
“Oh, hi…Hank," he said. It was Larry.
Hieu looked at Rachel and said, “It’s my friend. Can he join us?”
“Who is he?” She grabbed the curls, piled them back on her head, and stuck the long silver pin in.
At that moment, Hieu noticed that the looping electrical cord mentioned by Rachel had been cut.
He pulled back the carpet, and there it was, a missing length of cord the same length as the one used to strangle Brock.
Hieu turned, marched over to the couch, and said, “Rachel Spillane, stand up, you’re under arrest for the murder of Brock Rocket.”
Her face turned whiter than the hair curls.
“How did you figure it out?”
The second admission.
“Why did you do it?”
Hieu pulled out his handcuffs and said, “Take off the watch.”
She complied.
The beautiful sound of handcuffs snapping shut sent a chill up his back.
“Why did you do it?" Hieu asked again.
“You don’t know what it was like living with Brock. He beat me more than once and threatened me when I told him I wouldn’t stop posting on Discord. Did you know he used to have these weird episodes where he believed himself to be a wolf?”
Hieu listened, anxious to finish it.
“I never put that on my blog because I knew how ashamed he was. No matter what you think of me, I did know how to respect boundaries.”
“Whose? His or yours?”
“If you go to his house, you’ll find a log with an ax in it. When the fit was on him, he used to stand there and hack at the log. Growling all the time. I couldn’t hear him, but I would catch the spittle gathering in the corners of his lips. At first, it was a bit of a turn-on, but do you know what it is like to share a bed and walk around my apartment with someone like that when you are deaf? On that awful, awful day, he threatened me and chased me around the room with his hunting knife. He fell and hit his head on the coffee table. It knocked him unconscious. I couldn’t take it anymore. Don’t you see…he would’ve killed me.”
Hieu said sternly, “You had options.”
“Can I take Goldie?”
“No. The dog will be looked after. Head for the door and don’t look back.”
Larry called Central in the dim hallway and reported an arrest had been made.
They waited for a squad car. A breeze had kicked up, blowing away the smell of pollutants, and Hieu watched Larry adjust and readjust his hearing aids.
“These damn things whistle when the wind blows.”
After Rachel had been whisked away, Hieu and Larry got into the Chevy.
“I rang the doorbell because I got anxious about all the time that had passed. You were in there for an hour.”
“Stroke of luck, Larry. I didn’t see the cord until you came in. She could hear me just fine without the hearing aid. I think her strategy was to include Brock in these trysts with other men or women to attract the kind who had never been with a deaf woman and boyfriend as a pair of sex partners, and he didn’t want to join in.”
“So, how did she do it and why?”
“The ligature marks came from the looping cord connected to the doorbell, running under the carpet, and dividing, one section going to her wall amplifier and one to her hearing aid, which I saw on the computer table. She said Brock went after her with a knife and she killed him.”
A couple of minutes passed.
“How could she have moved a dead body two blocks?”
Larry answered, “Maybe she had help.”
Hieu looked directly at him and said, “Before Rachel killed Brock, she had a visitor. The visitor was Anonymous on the Discord blog, and he became violent. We had a tipster, and he wanted to remain anonymous.”
Suddenly, the vivid sensations that he had felt in her apartment returned. “There’s the camera in the lobby. We can check that to see who helped her move the body. Larry, what if Anonymous and the tipster are the same person? What if he's the man she invited back to her apartment to help move Brock to the bay? Why would she be seeking help from the man who put his hands around her neck, the man who caused so much fear?”
“Hieu, I know how being hard-of-hearing can amplify fear. If I’m called as a witness at her trial, the jury will get an earful.”
