Enter…The Ghoul Squad–Part IVb: Anenome

Ghoul Squad Roll Call:

Ritchie Sauces
Amy Greathouse (treasurer)

Richie and I took a taxicab (driven by a delightful Yugoslavian man, I
recall) to Dickie’s apartment. I don’t drive and Richie only had a
unicycle for transport. Sitting in the cab with him, I felt uneasy
and attempted to lighten the mood with a little small talk. (Nowadays
I wouldn’t feel comfortable in a football stadium with R.S, but back
then he was much less unsettling)

“Soooo. . . .”, I said, fumbling for the next sentence. “Do you think
Serious is guilty?”

“I don’t know. I mean, those crazy statements he made in chemisty
class were pretty incriminating. “
“You were in that class?”
“Yes. Dickie and I are lab partners in organic chemistry. It’s even
possible that it was Dickie that made that recording that Drummond
had. He tapes all of our classes.”
“You and Dickie are lab partners?” I asked, silently musing about
Drummond’s lack of care regarding conflicts of interest. However, he
was the trained professional, and I only a recently sworn in associate
of the law. . . . I decided to switch to an area I had more expertise
in. “This whole glowing hand thing is interesting. Perhaps I could
examine the crime scene for traces of ectoplasm.”

“Hmm.” This seemed to interest Ritchie.

I was more than surprised when we reached our destination―Dickie’s
apartment was in a building well known to me! It was once the
residence of the notorious dark magician Luce Hadden. My opinion at
the time was that he was nothing more than a charlatan, but my view
changed drastically afterwards.
We entered the elderly elevator and were greeted by an equally elderly
man and a young Japanese woman. They were both in elevator operator
uniforms.
“I hope you don’t mind,” the older man began “but I’m training a new
employee today. Would it be all right if Yuka served as your elevator
operator today? I can assure you she’s been through all of the
required classes. She has an internship at the 株式会社そごう department
store coming up this summer. And I will be present at all times. But
if you’re not comfortable with that arrangement, I would be happy to
transport you myself.”
“No, that’s fine.” I said. I thought it quite unusual to see an
elevator operator in the first place, but I do so enjoy the idea of an
elevator operator, if you understand me.
“And is it all right with you, sir?” he asked Ritchie.
Ritchie stood thinking for 20 seconds or so thinking before replying: “Ok.”
“What floor please?” Yuka asked, looking a little uncertain.
The elevator moved in a laborious and creaky fashion to the 13th floor.
“I hear that some buildings are featuring self-serve elevators.”
Ritchie ventured. The older man barely controlled a shudder.
“Yes, well. Each building needs to do what it feels is best for its
patrons.” he said diplomatically. Ritchie whistled the chorus to
Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush until we reached our destination.
Ritchie tipped both elevator operators, something that would never
have occurred to me to do. It goes to show that he once was the sole
of gracious behavior―which makes his current demeanor that much more
shocking!
While Dickie’s apartment was as lavishly decorated as I would have
expected, it was fairly small. Dickie greeted us saying, “I’m really
sorry, I’m in the middle of something very important. Can you wait in
the living room for a few minutes?”
As we waited, I looked around a little and thought out loud.
“Well, there’s nothing that looks terribly incriminating. But then, I
wouldn’t know what to look for. And he’s had time to dispose of
anything suspicious. I see no signs of paranormal activity, either.”
“I don’t think so, either” said Ritchie. “It looks pretty much the
same as it did last time I was here.”
“You were here before?” I asked incredulously. And more than a
little annoyed. Ritchie seemed to always be revealing some choice
tidbit that turned every one of my assertions upside-down! “You
never mentioned that you were lab partners with Dickie or that you
were in Serious’ chemistry class. You never mentioned that you’d been
to this apartment before. Is there anything else that you haven’t
told me?”
Ritchie thought for a moment and replied. “I’m interested in
milkmaids?” he asked, even though it wasn’t a question.
I ignored his aberrant statement. I have to admit that I was starting
to become a little impatient. “What were you doing here anyway?”
“Dickie is my lab partner in organic chemistry. We were … experimenting.”
I looked around the room. Nothing at all appeared to indicate that
young Dickie knew a beaker from a turnip. There were a lot of wrinkly
prints of young men body builders on the wall. Perhaps the two of
them were working on developing some health tonics?
“I don’t see any chemicals or lab equipment around. What on earth
were you experimenting with?”
Ritchie looked up at me* and looked as if he was about to answer.
After about 25 seconds, when I had assumed that he was going to ignore
my question, he responded in a slow, deliberate tone that he often
used.
“We were experimenting … (a long pause here) …. with …
chemistry.” I briefly considered this to be a euphemism for some
dicey activities—but before I could respond, Dickie entered the
room.
“Sorry”, he said. I’ve been trying to reach level 9 for days now. I
finally cracked it!” He had been making us wait while he was playing
a computer game! I muttered under my breath something about his
ancestry which may or may not have been true but was certainly
impolite.
He offered us kumquat-flavoured sodas** and politely answered our
questions. Ritchie proved to be a rather effective interviewer.
Dickie’s description of the backstage activities agreed with Serious’
and Harriet’s accounts. (I didn’t know that at the time, of course,
but learned it after we returned and assembled all of our facts
together.) He said that he thought that he had seen both security
guards before, but he wasn’t sure where. What was more important was
what he said happened after they left the back stage area.
“After we left, my mom said she left something behind. She returned
backstage to get it. It was 3 or 4 minutes. Then she returned, a
little flushed and we left.”
“So you didn’t see a glowing gloved hand or anything like that?” Ritchie asked.
“Well, yes.” Dickie said, surprised. “I saw a glowing gloved hand
messing around with the stage curtains. I just assumed that it was a
prop.” Note: Bulldog had determined that there was no prop
resembling a glowing gloved hand.
In the cab back, I asked Ritchie, “I feel his story about his mother
to be a bit weak and convenient. Do you think HE shot Harriet and is
setting his mother up?”
“Maybe.” Ritchie considered. “Even if he didn’t shoot Harriet, he
might try to frame her. He was very upset about his mother
embarrassing him in front of the entire school. He said the security
guards looked familiar. Interesting.”
Then we went our separate ways and met up with the rest of the Ghoul
Squad the next day. It was one of my last normal afternoons with
poor, poor Ritchie.

*Although Ritchie is a great deal taller than me, he was sitting in
his usual hunched over manner and I was standing.

**to this day, I wonder about the wisdom and strategy necessary to
launch a kumquat flavoured soda.