Bones of the Lost

the phone on his belt, he looked at me glumly. “What makes you think this is a threat and not just a windup?”
    “Come into the study.”
    He did, head swiveling left and right.
    I booted my laptop and opened the e-mail from mailto:[email protected] .
    “When did this land?”
    “A few days ago.”
    “And you didn’t mention it because …?” There it was. That annoying paternalistic edge.
    “I didn’t see it until yesterday.”
    I told him what had happened in the wee hours of the morning. Maybe happened.
    “It might have been nothing.”
    “Or it might have been the asshole delivering your door prize. I’m putting eyes on this place.”
    “Is surveillance really necessary?”
    “Yeah,” Slidell snapped. “It’s really necessary. In the meantime, don’t touch the box. Or the door. Or the mat. Or the stoop.”
    “I know how CSS works.” Snippy. But Slidell’s attitude was tripping that switch.
    “Whoever did this was either angry or nuts. Which door you want, doc?”
    “How about we go talk to Creach?”
    Skinny gave me one of his Dirty Harry looks.
    “Look, I have to submit a statement.” I gestured at the box. “I might as well do it at headquarters.”
    Slidell pooched out his lips, then sighed.
    “
I
talk to Creach.” Jabbing at his phone. “You listen.”

WHEN I FIRST started working for the MCME, the charlotte Police Department had not yet merged with its Mecklenburg County counterpart. CPD headquarters was an unremarkable beige building at the corner of Fourth and McDowell.
    Today the CMPD is located in a four-story Dixie neoclassic at the intersection of East Trade and Davidson. Ten minutes after leaving my town house, Slidell and I were walking through the doors.
    After presented ID, we rode an elevator to the second floor. He led me past a row of interrogation rooms to one marked A.
    “Creach is in C.” Slidell popped the door. “You watch from here.”
    The small cubicle held the usual table and chairs, AV setup, and wall phone. As I sat, the small screen came to life in grainy black-and-white. Metallic sounds sputtered through the speakers.
    CC Creach sat on a metal and gray plastic chair similar to the one I occupied, elbows on the table, chin resting on his fists. His long dark hair was pulled into a braid bound by elastic bands spaced inches apart.
    I heard a door open. Creach’s head jerked up and spun toward the sound.
    Footsteps, then Slidell came into view. Creach followed his progress, lower arms upright like long skinny poles, eyes wide and skittish.
    Slidell tossed a file onto the table. It landed with a sharp click.
    Creach’s hands dropped, allowing a better view of his face. The harsh fluorescent lighting turned the white patch on his cheek a pallid blue.
    “Hey, man.” Creach flicked a nervous grin. “What’s happening?”
    Slidell stared down at his subject, silent and unsmiling.
    “Guess I got a little worked up.” Creach made an odd giggling sound.
    Slidell pulled out a chair.
    “Dude has no sense of humor. I’ll apologize. No harm no foul, right?”
    Slidell sat. Opened the file. Slowly sorted and organized the contents.
    Creach sat back. Sat forward.
    Slidell checked that the AV equipment was on and working.
    “This interview will be recorded. For your protection and for mine. Do you have any objection to that?”
    Creach shook his head.
    Slidell hit a button. “Present at this interview are Detective Erskine Slidell, Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department Felony Investigative Bureau/Homicide Unit, and Cecil Converse Creach.” Slidell provided the date and time.
    As Creach watched nervously, Slidell drew a paper from his stack and pretended to read. I knew what he was doing. And why he’d left Creach waiting so long. He wanted Creach anxious, vulnerable. More likely to make mistakes.
    Slidell laid down the paper. “Class is now in session.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    “You ever go to school, CC? Maybe ride the special bus?”
    “School of hard knocks.” Creach giggled in a way that made me think of Jack Nicholson in
Easy Rider
.
    “You think this is funny?”
    “I thought you was joking. You know, that shit about going to school.”
    Slidell just stared.
    Creach’s right foot started pumping, sending one bony knee bouncing like a piston.
    “I didn’t do nothing.”
    “That’s what we call a double negative, CC. If you didn’t do nothing, then you done something. Which is why you’re sitting here stinking up my