Unrevealed

fight?
Aside from that knocked-over photo and scattered slippers, I was coming up short.
    I returned to the bedroom and righted the photo that had fallen off the small table. I couldn’t help but smile. It was an obviously old shot of our man Winston Gambrel personally re-creating the cover of the Abbey Road LP in his cream John Lennon suit. There he was, all alone, walking across the real Abbey Road in London, caught in long stride. But he didn’t look like he had on a wig or fake beard and mustache in the photo. I opened the back of the frame and pulled out the photo, turning it over. Printed were the words: Me on abbey road, December 1, 1969.” Ah, he was a Beatles fan even back then.
    I meandered around the bedroom, opening up drawers and closets. I memorized the contents of the drawer in Abbey’s side table. I discovered a media closet that housed at least several hundred CDs. Of course, he owned every single Beatles album, but he also had every solo effort that John Lennon recorded. Oddly, there was nothing in there of George, Paul or Ringo’s solo projects. In the corner of the closet, I found a small, unmarked box of reel-to-reel tapes. They were all dated 1969. As I shuffled through them, I only found one that was labeled: “proper elocution.” I thought back to when Winston was wailing after hearing that his wife was dead. “ She was my world! ” I heard him say. I had detected something off at that moment in the entryway but I had nothing to link it to, so I just stuck it in the back pocket of my memory. But now I replayed those words as I had heard them downstairs. Oh, those buried secrets. They do tend to rise up at the most inopportune times. Buried reel-to-reel tapes on proper elocution from the late 1960s. What else was buried?

    I strolled over to the walk-in closet. It was immaculate and was big enough to hold a compact car. The left side held all of Abbey’s clothes and shoes, while the right side belonged to Winston. I closed the door, turned on the light and soaked it in. It wasn’t the smell of the cedarwood or the beautifully crafted shelving I cared about. I was marinating in the vibe, letting my mind’s eye root out the surreptitious clues. I took a few steps forward, touching the smooth handles of the wooden drawers that lined Winston’s side of the closet. I was drawn inexplicably to a small brown, unmarked box pushed to the back of the top shelf. There was no way to reach it without getting on a stepladder. Thus, it was either something Winston didn’t need often or something he wanted to make sure was out of the way. I went into the bedroom, grabbing a chair and the fireplace poker. Back in the closet, I stood on the chair and used the curved tip of the poker to drag the small box toward me.
    It was sealed shut with heavy tape. I cut through the tape with the side of my car key and opened the box. There were only three items inside. Three items that someone in that house was hoping would stay buried forever. I collected them, sealed up the box, and replaced it on the shelf so that Winston would never know I had been there.
    But somehow, I knew I wasn’t finished in there. I stood back and stared at the columns of shelves and drawers that lined Winston’s side of the closet. Something tugged at me. This happens to me a lot on the job. It’s like a pull on my sleeve that holds me back and forces me to stay focused. When I get in that moment, it’s like I fall into the void. All sound disappears and a guiding force takes over. It’s the hand of God or justice, depending upon the innocence or guilt of the individual involved. My eyes canvassed the area. And
that’s when I saw it sticking out from one of the drawers nearest the door. I opened the drawer and pulled out the items, one after the other. I examined the tags and then replaced each one exactly the way I found it. I wasn’t sure how this whole thing was going to play out, but I sure as hell hoped for a favorable outcome.
    Four days passed. I got a call from the doc who had completed the autopsy on Abbey Gambrel. The cause of death was 100 percent certain. I got off the phone and took a deep breath and then rushed downstairs into the evidence room and signed off on the lacy panties I’d sealed in the plastic Kapak baggie. I was just getting off the elevator to walk back into Homicide when I saw Winston Gambrel standing in the hallway. I quickly secured the Kapak baggie behind my back. Gambrel looked disheveled, as