As I was considering what the totals were going to reach, I heard a raised voice coming from out outside the apartment. I shook my head for a moment. The voice was a familiar one, although I couldn’t immediately place it. I walked around the counter, that break between the kitchen and living room, and spied a glance back out to the door and saw police officer 6630 talking to a tall thin silver haired man in a charcoal grey trench coat whose familiar face and voice made me swear out loud.

“Look, do I have to wait out here while you go over every little detail,” Dr. Dave MacIntyre, former cable celebrity and all round expert on everything occult sounded just a little irritated as only an upper-class Englishman can. “I was requested to assist on this case. I was, In fact by your very Captain. Shall we call her and discuss how you are obstructing me in my capacity?”

“Sir,” the police officer was replying. “We have procedures to follow.”

That was funny. Officer 6630 has let me right in on a “yeah, yeah”.

“I was told to come here to meet Detective Speaks-With-Fingers and the property manager – what’s his name – John Smith? I trust he’s here as well?”

“Detective Fingers is here.” The cop confirmed. “Just give me moment and I’ll check with him.”

God, British accent, flailing arms, Pop occultist. I shook my head. The morning was going from bad to worse.

I hesitated for a moment, stopped and watched. He followed his mini-tirade by offering his credentials, showing a batch of some sort of papers. The police officer looked at it nodded, and pointed with his head towards me.

I looked over at Fingers, who had come out of the bedroom, thinking, what the hell was I doing here? This was a possible crime scene. How was I even allowed in here?

I was thinking I should call Vaclav right away. So I pulled out my phone.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

His number went to voice mail. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Emily’s go to lawyer didn’t spend the daylight hours in the office.

He was strictly a night owl, if you know what I mean.

This whole situation seemed completely at odds with the reality I had become accustomed to.

“You can go in.” the uniformed officer finally said, ticking off his tablet. “Detective Fingers is… just over there.”

“Thank you,” the good Doctor replied in a haughty tone. “Thank you very much indeed, constable.”

He then pulled his trench coat away from the man and turned in my direction.

I quickly turned away, back into the kitchen, thinking hard about my place in this, as I made my way back to the relative safety of the kitchen counter. Maybe MacIntyre wouldn’t notice me if I remained in be background.

Still, the former king of reality exorcism? The metro police were scraping the bottom of the barrel. The man’s face used to be everywhere, once upon a time. But I hadn’t heard much about him lately.

How long you been off the air, I wondered silently. five years was my immediate guess.. Of course he still appeared on other so called news shows, they would trot them out on CNN or Fox or occasionally even here in Canada when some ritual murder or live action role-playing group got out of hand.

Was he the expert that Fingers have been talking about. And shook my head again. Did his captain want to figure out exactly what happened here, or just get on television and some cheap publicity at Emily’s, and perhaps my expense.

It made everything a bit clearer though. That must have been his car that I had seen earlier. Dr. David MacIntyre, Expert on the Occult, traveling the continent in his Cadillac Convertible. Yeah, he had driven around in a brown 68 Deville.

Man he used to be big. There was even a whole episode where he met up with Dubya at the white house. When was that, 2003 maybe?

And then, in 2008 and he’d practically fallen off the radar. Show cancelled, no more billboards, or celebrity appearances.

Just up and fucked off to God knew where.

There was even that rumor a couple years ago that he was dead.

No such luck. He seemed as lively as ever.

Did he really want to talk to me? God, I hoped not. I surreptitiously turned to look across the counter to see him walk up to Fingers, introduce himself, turn around as he took in the whole scene dramatically, as though there were camera’s still watching his every move..

And then he was looking right at me. And his eyes narrowed. Was that recognition. He even started with a smile.

How the hell could that be? The man didn’t know me. We had never met. Still, his gaze held me for a moment powerfully, before I forced myself to look away.