chapter 2
Wally, Mickey's deputy, was accompanying two plain-clothes detectives. In the back sat an older man, about 45 years old with a gloomy pale face. The officer at the gate closed the barricade and sat down to smoke a cigarette. The car stopped in front of the interrogation rooms. The man was disparagingly brought out of the vehicle by the two detectives.
"Put Arnold in room three, and watch that he doesn't move until Mickey gets there. I want that bastard to feel what it's like to pick on young boys and girls. He can stop breathing for all I care until we come in to interrogate him!" Wally slapped Arnold in the neck, as the latter yelled out in pain.
"Let go of me, you sons of… May God give you back twofold for what you're doing to me… You sons of evil."
"Don't mess around with us, freak! Take him into the room before I cut off his dick, pervert! damned child molester! I'll make sure you pay for it in prison!"
Wally shoved him toward the detectives and laughed aloud as the two detectives joined in, and laughed so hard their stomachs hurt. The two detectives pushed Arnold into the room abrasively as he tried to resist unsuccessfully. Wally walked towards Mickey's office with a smug face on his bloated face.
"Of course, Arnold is the ‘singing pervert,’, and I…the great Wally caught him…I'll probably get a promotion after he confesses…I'll
make sure he confesses! He will get 20 years inside, and I'll get a higher rank…wow…I'll become a legend." He suddenly sighed in despair, and worry.
"But Mickey probably won't recommend me for a promotion. He won't admit I'm better than him. I'm worth more than being a deputy chief…I'm sure he'll sabotage my promotion."
At the same time, Mickey's eyes focused on the computer screen. His big worn-out desk was filled with odd things, such as office supplies, different sizes, and color folders, pictures with friends,
and various weird gifts he received from his friends during his 15 years of service in the station. Unlike other people, there was no clear picture of a family of any kind, a wife, or kids as fitting of an unmarried person. Mickey read the internet curiously, using it to receive information from police worldwide regarding similar cases as the "singing pervert." He also got input on this subject. Occasionally, Mickey wrote something down on a page. He was placing it on top of the singing pervert's psyche folder. This case was at the top of their list, and he knew he must unravel the mystery that was the identity of the pervert and capture him, whatever the cost may be. Wally walked into the room stirringly.
"Is that you, Wally? What's with the entrance? You almost gave me a heart attack. Did you win the lottery? A new chick,” Mickey made jokes at Wally's expense who usually got angry at the jibes, but this time he sits facing Mickey with a mysterious smile, and a condescending look – this time he did it. No one would steal this from him.
"You're right, Mickey. . . This time I won big time! I caught the singing pervert, and he's in the lockup right here in the station."
Mickey abruptly stopped writing notes on the page, leaned back in his squeaking chair, crossed his hands behind his head, and watched Wally curiously, and suspiciously which made Wally move uncomfortably in his seat.
"Are you sure it's him? Can I call a press conference? Where did you find him? What was he doing there?"
"His name is Arnold Neufeld. He is about 45 years old. I watched him in the park today! He picked on a girl sitting on a bench…I'm sure he was planning to kidnap her and rape her as he did to that Aronson boy. He seemed extremely dangerous. We should start interrogating him immediately. I think we can get a confession out of him without any problem. Are you coming?" Mickey watched Wally skeptically. He wrote down Arnold's name on a piece of paper.
"I'll be there in a few minutes. Wait for me there, and don't let anyone come near. I'm warning you! Don't let anyone near your pervert! , and if he asks for a lawyer, pay no attention – you're deaf
, and dumb…go on…go…" Wally left full of pride, and bliss as he imagined his shining face appearing on the front page of tomorrow’s morning newspaper, and underneath it a great headline
– "Wally Ston, the detective who captured the singing pervert with his bare hands. He is going to receive a commendation from the chief of police, and a promotion!”
Mickey soberly watched Wally's shadow disappearing down the hall
, checked no one was around, and slammed the door of his office
, and sat down. He quickly took out a small whiskey flask from his locked desk drawer and gulped down both the loved and hateful drink. Mickey, the police captain, understood and was sure. He was not an alcoholic. He laughed and mocked the addicts – the spineless addicts that put their trust in the gods of whiskey, and vodka. Miserable wretches. But the captain drank regularly to improve his mood. Drank because the world was boring. He drank because his ex made his life hell, and her spoiled kids had made him crazy; he even drank on his hard nights when sleep evaded him. The alcohol flooded him with euphoria, and his body got filled with intoxicating adrenalin. Mickey smiled, typed Arnold's name on the screen, and waited for the printout with the known details concerning the suspect, and his psychological profile. Mickey took a sip from the flask and sighed enjoyably when suddenly there was
a quick rap on the door. Mickey answered it without much thought, "Yes? Who is it?"
Sgt. David Walker – the station's storeroom officer, walked in holding a large envelope. His gaze landed on the flask clasped in Mickey's hands, surprised, who quickly shoved it into the desk drawer. The Sgt. passed the container to Mickey.
"What is it, Walker? Oh, the flask was left here yesterday by that lawyer."
"Of course, sir…sketch dept. asked me to give you the envelope, and the new uniforms arrived today. I'm letting you know as you asked." Mickey disparagingly looked at the Sgt as he backed off at the sound of scorn in Mickey's voice.
"Why wasn't I notified by phone? I'm in the middle of an investigation, and you're interrupting me! Next time I call, don't come over here."
"I'm sorry, sir, I promise to call next time."
Mickey straightened out his clothes, opened the envelope, and pulled out two identical white pages on which sketches of the singing pervert were drawn according to his profile—given to the police by Benji Aronson, who managed to make out the pervert's profile, and his car vaguely. Mickey curiously looked at the photograph where a fat, crude face with a beard, and mustache could be seen covering the whole face, and large round, and dark sunglasses. He was 1.85cm, weighed about 120 kilos, was reliable, fast, extensive, and the suspect's car was long, and black. Mickey handed one of the copies to Sgt. Walker, who was itching to leave the office.
"Listen, Walker…give this to the station watch commander, make enough copies of this to put in police stations around the country
, and tell them to air it on the news on TV…get on it right now…this
is top priority! Go!" "Okay, sir, a top priority."
Walker stuttered, and anxiously he turned around, closed the office door with shaking hands, and rushed to get away as if the devil were after him. Mickey took Arnold's profile from the printer and laid it on the desk. He sipped from the flask again, and looked at the printout curiously, comparing it to the profile Walker brought. A strange smile settled at the corner of his mouth as he looked at the printout, and he skeptically mumbled to himself as he put the flask back in the drawer, and locked it.
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"Fascinating! … fascinating! Arnold's the singing pervert…very
interesting."
Mickey folded the printout and put it in his shirt pocket as he locked the door to his office, and headed down the corridor to the interrogation room. Arnold's bent limp figure sitting on the chair with his arms crossed was revealed in the interrogation room. John, one of the detectives that brought Arnold into the room, stood outside silently, smoking a cigarette by the locked door of the room and staring off at the wall of the hall in front of him. Wally walked back
, and forth in the blue room where one wall was a large black glass,
and on the other side of it was the observation room where sometimes interrogation was filmed. Occasionally. Wally came closer to Arnold, watched him with a piercing gaze, screamed at him, and banged on the table.
"You will tell me where you held Benji Aronson five days ago. I know you're the singing pervert that the police have been searching for! I won't let you breathe or sleep until you tell me where you did it, and how! But…"
Arnold held his head in his hands and shook it from side to side. Wally put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Cooperate with me, and I'll help you – food, cigarettes, and special comfortable conditions. I'll also speak to the prosecution about the prison. I'll get you a decreased sentence. I'll even work out community work instead of prison. Sign a confession, and you can sleep quietly. Come on, Arnold – sign the confession, and I'll take care of you like my son."
Wally placed a typed document on the table along with a pen. Suddenly, Arnold jumped up and banged on the table.
"Screw you! I want to call my lawyer. I'm not talking to anyone without him. Not even you."
Wally could sense the madness taking hold of him, and almost reached for his gun, hoping that one bullet would be enough to make a hole the size of a tunnel in this nasty evil creature's brain. Luckily, his palm met the repulsive face crudely with a ringing slap.
'"Shut up, cocksucker…you're not getting a lawyer or anything until you sign the paper! You're the singing pervert, and you will confess to it if you're breathing! You won't steal the respect, and glory I deserve." Arnold screamed out in despair and anxiety.
"Don't come near me…, and don't touch me with your filthy hands…you are also perverted…you jerk off rabid dog," John, the detective standing outside, looked worriedly.
"What's with all the screaming? Is everything okay, Wally? You want me to sew his stinking mouth up. To stop his screaming."
Wally laughed out loud satisfactorily as John joined in, as Arnold smirked, and mumbled cynically.
"You're so disgusting even your laughter is the same. A police force of perverts."
The two policemen approached Arnold with hands tightened into fists aiming to rehabilitate his nose as he opened his eyes widely. Lucky for him, the two-policeman froze at the sight of Mickey's suspicious face looking at them angrily.
"What's going on here? What were you planning to do to Arnold?"
"Nothing, sir, I just came in to check that everything was okay…I'm leaving now." John quickly escaped the room. Wally kept smiling but secretly wished Mickey wasn't there and didn't interrupt.
"I was just asking Arnold some questions. I asked if he was the singing pervert, and asked him to sign a confession. I reminded him that he was responsible for the disappearance of the boy, and the girl three days ago, but he refused to talk, and began screaming that he wanted a lawyer."
Mickey opened the door, and spoke to John, "I'm locking the door now. I don't want anyone disturbing us until we leave the room, got it? If someone disturbs me, you'll be on desk duty this weekend!"
Mickey slammed the door and locked it. He approached Arnold smilingly and offered him a cigarette, but Arnold backed off helplessly.
"Take a cigarette, Arnold. Live a little! If you won't admit to anything, and you want your lawyer, maybe you're not the one we're looking for." He winked at Wally, and then turned to Arnold, and patted his shoulder affectionately.
"You're not our guy. We'll order you a steak or a double burger with extras whatever you decide. Compensation for dragging you down here! After you eat, you're free to go."
Arnold and Wally watched the stunned Mickey. Wally went pale
and felt his dream slipping away from him, and all the glory, and glamour with it. Arnold's face contorted, and the cigarette almost fell from his shaking hand. He jumped up as if kicked by a bucking horse, and screamed stutteringly at Mickey, who watched him apathetically.
"I'm guilty! I'm the singing pervert. I kidnapped Benji Aronson, the boy that disappeared; when I left him, he was unconscious after I molested him. I also kidnapped the boy and the girl; they were..."
Wally hugged Mickey happily. He was as happy as if he had won a lottery. As Arnold smoked quietly, Wally screamed.
"I told you, Mickey? I told you, Arnold is the singing pervert! You heard him plead guilty! We should call the media now. I can't wait to tell them how I caught this bastard." Mickey fondly patted
Wally's shoulder with the hand that held the cigarette. Arnold laughed cynically.
"Way to go… I couldn't believe you would catch me! Bring me the paper; I'll sign it right now" Wally hurriedly placed a piece of paper on the table, and proudly gave Arnold his pen.
"Write down all the details…from the moment you walked down the
street, and saw the Aronson boy until you got caught."
Arnold pulled the paper, held the pen firmly, thought for a few seconds, nodded his head, and began writing when suddenly, to Wally's, and Arnold's complete surprise, Mickey took hold of the latter's hand that held the pen, and wouldn't let him write.
"Before you begin…I want to remind you that the Aronson kidnapping happened five days ago," Wally angrily interjected. "Of course, he knows it was five days ago. He kidnapped him…he already admitted being the singing pervert."
Arnold scornfully spoke to Mickey, "What's the matter? You finally caught me, and I admitted to being the pervert you're looking for
, and you don't like it?"
"I'm very angry with you, Arnold… Why would you admit to something you didn't do? You're not the singing pervert. You're just an idiot looking for publicity. You want attention. You want to be in the newspapers! But it won't work! Do you know why? Because I checked up on you and got a report saying you were admitted to Fairhaven mental institute a month ago, forcefully. You just got out yesterday! You have nothing to do with the singing pervert! Wally questioned him regarding picking on the girl in the park and reported it to me. (shows him the profile). This is probably the singing pervert. It will be aired today." Mickey gave Wally Arnold's printout
, and patted his shoulder again.
"Never mind, Wally. We'll catch that mysterious pervert. He will be caught like you catch flies or fleas."
Mickey left the interrogation room and headed to his office. Wally locked the door, and stared at Arnold, who was holding his head between his hands, mumbling, "Please don't do anything to me…I'm sorry for making such a mess! I'll tell you exactly what happened. I was sitting on a park bench. The girls walked into the park. This girl picked on me, she and her friends laughed and threw garbage at me, but they lied and told you I picked on them when you arrived. I swear I didn't do anything to them. I was just sitting on the bench. Maybe they saw I was messed up, and that I was a mental patient
, and started picking on me."
"I believe you, Arnold! You didn't do anything! I'm releasing you right now, and you'll go on without making new problems? Take a cigarette."
Arnold sighed with relief and lighted the cigarette Wally gave him. Suddenly, without warning, Wally grabbed Arnold's neck and started choking him.
"You'll pay dearly for my humiliation! You laughed at me, and humiliated me in front of my boss." Wally shoved the printout into Arnold's mouth, spat on his face evilly, and slapped him, "From now on, whenever you're out of the nuthouse, I'll be your shadow! Even if you don't do anything, I'll make sure they find drugs, and clothes belonging to abused children on you! Even if you breathe, I'll make you suffer. You bastard! Pervert! Human scum!" Wally took out the printout from Arnold's mouth, and hit him with his fist in the face. Arnold whimpered silently, afraid to be beaten again by the “nice cop.”
"If someone asks what happened to you…say you hit the table.
Understood? Or I'll send cops to make your face look like this."
He waved the wet crumbling printout in front of Arnold's bruised whimpering face and left the room as his scornful laughter echoed down the hall. John, the detective, was shocked as Arnold quietly mumbled.
"If I had to choose between a mental health institute and a police station… I would choose the institute every single time! Why did they release me from the institute?"
Abraham sat on his bed, tired, ready to go to sleep. An ancient Bible was lying on the side-table. Eve had bought it for him during their happier days as a symbol of their eternal love, and passion. The beautiful book was illustrated by famous drawings. As he reminisced, he went through it as he came across the picture of Abraham notified by God about his seed spreading like the sun, the ocean, and the Jewish nation of which he was its moral and spiritual father! Abraham smiled with glinting eyes, and mumbled piteously, "I am Abraham, the leader of the chosen people. God has granted me his power, and strength." Abraham turned the page, and then another page.
Suddenly, a famous picture appeared on the page. He looked at the drawing curiously, and whispered, "The binding of Isaac."
The sight of Abraham binding Isaac as God required to stroke his head as his burning eyes lingered on the mystical drawing. Suddenly his mind became foggy. He recalled his younger years, an 8-year-old boy standing with his head lowered, frightened, and startled by his narcissistic mother screaming at him because he took ice cream, and ate it in secret. His father was silent as usual, preferring to read the paper as if they didn't exist.
"I hate you; you're as stupid, and disgusting as your idiot father. You're not worth anything and have only ever caused me sorrow
, and pain. I wish you were never born; all you do is waste my money. You have only ever brought me bad luck. I hope you die, and stop disturbing me while enjoying my life."
His mother left the room with an indifferent gaze. Abraham ran to his father, hoping to be consoled, and maybe, get a hug. Unfortunately, his father continued to read the paper and didn't care about anything. Abraham ran to the door, left the house, and ran into the empty public garden near their home. He wept like a wounded, deserted dog. Everything seemed gloomy and without
purpose. Abraham took a big rock, and without hesitation, slammed it on the skull of a poor cat that mistakenly wandered into the garden.