The Black Ibis Case

Every investigator I know has a story about a case that nearly drove them mad. For some, the case was finding a missing person that just vanished into thin air, for others it was getting their hands on some classified documents for any number of reasons, and others ran afoul of people you’re better off knowing nothing about, all in the name of solving a case for a few dollars. Mine is a combination of all three, and unlike the cases I just mentioned, who only talk about being driven crazy figuratively, I very nearly did lose my mind, and my life.

So, dear reader, take these words as a warning that if you continue reading beyond this point, your world may very well be changed forever, and I assure you, not for the better. If you wonder why I would write such a story that could put others at risk, it is because I need to put it down on paper while the events are still fresh in my mind, and before I forget the details that make up the truths that I unearthed.

My name is Samuel Patterson, and my story starts on a cold November evening in nineteen eighty-two, in the city of Oakport, New England. I was trying to sleep off a hangover, in my office on the third floor. A pile of past due bills was my pillow, and the jazz from my radio was failing to drown out the rush hour traffic passing just under my window. The fan above my head made a steady whirring sound and the wind it created made the documents and pictures hanging on my cork board crinkle in the light breeze. The scent of cigarette smoke and old paper hung in the air and served as my blanket.

If you want to know why I was hungover so early, it’s because I was trying to get Charles Cooper, a buddy of mine from when I worked in the police force, drunk to get him to spill his guts about a case we were both working separately. Unrelated to the case I’m writing about, mind you, but every story needs to start somewhere.

My headache was reaching a crescendo at the same time as the traffic did when the door to my office opened. I might not have realized someone was there if the bell above my door hadn’t rung. I was grateful that whomever opened the door, did so timidly. I lifted my head up from the stack and my eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing an African boy of maybe sixteen, standing just inside the door. The poor boy looked like a deer in headlights and he just kept staring back at me, unable to look away.

I used the silence to paw around in my jacket to grab out a cigarette and my lighter. He still hadn’t said a word, so I figured I’d get this started. “What do you want, kid?”

That finally broke him out of his stupor. “Are you detective Sam Patterson?”

It was my turn to stare at him blankly for a moment, my only motion being the smoke coming out of my nose. In hindsight, it must have looked to him as though I was sizing him up or trying to intimidate him, but the truth is that I was still getting my head straight. “What’s the door say?” I finally replied once words pulled themselves together in my mind. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the framed picture of my wife… ex-wife, and our son. I must have put it back out while drunk. I put it back face down while I waited for my client’s answer.

He turned confusedly around and looked at the frosted glass window, where the letters ‘Sam Patterson, P. I.’, were barely visible and spelled backwards. After a moment, he replied, “Sam Patterson?” and turned back to me as though his body were a question too.

“Good, so you can read,” I answered leaning back in my chair, “so what do you want then?”

“I’m looking for my older brother. He went missing a week ago,” answered the boy, finally taking a tentative step closer.

“Look, I’m sorry your brother’s missing, but you need to go to the police about these things,” I answered, putting my cigarette down in the ash tray and crossing my hands in front of me.

“But I already have, sir. They say they investigated but they questioned nobody. I’m just back from the station and detective Cooper told me to come to you. He said you were the best at finding people.”

I started rubbing my eyes. I knew getting information from Charles was going to cost me, but it usually took him a few weeks before he sent me a case he couldn’t be bothered with. “So, are you going to keep standing there or are you going to take a seat already?” I motioned to the empty chair in front of me with my hand before reaching back for my cigarette.

A glimmer of hope started in the boy’s eyes as he took a few quick steps towards me and sat down in my chair. I only just realized how tall that boy was. He must have been almost six foot five already, and had little more than skin over his bones, and his face was framed with thick round glasses, a style I hadn’t seen much since I was a little younger than him. “Thank you, mister Patterson, thank you so very much,” he kept saying until he was finally settled in front of me.

“Calm down, kid, I haven’t taken your case yet.” My words made him simmer down, but that glimmer of hope seemed to fade a little. “First off, what’s your name, and your brother’s?” I took a thick notepad from my drawer and got ready to start writing.

“I’m Marcus Michaels, and my brother’s name is Leonard Michaels. He’s eighteen and graduated from Oakport High just a few months ago. He looks… well, like me.”

“Specifics, Marcus. I can’t go around asking after ‘someone who looks like you’. How tall is he, hair cut, markings, last clothes you saw him in, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, well, hmm, he’s shorter than me, about five foot ten, and he’s a little broader than me. His hair’s almost shaved, he doesn’t have glasses, he has a scar on his chin from a bike accident when we were little,” he indicated the bottom of his chin horizontally, “and last time I saw him, he had a blue t-shirt and black jeans, with a black coat. He had a package with him, but I don’t know what it was.”

“Ok, now we’re getting somewhere, kid. Where did you see him last? Do you know if he had plans?”

Marcus thought for a moment. His eyes were pointing up and going left and right, as though he was searching his mind for the right information. “He said he was heading to the arcade, but none of our friends saw him there, not for a while anyways. I think he actually went over…”

“Went over where?”

Marcus got nervous again. He looked behind him to see if anyone was at the door, then peeked over my shoulder to ensure no one was outside my window. “First, I need you to know something, mister detective. Leonard was never one to cause any trouble. He even got a scholarship to Oakport University to study computers, and I hope to do the same in a few years.” He paused for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. “I think he fell into a bad crowd there. He started coming home late and fidgety, and he never wanted to tell me what he was up to. I followed him one night, he never saw me. He met with some people I never saw before, by the abandoned warehouse over on forty-first avenue, and they went inside. I wanted to go in to find out more, but something was telling me to leave, so I went home. The air felt… wrong… that night. That was two weeks ago now.”

“Hmph, can’t say I care much for computers, but apparently they’re the way of the future. We’ll just have to see about that. Anyways, when did your brother’s habits start changing? Could you describe the people your brother met with?”

“He started acting strange almost two months ago. As for the people he met, it was dark and they were far, so I can’t say for sure, but the one greeting him at the entrance had a purple robe. That’s strange, right?”

“Robes? Hmph, can’t say that’s usual, or even helpful, but it’s something at least.” I paused to take a drag on my cigarette. I looked down at my notes and put my cigarette out into the ashtray. “So, in summary, your brother, a computer student with regular habits and a quiet demeanor, started making new friends in university, or so you believe, his personality changed into a secretive and nervous one, he met at least one stranger in a robe for reasons you don’t know and went missing not long after. Sounds right?”

“Yes, mister. Will you help me?”

I looked into Marcus’s eyes for a moment. I wish I hadn’t now, but I didn’t know then what I do now. Besides, I’m simply a sucker for helping desperate people, and that boy’s eyes were as desperate and frightful as can be.

“Tell you what, kid, I like you. Don’t ask me why, but I do. So, I’m going to take your case…”

“Oh thank you! Thank you so much!” Marcus just burst out of his seat in excitement and gratitude.

I put out my hand and had to calm him down. “Sit down, I’m not finished. As I was saying, I’ll take on your case IF you can afford my services.”

Marcus’s face twisted in anticipation to the answer of his next question. “How much?”

“Eighty a day. Plus expanses.”

“Eighty? I can’t possibly pay that!” He hung his head in defeat, trying to figure out what to do next.

My eyes wandered over to the pile of bills my head had just been resting on. Then, I looked over to my active cases pile, or rather, the single file I had been working on and finished off last night. Cases had been scarce lately, and anything would be better than nothing at this point. “You’re clearly desperate, so I’ll make you a deal. This time only though. Forty a day and half expanses.”

Hope returned to Marcus’s eyes, though he was still distraught by the price for my services. “Thank you, detective Patterson, thank you so much!” He extended his hand to me.

I extended mine to meet his, and we shook hands vigorously. “I want you to know though that there’s no guarantee in this kind of work. I’m hoping to find your brother alive and well, but with disappearances… well, things often go poorly, especially when it’s several days later. I don’t want to make you lose hope, but you need to be ready for the worst to happen.

“I… I know, detective. But one way or the other, I need to know.” He stood up and made for the door after scribbling his name and phone number on a sheet near him. “Call me as soon as you have any news. Good luck and thank you, detective.”

The door shut behind Marcus. I was now alone in my office again, silent save for the music playing softly and the calming traffic outside. I realized I had a growing headache now that I didn’t have a client to distract me. I reached into my drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and filled the bottom of a glass.

“To the dog that bit me.” I said to myself as I pounded the drink back. I filled up my flask for later, in case I needed to soothe my nerves again.

I leaned back into my chair for a moment, watching the fan spin hypnotically, then I picked up my phone to call the police station. The phone rang three times before anyone answered.

“Oakport police department, how may I assist you?”

I recognized the cheery voice immediately. “Afternoon Beverly! This is Patterson, how are you? Kids doing alright?” I had worked with her for a while back in the day and knew the best way to get her talking was to start off making her chat about anything but work.

“Oh, you know, getting older. Freddy’s getting married next year and Tommy’s just finishing his degree in engineering. Soon they won’t need their old mom.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll always be needing you,” I laughed into the phone. I realized I wasn’t faking the laugh either. I can’t tell if it was the whiskey making me that way, or if I genuinely was glad to speak to her.

“Haha, clearly you do. Who else is going to look after you now that Abbi’s made off?”

“Rats skip ship first as they say,” I didn’t want to bring up my divorce, but I guess the topic’s inevitable when talking to old colleagues. Half of them went through it themselves anyways, so they used it as a form of bonding. I cleared my throat, “Anyways, I was calling because I had a kid come in to get me to look for his brother. Smart kid apparently but fell into a bad crowd. Do you have any info on this?”

“Must be the Michaels brothers. The younger one came by just a few hours ago to ask about the case. Anderson’s the one handling it, but we all know about how that’s going. Leonard doesn’t have a file and no affiliations that anyone could dig up, though it seems he’s made some new friends that we haven’t been able to identify yet. He seemed to spend a lot of time at Ray’s Gun Arcade, on fiftieth street up until not long ago. I saw him run into Cooper on the way out, that’s where he must have gotten your address from. We had to put the case on the back burner for now due to a series of break-ins all over town. Even the mayor was hit, can you believe that?”

I didn’t have a mind for gossip, and it was clear the police hadn’t gathered anything more than I had up to this point. “Thanks Beverly. Congratulate Freddy and Tommy from me when you see them.” I hung up without waiting for her reply. Leonard’s trail was already cold, and I had no time to waste on idle chatter.

I grabbed my holster and put my trench coat on. I had just lubricated my colt forty-five yesterday, and it smelled of fresh oil. Good thing too, because my grey coat smelled none too fresh, and the oil would cover some of the scent at least. I made a mental note to take it to the cleaners later, when I had a few bucks to spend.

I left my office and walked down the stairs. I passed by my car, a mostly red seventy-two Dodge Challenger, and thought about driving it over to the arcade. I decided not to since my destination wasn’t far, and I could use a walk. Besides, from experience, sometimes you could run into a person who would give you useful tips while walking.

Getting to Ray’s arcade only took fifteen minutes. It was almost empty at this time, which meant only the most dedicated players would be here. I didn’t have high hopes for getting anything out of this place since these players could get really intense about their hobby. Some got so focused they would lose themselves in the game and shut out everything else.

I stepped through the door and was blinded by all the flashing lights and brightly-colored characters. Certainly not the best place to visit while hung-over, but that’s the job. I talked to the five people present, none of them had anything to say that I hadn’t heard before. Before I left, I figured I’d talk to the clerk in case he had anything of value to say. He made change for the customers after all, so he might have interacted with Leonard at some point.

The clerk was a thin man of maybe twenty with black hair in a Beatles cut. His bright orange shirt read ‘Ray’s Guns! It’s Zaptacular!’. He was nearly asleep at the counter, supporting his head with his fist, and snapped to attention when I walked close to him.

“Welcome to Ray’s Guns! Where every day is Zaptacular! Will you need any coins, sir?” He repeated the speech before looking me up and down. He immediately realized I wasn’t there for games.

I looked at his name tag, which read ‘Dennis’. “Evening, Dennis. I’m detective Patterson. Do you know Leonard Michaels?”

Dennis rubbed his eyes confusedly for a second. “Lenny? Sure, he used to come here a lot. I haven’t seen him much lately, though. Marcus told me he’s gone missing, is that why you’re here?”

“Yes, I’m looking for him. When did you see him last?”

“Last time was… in September, I think. No, wait, I saw him again about a week ago. He passed right in front of the arcade. He stopped for a moment, just in front of the door, but then he shook his head and kept on walking.”

“Did you notice anything strange about him? Did you hear anything or notice something out of the ordinary?”

“Well, I don’t know him, not personally anyways, but normally he would have just stopped and come in. Other than that… he seemed to be looking around a lot, like he was afraid of being seen or something. Then he kept walking over that way.” Dennis pointed down the street. If someone kept walking for half a mile, they’d get to forty-first avenue.

“Thanks.” I turned around and left the arcade as Dennis recited the company’s slogan robotically.

I walked the distance between the arcade and the abandoned warehouse as the streetlamps were coming on. I lit a cigarette to take my mind off the cold as I walked along. I hoped to spot a security camera or two as I made my way over, but of course I didn’t have any such luck. I did find one on a jewelry store, but that was a dead end, as the boarded-up front window told me it had been installed very recently, and in response to the break-ins I had been hearing about. Security companies would make a pretty penny before the culprits got caught, if they ever did.

I made it to the abandoned warehouse as my fingers started feeling numb. I stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes and inspected the old building. It clearly hadn’t been in use for several years, but the sign out front still read ‘McMillan Exports’, though the paint on the letters was flaking off. The fence was left unlocked, so I made my way onto the property and stopped at the door to the building. I put my ear on the door and waited a moment.

No sounds inside.

I opened the door and took out my flashlight. There was no light at all in here, and dust and rust were the only things noticeable at first glance. I slowly walked around the empty crates, each footstep echoing against the walls. The beam of my flashlight caught the tails of a few rats, trying to remain unseen on the edges of the main floor and rushing to hide behind crates.

I saw some disturbed dust almost everywhere I went, but one trail in particular caught my attention. The others were clearly made by rodents skittering about, their tails leaving a distinctive line behind them, but this one was made by shoes. I followed it until it led me to an old catwalk. I tested the metal by pressing a foot on it firmly. It creaked in protest to my weight, but I felt no shaking, so I made my way up slowly.

There were offices up here, but the single trail I had was gone for now at least, as the catwalk was more empty space than metal and wouldn’t allow dust to settle. I opened the door to the nearest office and found it empty and undisturbed. I continued inspecting the rooms one after the other, all equally as devoid of any sign of life, until I got to the room almost exactly opposite the end of the stairs I had just come up.

First, I saw some disturbed dust, then I saw them turn into a mess. This told me there had been a struggle here. Who was involved had yet to be determined.

I walked into the room, staying on the edges of the disturbance in the dust, and estimated there could have been at least five people involved, though I had no way of being certain. I saw a few drops of blood as I scanned about the room, but it was not enough for someone to be seriously injured, most likely a busted lip or nose at most.

My attention was finally drawn to the back left corner of the room, where I could see a crumpled piece of paper. I put on my leather gloves and walked over to pick it up and unfolded it carefully to make sure it didn’t tear.

The paper had a message, and it read: ‘Come to the warehouse. J.’ The message told me virtually nothing besides the end destination of whoever it was intended for, and that someone called J. had written it. There was, however, one useful clue: there was a drawing of a black bird, centered on the top as a letterhead. I pointed my flashlight at the strange symbol and searched my memory for where I had seen it before. The bird’s stocky body and long beak and legs were somewhat familiar, but I had trouble bringing up what it was. Then, I remembered seeing something like this when I went to the museum with my parents as a child: the bird was a black ibis.