Waiting in her rented dark green Ford convertible with the roof up, she turned off her engine and watched the wooden shack. After half an hour, boredom overtook her and she switched on the radio and the local news interrupted the DJ’s set list. Downtown Chicago murders from the south-side gangs were always on the agenda. Vanessa had become accustomed to the daily shootings, and like her neighbours had become resistant to hearing how many people had died in the hood, no matter how young they were.
The second story focused on the closure of Lincoln’s tomb at Oak Ridge Cemetery. Whilst the grave yard remained open, the obelisk remained shut off to visitors, which they’d usually be able to walk down and explore the underground tombs. A police guard outside of the entrance had raised suspicion amongst those who wanted to pay their respects to the former President.
Vanessa’s eyes were becoming increasingly heavy. She opened a window to try and wake herself up but the weight of her lids became too overbearing. Reclining her seat, the detective lay back a little and snoozed.
An hour later, she was awoken by voices walking up to the outhouse. There were three people surrounding the entrance to the cabin, including a pale boy with blond hair. In his hand he held the push handle of a stroller. Upon his arm, Vanessa noticed a black swastika and guessed that this was Thomas Jackson. To the left of him stood a girl who she assumed was the child’s mother. She was dressed provocatively, had bleached white hair and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. As she took the butt from her lips, she rested her hand on the edge of the stroller and the smoke seeped into the path of the crying child.
There was another man to the right of Thomas. Spiral designs had been shaved into his hair, metal pierced his eyebrows and lip, and a white vest exposed his tattooed sleeved arms. Within the sleeve, images of famous Disney cartoon characters circulated the famous castle which she herself had visited in Florida. An unusual design for a man of his stature, she considered. However, what distinguished these tattoos were that the characters, who in the movies were usually the heroic protagonists, were acting unusually different to their on-screen personas. In the tattoos Snow White appeared to be cackling as she kicked one of the seven dwarfs, Belle ploughed her yellow heel into Maurice’s head, while Cinderella waved a Confederate flag and spat at Prince Charming. The characters they abused all had one thing in common; they had a skullcap on their scalps.
Vanessa glanced into the parallel Disney universe and felt a chill down her spine. She’d heard the rumours of Walt Disney’s anti-Semitic views following the broadcast of his original production of Three Little Pigs, who were tormented by a wolf dressed as a Jewish peddler. While these rumours had been dismissed by those who worked with Disney, it had tarnished his legacy in some circles.
‘He’s exposing the man who brought joy to millions of people…’ Vanessa whispered. ‘Just like the culprit who stole Lincoln’s body.’
Vanessa watched them for a further half hour as they sat on their porch and smoked. She longed for one of them to cause some sort of offence so she could approach them, but Thomas, a minor, hadn’t even cracked open a beer. She had nothing on them but a few unpleasant opposing viewpoints, which she knew were more common than she liked to believe.
Resigning from her undercover mission, the detective drove home, ordered Sushi to be delivered and began her evening of the less-than-riveting entertainment. As the evening dragged on, she felt blessed that this wasn’t her full time job. She found herself empathising with those two security guards at Oak Ridge. Even if Carl Bradshaw’s drink hadn’t been spiked that evening, she imagined staring at a motionless screen for hours on end would put anyone to sleep.
She still had her suspicions about Bradshaw; he had really hit a nerve with her when he refused to be tested. It was within his rights as the victim of course but why would he avoid the test if he was innocent? His colleague, Rick Spabrunt, had been incredibly helpful with their enquiries and agreed to be tested immediately, although the fact that he was still vomiting as he was questioned gave little doubt to his story. She hadn’t met either of the security guards; they’d been questioned before she’d stepped off the plane therefore she tried to remain neutral until she had further evidence to form an opinion, unlike her colleague who was still determined Bradshaw had something to do with it just because he was an acquaintance of his nemesis, Chuck Cunningham.
As her eyes began to drift once again, an image on the screen caught her attention. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, rewinding to get a closer view of one of the Indiana Park’s visitors. There walking through the park gates was a beefy man, with piercings, tattoos and swirly carvings on his shaved head, whom she recognised from the cabin earlier in the evening hanging with Darnell’s son. She picked up her cell phone and dialled her manager.
*
The following morning, Vanessa
