Photo by Debbie Jung
*Note to Reader: This piece allegorically explores the author's spiritual pursuits.
20:03:29 Monday, 1/14/2013
Detective Sergeant Nocturne of the Gethsemane department reporting. Another new case arrived at my desk just now. The case had the entire department, including Captain Lestrade, in a catatonic trance. Something to do with a big guy in the force. I'll take a look tomorrow. Today's been too long of a day… wrapped up another aggravated assault case only for Captain Lestrade to beg me to dig up more evidence for the double homicide case from last week. He tried to butter me up by saying he liked my cologne. Something about wood… and cardamom? Funny, because I don't wear cologne. When's the last time I showered? Perhaps that's the culprit. Anyway, it would be nice if he could promote me to Lieutenant if he's going to ask me to examine two thirds of the cases that come into our Violent Crimes unit. My life is just case after case; a probable motif for my memory to omit trivial details of my own life like… showering. Logging off now.
16:45:47 Tuesday, 1/15/2013
Postmortem is in. The estimated time of death was 10 p.m. on Sunday, 1/13/2013. The deceased was Gabriel O. Damascus, a legendary detective from Eden. He's often credited with keeping Eden ranked as the safest city in the state for the past 20 years. Apparently he retired from the force a while back. We wouldn't have been able to determine the identity of the victim though if it wasn't for Eden's Deputy Chief recognizing him. It seems like Mr. Damascus' information was covered up since he was under Witness Protection. We couldn't even find any family members or friends to notify regarding his death. Anyway, the cause of death was a gunshot wound to the chest. What was unexpected though was that the shot seemed to be self-inflicted as the pistol used as the murder weapon was found in his hand, along with the gunpowder residue and blood splatter suggesting the gun was fired point blank at his chest. There was even a “note” found in Mr. Damascus' backpocket which I won't detail out of respect. It's also reported that there was ink discovered mixed in with the blood at the scene; a crimson swirl of blood enveloping the sparse blotches of ink. The source was likely the fountain pen that was found fragmented into many pieces. It was probably in his breastpocket when he pulled the trigger. Forensics was able to reconstruct it to some degree, but I couldn't trace it back to any known makers. Must've been custom-made. Also, according to Captain Lestrade, forensics noted that Mr. Damascus wore some strong cologne that day. In his words: “The old man went out all pretty. They say he was smelling good like you, Saul.” His remarks honestly felt more mocking, but I have more important things to remember. The location of the incident was “The Temple”, a modest bar and lounge here in Gethsemane that has a reputation for clandestine operations funded by the mega-rich. Not my unit's problem, but I'll still go for the on-site investigation tomorrow.
14:46:03 Wednesday, 1/16/2013
19:23:44 Friday, 1/18/2013
Reporting in for today. So I must've fallen asleep at work last night, rendering me unavailable to conduct the stakeout investigation. With all the forensics reports, on-sites, and investigation documents, I must've been too out of it to stay awake. To compensate for my slumber, I dug through all CCTV recordings around “The Temple” to watch for any signs of the pianist, but was unable to find any. Odd. I also analyzed recordings from previous weeks to see if I could tail the pianist, but somehow there aren't any traces of him. Highly improbable. In fact, the patrons that I talked to during the on-site weren't even caught on camera. Did someone mess with the footage? Nobody could've tampered with the recordings since I'm the only one given access… But it also doesn't seem like the patrons were lying about the pianist. When I paid “The Temple” another visit earlier today, other patrons also knew of the pianist. Some of them let me know that the pianist did not perform yesterday as he usually does. Perhaps he's trying to evade the public eye after the incident? Who is the pianist? How did he evade surveillance and leave no traces? Too many anomalies, yet the evidence found at the scene points to one obvious yet unsatisfying answer…
08:15:13 Monday, 1/28/2013
Haven't updated this case in a while due to lack of discoveries, but today will be a closing report. I've taken up too many other cases for me to keep this case open; I don't even remember leaving the office nowadays. I tried another stakeout operation again this past Thursday, but I couldn't keep myself awake again. Captain Lestrade nagged at me again: “Saul O. Nocturne! It doesn't matter how sharp and hard-working you are. You're going to be unable to investigate if you don't take care of yourself!” …He wouldn't be able to take care of himself if it wasn't for me being a supposed “workaholic”. He's always loitering around at the office talking about visiting his parents. Must be nice knowing who your parents are… Anyway, the patrons at “The Temple” informed me that the pianist has not been around since. The final nail in the coffin for this case was the coroner's examination confirming that the fatal wound was self inflicted; there were no other signs of foul play. The report came in yesterday, so I'll cite that in my investigation report and close the case. Time to move on.
09:30:56 Friday, 2/1/2013
Detective Sergeant Nocturne reporting again. Reopening this case unofficially, as it was closed earlier this week with citations from the coroner. I would try to appeal to get this reopened, but I already know Captain Lestrade wouldn't let me. Not until I close the five other cases I'm working on. Just now, I received a package that was sent to the office with my name as the recipient. The sender: Gabriel O. Damascus. Initially, I thought it was some sick joke played by someone who found out that I was assigned to Mr. Damascus' case. But the contents of the package suggested otherwise: Redolence's Immortal Oud, a high-end cologne. Known for its woody scent and cardamom notes, it was the exact scent I smelled from myself on January 14th. Was my nose deceiving me? If not, how did this cologne end up on me? If this was truly Mr. Damascus, then what was his intention of sending the package specifically to me? It's almost like he foresaw what would happen, preemptively suggesting the existence of another suspect. And that suspect feels dangerously familiar… I've exhausted every other lead. Spent countless nights perusing through CCTV footage, leading on-sites, investigating the identities of Mr. Damascus and the pianist; yet, how could I not stay awake for the stakeout operations? In fact, how come I don't remember what I was doing outside of my hours in the office? I was never a “case”. I never had a reason to investigate myself, nor did I have the time or desire to do so given the mountain of cases always on my back. Yet now here I stand, with introspection inevitable.
Who am I?
I must now investigate the one I've been neglecting: myself. I'll start by planting GPS trackers in my work bag to glimpse into my life outside of work. I can't believe I'm doing this, yet I also can't believe I'm only doing this now.
19:56:23 Saturday, 2/2/2013
Holmes once said, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Was it really me? The GPS tracker indicated that I visited some rundown apartment in Downtown Gethsemane around 9 p.m. last night, then returned back to the office around 6 a.m. today. I have no recollection of any of this happening. So naturally, I went to the apartment to investigate. After some prying, I was able to get into what I now believe is the pianists'—or possibly my—residency. The first thing I noticed was the upright piano that seemed to take up half of the space in the crammed room. There was a medley of scores scattered around the room: Kreisler's Liebesleid, Tchaikovsky's 6th Symphony, Berlioz's Symphony Fantastique… the echoes of a lonely mind. Unable to request a full forensics unit on the basis of a closed case, I conducted a rudimentary forensics analysis myself and made three notable discoveries. The pianist seemed to dabble with composition using a set of exclusive fountain pens, which was the same unique model as the one discovered at “The Temple”. And of course, one of the pens was missing from the case, which had “From Dad” engraved onto it. I also found a notebook with a page ripped from it. Indented writing analysis revealed “10 p.m. on 1/13. The Temple in Gethsemane.” signed with three uppercase letters “SON”. Next to the desk, there was a trashcan with scraps of failed compositions and torn letters from Mr. Damascus. I was able to make out a few phrases from his letters:
“... loneliness, or ambition, you can bring it to me instead…”
“... pains me to see you with those corrupt men and women at the Temple …”
“... ever since you angrily stormed out of the house and the accident happened…”
“... it would be my greatest joy to spend time with you once more…”
A rejection of his father's concern, a letter demanding the presence of the father, and what seems to be the origin of the murder weapon… Perhaps the pianist wanted to use the fountain pen gifted by the very one he was planning on harming as some means of closure… no, I'm just conjecturing. Did I, a detective, murder my own father? No, no, it can't be… I'm the greatest detective in Gethsemane; I've upheld justice against wrongdoers my entire life. Must I encounter the other side of justice? No, let's slow down, there's no guarantee that I'm the pianist… uncovering the identity of the pianist comes first. Since stakeouts haven't been working, I'll set up hidden cameras in the room and return first thing tomorrow to retrieve the footage.
14:01:08 Sunday, 2/3/2013
Why couldn't I remember? How did I not know?? Did I kill my own father??? The one my eyes are now beholding through the recording—it was me. The one who returned home, put aside his briefcase and picked up the fountain pen. The one agonizing over the piano, which sounded like it was vicariously crying out for mercy. It must be. The way the pianist, or I, woke up the next day, picked up the briefcase, and headed for the office. The fact that none of this was caught on CCTV when it was just this morning… The story is cohesive if I myself was the pianist. This explains how the CCTV footage seemingly never caught the pianist, since I, the pianist, would've manipulated the videos myself. The pianist's imposing stature, the cologne I smelled on myself that day, my flaky memory and lack of identity… Leaving now for “The Temple”—where it all happened.
22:03:53 Sunday, 2/3/2013
I am Saul O. Nocturne. The Detective Sergeant of Gethsemane, the enigmatic pianist of “The Temple”, and the son of Gabriel O. Damascus; now two in one. And it was I, with the very fountain pen that my father gifted me, who pierced him at this very location. I remember, no, I know who I am. A finale of unleashing the frustration created by his concerned watch over me, resenting his steadfast care for me, and blaming my loneliness on him… Swearing vehemently at my father and telling him to disappear. Wounded and rejected, my father spoke his last words while embracing me: “You're my son, Saul. I love you, Saul. Remember that for me, Saul.” He stepped back, drew the pistol from his coat, then pulled the trigger into the very wound that was now stained with ink. His blood poured over the ink I had driven into his flesh. I don't understand. Why would he do that? I deserve the utmost punishment. Life in prison or death sentence, whatever it is, I have it coming for me.
16:49:28 Friday, 2/8/2013
Today marks my last day as Detective Sergeant. This entire past week, I forsook all other cases assigned to me to gather evidence against myself. At my apartment, I'd compile all video and other forensic evidence that I unknowingly was the pianist. At the office, I'd organize my artifacts into case files to submit to the Captain. Even the DNA test I submitted to the forensics biology lab proved that I was in fact the pianist and Gabriel O. Damascus' son. I entered Captain Lestrade's office earlier today with all the compiled evidence, and pleaded for justice to be delivered. The room went silent, confusion and sorrow written on Captain Lestrade's face. Looking back up at me, he broke the silence: “Saul, you and I both know there's conclusive evidence already. A self-inflicted gunshot wound along with a self-written note found on his body. There's not much we can do… I think it's best if you turn in your badge, Saul. Take some time for yourself. I'm sorry for your loss, Saul.”
Ah.
I'm sentenced to innocence. My guilt was engraved in ink. His mercy answered in blood. Washing me white as snow…
Is this… love?
He would always send me letters of concern and affection ever since I left him.
He always came to my performances with a bouquet of flowers in hand.
He knew my intentions, yet came determined to show me love and grace until the very end.
21:45:00 Thursday, 5/2/2013
Detective Lieutenant Nocturne of the Eden department reporting. After taking some time off, I started my new job as Detective Lieutenant of Eden, the very role my dad started his career in. I also stopped performing at “The Temple”, and instead debuted as a concert pianist with the Eden Symphony.
It took me a while to reconcile.
All this time, he was showing me nothing but love and care; yet, it took mercy and grace at the cost of his life for me to understand and accept. I was loved this entire time. How deep was his love for me?
I visited his resting place earlier today. I want to let him know so many things: “I'm sorry”, “I get you now, dad”, “Thank you for showing me who I am. Thank you for the blood…”
I've resolved to live the life that my dad freed me into. A life that glorifies and honors him.
Until we meet again, dad.
