An Absence of Light

She focused the beam of the flashlight on the new row of refuse in the road, and Neuman started the process all over again.

It seemed like an hour, but it was only a little over twenty minutes from the time they got out of the car until Neuman said, “That’s it” Paula stood quickly and pulled down her dress and held the flashlight while Neuman hurriedly collected his latest bits of salvage from the strewn garbage and took it to the opened trunk of the car where he put them with the others in a plastic evidence bag. He peeled off the surgical gloves and threw them down, grabbed another pair, slammed the trunk, and both of them ran around to opposite sides of the car, got in, and slammed the doors.

“This was a take,” Neuman said enthusiastically. “I think we’ve got some stuff here, some good stuff.”

“Jesus, I hope so.” Paula was running her fingers through her hair which was disheveled from pulling her skirt over her head. “I don’t believe those goddamn things out there,” she snapped. She picked up the pair of latex gloves and pulled them on. “Let me see the bag,” she said.

Neuman handed it to her as Paula opened the glove box, turned on the flashlight again, and laid it on the open glove box door. Neuman picked up his notebook and took a ballpoint out of his shirt pocket.

Paula carefully picked the first item out of the bag and leaned over and held it under the flashlight beam.

“Okay, we’ll begin with the biggest pieces, the envelopes, three of them. One: from Gulfstream National Bank and Trust. Looks like maybe bank statements came in it. You know, a little window in it, so we don’t know who’s the addressee. Two: from Secure Maintenance Services, but this thing wasn’t mailed. Uh, the name ‘Doris W.’ written in ballpoint on the front. Maybe she brought something home in it.”

“Then shouldn’t her name be on the envelope? You think she works there?”

“In the office, maybe. Casey,” she said, dropping her hand in her lap and straightening up, “I’m melting. Since we can’t roll down the window because of the damn mosquitoes, can we at least turn on the air conditioner?”

Neuman started the car, put the air conditioner on high and picked up his pen again.

Paula continued. “Three: from Excell Executive Secretarial Services, ‘Olivia M.’ written in pencil on the outside.”

“Same handwriting?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

Neuman nodded, writing.

“Okay,” Paula continued. “Receipts.” She slapped a mosquito on her arm. “Some of those little bastards are in this car.” She scratched the bite vigorously. “One: from the Total Detailing, a car wash, one of those places that does everything that can be done to your car plus some more, over on Bay Area Boulevard.”

“Gotta keep that ‘Vette lookin’ good,” Neuman said.

“Yeah. Two: this one from-oh, you’ll like this, Casey-Victoria’s Secret in Baybrook Mall.”

“Great. What’d she get?” Neuman asked, still writing.

“Four pairs of Chancery Lace bras and matching panties in champagne and toasted almond…”

“What?”

“Champagne and toasted almond, those are the colors.”

“Whoa, no red and black?” He squashed a mosquito on his notepad.

“And some other stuff…” Paula said, setting it aside and going on to the next item. “This is a… lawn maintenance receipt Next one is a…”

They went through the rest of the bits of paper which included receipts from a pharmacy, a laundry, a liquor store, and a grocery, and several sheets from a notepad with doodles on them including three different telephone numbers, and the name “Don C.” which had been so decoratively embellished-perhaps during a telephone conversation-that it was difficult to decipher.

“And that’s it,” Paula said, putting the last scrap of paper into the plastic bag. She was scratching her arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“We’d better call Graver.”

“I’ll call him on the way in. Let’s go.”

“You want to run by Sheck’s first?”

“What!” Paula looked at her watch with her flashlight “Are you going to…? It’s after one o’clock, for God’s sake. No way. I’m exhausted, really, really tired.”

“Yeah, but I’d like to know if the lovely Ms. Heath went over there. It’s just right there,” he said, gesturing back toward the highway, “Nassau Bay…”

“I know where it is, Casey…”

“Okay, okay.” Neuman slapped at a mosquito near his ear, put the car in reverse, and turned around with his right arm on the back of the seat.

“Wait, what about the garbage?” Paula asked.

Neuman looked at her, nonplussed. “I recycle at home-newspapers, green glass, clear glass, and cans. I don’t buy plastic unless I have to. I go with a girl who takes her own canvas bag to the supermarket My conscience is clean.”

He turned around again, gunned the motor, and plowed back over Valerie Heath’s trash and didn’t slow down until he got all the way to the access road where he whipped the car around, threw it in drive, and roared onto the pavement.

“Roll down the windows,” he said, cranking his handle as fast as he could. “We’ll blow the little shits out of here.”

Which they did, all the way back into the city.