Hull - Volume II: The Posthumous Chronicles

The Lithe Livery Wanderer

Here we have the first case, which took place in a very brief window. After the events with the Medina and Cunningham families, I found myself living with Hull. And even though it had been something I was excited for, the pace at which things moved was jarring. I took some time to acclimate myself, not just to the new living arrangement, but to Newfield as a whole. I wanted to gradually become more comfortable no longer being in a war environment. So from the day after wrapping that case until almost the end of January, I would play tourist and work.

In that time, Hull took on a case that he was at first reluctant to discuss. In fact, the first details I received about it came from the evening news. It was two months later, when we were out to lunch. A woman had entered the diner and caught his eye. After she had left, he told me she was the mother of one of the victims, and also at one point a psychologist he had visited. He then proceeded to give me a very full, very vivid recap of events from that week.

I won’t lie: I’m unbelievably grateful that I was not present for this particular case.

Below I have recreated events as described by Hull. But I’m certain no literary retelling can truly capture what he experienced.

*

He wore a black shirt that bore an insignia few could recognize, a pair of sweatpants to represent his current lack of mental stimulation, and a determined look that feigned full attention in what he was doing. His dirty blonde hair wasn’t combed, his stubble was enough to make a teenage boy jealous, and his nose had a certain twitch to it. But those minor features usually paled in comparison with his eyes, one blue, one green, both always appearing to be in fluid motion.

He was Sheridan Hull, and at this point in time, he had yet to die.

It had been exactly one hundred and seven hours since Hull’s case, and the next could not have been any slower in presenting itself. The time was around 8 AM, the doctor was at work, and the detective had his face pressed against the protective screen of an indoor apiary, one he had kept hidden in the closet of the third floor. In his hands were several different syringes, each containing liquid forms of pure caffeine.

He held one syringe delicately, its tip pointed at a bee that was resting on the screen. Quick stab into the thorax, direct injection, prepare to study results. He sucked in his breath, preparing to prod the bee with the syringe. He’d always been curious to see what effects caffeine would have if injected into a honey bee. Would it be more productive? Would its body be unable to cope with the burst of energy? Now he would finally know.

“Please tell me those aren’t filled with something that’ll make me have to arrest you,” a voice said from behind Hull. He sighed and stood, setting the syringes down on the table on pulling his latex gloves free.

“No, Inspector, they are filled with liquidized caffeine. I do not embrace the habits to which you are referring.”

“Well thank God for that,” Lennox said as he came around to look at the bees. “That would’ve made working with you very difficult.” Hull side-glanced at the inspector, not bothering to observe anything other than his general appearance. His rather unkempt brown hair, his unshaven face, his tan coat too small for his arms, and the marks on his nose from his reading glasses. There were also trace signs of coffee on his bottom lip, evidence of lack of sleep under his eyes, and an ink smudge on his left thumb, but again, Hull wasn’t bothering to observe.

“Why are you here? How are you in here? Did you just show yourself in?” Hull chided as he put the syringes back into a box and closed the lid.

“Your landlady showed me in. It’s nice, this place. Is Dr. Walker here?”

“Dr. Walker is at work,” Hull replied as he started for the stairs, “which, if I’m not mistaken, is what you should be doing as well, but since you’re not, you may as well skip the drollery and move on to why you’re here.”