It was early Monday morning and I was re-reading Hansen’s police report and eating one of three breakfast burritos that were wrapped in foil and lined on my desk in front of me when an elderly woman stepped timidly into my office.
Stepped might have been overreaching. Poked her head in a little was a little closer.
“ Are you the detective?” she asked.
Her voice was oddly strong, coming from what I assumed was a very old woman.
“ I am,” I said. “And you would make a fine one yourself.”
She blinked at me. “It says ‘Knighthorse Investigations’ on your door.”
“ Sometimes the most obvious clues are the hardest to see.”
She nodded as if I had spoken the truth, then stepped all the way in. She then carefully turned around and eased the door shut. Her back was bent and her hair was white, and she probably could have used a cane or a walker, but didn’t. That said something about her. What it said, I wasn’t sure. Stubborn? Independent? Anti-cane?
I got up out of my chair and offered her one of my four client chairs, pulling it aside a little to give her easier access. She hobbled straight to it, placed a spotted hand on the chair’s wooden arm, and eased slowly down. I turned the chair slightly so that it was facing my desk again. The old woman weighed maybe 80 pounds. My three breakfast burritos weighed almost as much.
As I went back to my chair, she set a very shiny black purse on her lap, which she held onto with both hands.
“ So how can I help you, Mrs…?”
“ Poppie,” she said. “Just Poppie.”
I grinned. I liked the name for reasons I couldn’t quite articulate. “So how can I help you, Poppie?”
“ We, Mr. Knighthorse, we have a problem in our neighborhood and the police just don’t seem to be taking it very seriously, and we want it to stop.”
“ Understandable. What’s your problem, Poppie?”
“ There’s a man in our neighborhood who likes to…” She paused, looked away. Some sort of emotion raced through her. What it was, I couldn’t tell. But her lower jaw trembled a little. She tried again, “Who likes to…expose himself.”
“ I see,” I said, although I didn’t. “Where do you live?”
“ Leisure World. Have you been there?”
I had. It was in Seal Beach, and it was an epic retirement community, complete with its own driving codes and police force. To get in was a nightmare. To drive around was a nightmare. To find addresses was a nightmare.
I nodded. “Have you seen this man?”
“ More of him than I care to admit.”
“ How many times?”
“ Three.”
“ Has he exposed himself to other women?”
“ Many.”
“ How many?”
“ Maybe eight. Maybe more. Sometimes whole groups.”
She wouldn’t look at me. As she spoke, she looked off to her right. Her lower jaw still quivered. I realized now what the emotion was: fury.
“ Can you describe a typical, ah, encounter?”
She looked at me. “Do I have to?”
“ It would help.”
She took in a lot of air. She continued looking away. “It’s always at night. At first he would knock on doors and flash whoever opened it.”
“ Single women only?” I asked.
She nodded. She still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Of course, only single women. It even got to the point that we wouldn’t answer our doors any more.”
“ Was he disguised?”
She shuddered a little. “A wig, I think.”
“ And you told the park authorities?”
“ Of course. They beefed up security. It stopped for nearly six months.”
“ Long enough for security to forget about it.”
She nodded. “Right. Then the…exposing began again.” She turned her full gaze onto me, and her jaw was really shaking now. “Last night, he flashed me and my friends while we were walking back from a play.”
“ A play in Leisure World?”
“ We have plays all the time. And concerts, too.”
“ Of course,” I said. “Has he ever hurt anyone?”
“ Oh, heavens no. He just shows us his little willy and takes off running.”
It was all I could do not to laugh. “Could you tell how old he is?”
“ It’s hard to tell at night, but we think he’s a resident.”
“ Any, ah, distinguishing features, other than his little willy?”
She shook her head sharply. This was all, of course, highly distasteful to her. Her grip tightened on her purse. No doubt she wanted to flee, or shuffle energetically, far away. But circumstances forced her here. And for that matter, circumstances generally forced all clients here.
“ Is he Caucasian?”
“ Yes.”
“ Any chest hair?”
“ Really, Mr. Knighthorse. Is that important?”
“ Maybe not. But I like to be thorough.”
“ Be respectful, young man,” she said.
“ Yes, ma’am,” I said immediately, and that might have been the first ma’am I’ve uttered in ten years.
We discussed my retainer, and learned that the women had all pooled their money together to hire me. So I told her that I was having a special. The first two weeks were free. She seemed relieved and put her checkbook back.
Now, I thought as she shuffled off, I just need to find the perv in two weeks.