Word: indagate

 

indagate

\ IN-duh-geyt \  , verb;

1. Archaic . to investigate; research.

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The detective sat down on the cold metal chair.  For a few moments he said nothing to the man sitting across from him.  Then, he took an unmarked folder containing a few pictures and placed it on the table in front of him.  The detective opened the folder, allowing the contents to be seen.

                “Now, Mr. Linman, do you recognize this woman?”  He asked.

                “Oh yeah.  Course I recognize her.”  Said Mr. Linman.

                “Good.  What’s her name?”

                “Sally.  Sally Gramm.”

                “Excellent.  Now, do you know how old Miss. Gramm is?”

                “Sure.  She’s seventeen right now, but her birthday is coming up in two months.”

                “Correct.  Now then, can you tell me why you were seen by several people following Miss Gramm around?”

                “Following?  Nah, nah, you got it all wrong.  See, when you say it like that, it sounds like I’m some kinda creepy stalker guy.  That’s not how it is at all.”

                “Then why not tell me what it is.  Because right now, from where I’m sitting, you do look an awful lot like a stalker.”

                It was a horrible thing to say, but it was, disturbingly enough, true.  Mr. Linman was a thin, short man in his mid thirties, and it was as if he took great care to look as creepy and disturbing as possible.  His thinning hair was slicked back with too much gel.  His thin, long face held shallow eyes with dark bags under them from nights spent outside Sally Gramm’s window.  A pencil thin mustache adorned his equally thin upper lip.  This was the kind of man who parents warned their children to stay away from.  What was worse was that he wore it like some kind of odd badge of honor.  The detective couldn’t wait to find some way to put him behind bars.  It might not be stalking, which was the current charge, but it would inevitably be something.

                “Nah, I’m not stalking her.  I’m researching her.”

                “Researching?”  The detective asked, raising one eyebrow, a maneuver he had worked very hard to master.

                “Yeah, researching.  Like a PI, you know?  Real investigatory stuff.  See, there’s this other kid I know.  Nice guy, really.  He comes by and I pay him to mow my lawn sometimes.  See, he’s interested in Sally.  Really interested.  Oh, don’t worry, he’s seventeen also.  Thing is, the guy’s terrible with girls.  You know how it is.  Awkward teen years and all.  So, he asks me to find out as much about her as possible.  You know, find a connection he can use to talk with and stuff like that.  I don’t think I need to tell you what that stuff is, am I right?”  Mr. Linman said, laughing at his own joke.

                “Alright, so what’s this kid’s name that you were helping?”

                “Uh, Joe.  Joe Brown.”

                A wonderfully generic name.  It was so common that a search was likely to turn up dozens of names in this one city alone.  And it was obviously a lie.  The detective could see it a mile away.  He didn’t even need a polygraph machine to tell him that.  He tried not to smile too much.

                “Ok then.  Why don’t you give me his phone number so we can call him and confirm.”  The detective said.

                “Uh, yeah, see, I don’t actually have his number.”  Mr. Linman said, shuffling around in his seat.  The detective knew it wasn’t because the chairs weren’t very comfortable either.

                “Why not?”

                “I, uh, I never got it.  We meet in person all the time and stuff.  We have a set time and day he comes by, so I never have to call him.  So yeah, no number.”

                “His address then.  Surely you must have an address.”

                “Uh, can’t say I do.  He just comes by and then leaves.  Must be close though.  He doesn’t drive or anything.  Maybe he doesn’t have a license yet.”

                This guy was disproving himself.  By eliminating any kind of methods of contacting this supposed boy, he was making it harder to believe that he even existed.  It was also getting a bit frustrating.

                “Alright.  So, give us the time and day he comes over and we’ll meet him at your place.”

                “Oh, see, that won’t work.  See, he already came this week, and, uh, he comes every two.  So yeah, he won’t be back to my place for awhile.”

                “So, let me get this straight.  You’re ‘researching’ a teenage girl for a teenage boy we have no way of getting in contact with?”

                “Uh, yeah.  I am.”

                “And do you really expect me to believe that, Mr. Linman?”

                “Uh, yes?”

                “Well, sorry, but that doesn’t fly.  You see, we’ve checked you’re place recently.  You have a lot of pictures of Miss. Gramm in there.  In fact, it’s where we got these.  And some of them are quite old.  At least two years old.  Now tell me, have you really been ‘researching’ her for this boy for over two years?”  The detective enjoyed Mr. Linman’s squirming in his seat far more than he should have.

                “W-well, you know how it is with kids that age, right?”

                “Oh, I do.  But this is pushing it a bit, don’t you think?  Why don’t you just tell the truth?  It’ll make this a lot less painful for you.”

                Mr. Linman squirmed in his seat, thinking of some way out of this.  The detective was already mentally preparing himself for anything the stalker might say in his own defense. 

                “Ok, ok, fine.  Yeah, there is no kid.  I mean, I do consider it research though.  It’s just that it’s for me.  I mean, I wasn’t gonna do anything.  Not until she turned eighteen anyway.  When that happens, I was planning on just casually introducing myself, you know?  Real subtle like.  At first I wouldn’t even hint at anything.  I’d do stuff that she likes until she liked me, and then, well.  I don’t think I have to spell it out for you anymore, right?  It wouldn’t even be a crime, since she’d be legal and stuff.  And that’s why I was following her around like that.”

                “I see.  Well, thank you for being honest, Mr. Linman.  However, stalking is a crime.  It may not be worthy of jail time, but it’s still a criminal action.  Right now, you’re most likely to get a simple restraining order.  But should you be found violating that order, or stalking another girl, then it’ll start getting bad.  Keep this in mind for the future, please.”  The detective said, somewhat unsatisfied with the outcome.  He got up and turned to leave the room.

                “Hey, wait.”  Mr. Linamn called out, “Don’t you have to give me your name or something?”

                “I suppose I do.  I’m Detective Jason Gramm.”  He said right before exiting the room.

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I'm pretty sure this isn't how a situation like this would be handled in real life.  But hey, if all works of fiction were true to life, they wouldn't be very interesting.  Probably would involve a lot more sitting at a desk doing paper work than the actual interesting parts.