Cheese

“For the record, this is Detective Michael Lewis, Badge number 42. This interview is being recorded.”

“Please state your name.”

“My earthly name?”

“What the?...Yes…your earthly name.” Said Michael through gritted teeth.

“Edward Peterson, but those from my home planet know me as Caranthor the Brave.”

“Yeah…I’m going to call you Ed. I’ll get right to it: where is your sister?”

“She has traveled back to our home planet, Ptarfon. Could I have some cheese?”

“Alright,” Michael stood shaking his head. “This is not a joke, Ed, and if you’re trying to build an insanity case, you’re doing it poorly.”

“I am not insane, detective. In fact, given human standards, I am quite sane. How about that cheese?”

“Holy shit man, I can’t handle this. Your sister has been missing for three days. No letter, no sign of her at all, no-showed at work, all of her belongings are gone, and you’re feeding me some bullshit about your alien intelligence, and NO I WILL NOT GIVE YOU CHEESE? That’s a new low, man.” 

“My sister is not missing, Detective. I told you where she is.”

“Alright, I’m done. You’re staying here for a while, buddy. Still refusing a lawyer? Ok, good. It’ll be easier to convict you.” Michael stood and knocked on the door of interrogation room six. He almost ran into a uniformed officer as it was opened from the outside. The station was chaos. Every department was understaffed. Madison wasn’t a huge city, and funding wasn’t amazing. 

“Hey Mike! You got a minute?” Said a young man through a mouthful of chips. 

“Yeah.” Michael sighed and walked over to the mound of paper and food wrappers the head of technology claimed was a desk. “What is it, Stan?

“So, I got the tech sweep dropped on me for the Peterson case. Computers, phones, tablets, all of’em are locked up tight.” Chew. Chew Chew. “I mean, like tighter than anything I’ve ever seen.”

Michael stared, waiting for Stan to continue. “Ok…and what do you want me to do?”

Chew. Chew. “Whatever this guy has on these devices…he did not want anyone finding it.”

The detective merged back onto the highway between desks and headed for his office. He yelled back to Stan, “Yeah, well, the guy has a few fries missing, and I’m not sure I want to see that search history”

The quiet of the office was taught. Sure, it was relaxing, but silence meant thought, and thought was not Michael’s favorite. His phone buzzed. CSI had finished with the house and was sending over the preliminary report. They should still be on scene. Relief. Something to do. Michael grabbed a worn-out leather jacket from his chair and braved the zoo to get outside. He had the convenience of a parking spot near the station; 20 years on the force had its benefits. The glow plug light on his 1984 Mercedes D300 went out, and he turned the ignition. Black smoke kicked out of the exhaust. The Peterson house wasn’t far away, but it was in an old neighborhood so roads were not designed for efficiency. He parked on the road. CSI was still there. 

“I’ll send the report when I’m done, Mike.” Said a bearded man with a straight face. 

“I know, but hey, I’m a sucker for a drive.”

“Well, I hope you don’t have too many more ‘drives’ to do; that antique looks like it's about to crumble.”

“It’s a mechanically injected diesel, Dan; it’ll run forever.”

The bearded man shook his head and snuffed out the ember of a cigarette with his foot. “I’ll give you the highlights. All the Sister’s stuff is gone, I mean all of it. There was definitely a second car in the garage, oil on the ground and tread marks in dirt, but it’s not there anymore. No signs of forced entry, the house ain't flipped, and they don’t have cameras. We took a bunch of samples that’ll need to be tested, but Mike, that house is cleaner than my mother-in-law’s kitchen.” 

“Nothing is cleaner than your mother-in-law’s kitchen, Dan. We still have the brother at the station. I’m gonna take a tour myself but don’t wait for me.”

“Mike. When’s the last time you slept?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m done.” Said Michael, putting his hand on the MPD patch of his jacket. “I promise. 

The house looked like it was pulled out of a magazine. There was furniture, but it was immaculate, and nothing looked like it had ever been used. Michael pulled out his notepad. Were they trying to sell the house? CSI knew what they were doing, but Michael wanted to double-check the odd places. He checked the basement; living spaces got cleaned often, basements held secrets. The basement was clean; no, it was sterile. This guy knew how to cover his tracks. The slop sink looked brand new, but pipes talk. He knelt down and unhooked the J-tube of the drain and put a bucket under it. Nothing. His jacket pockets were always stuffed with evidence bags and other tools of the trade, at least when they didn’t fall through the holes. Michael ripped open a sterile swab and rolled the cotton end inside the tube. The tip was covered in a red syrup-like substance. Ed had made a mistake. 

***

The lab was in the basement of the station, and Mike preferred it to his own office. Technicians in white coats were busy working. His favorite tech, Sean, was seated in front of a giant microscope. 

“You guys really should do your job better.”

“Screw you, Mike.” Said Sean without taking his eyes from the scope. 

“Well then what is THIS?” Mike laid the evidence bag with the swab on the table.

Sean looked at the swab expressionless. “And where, may I ask, did you find that?” 

“Did you guys actually go in the basement?” 

Sean curled an eyebrow, “Yes, we went in the basement, Mike.” 

“Well, this was inside the drain of the slop sink.” 

Sean grabbed the bag and inspected the swab. “That ain’t blood.”

“What do you mean it isn’t blood? It’s red and syrupy. In my meager experience, that means blood.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. Sure, you’ve been making arrests for a long time, but I’ve been looking at fluids for as long, and I’m telling you… that is not blood.” 

Michael’s face and shoulders dropped. “Well then what the hell is it?” 

Sean twisted the swab in the bag looking for details, “I have no idea, but I have machines that will tell us.”

Michael turned to leave. “Make it quick.”

Sean mocked Michael with a salute, “Yes sir!”

The station had calmed a bit; it was getting late. The uniformed officer outside of the interrogation room was still there. 

“Ok, spill. What has he asked for? Water? Coffee? Food?... To be let go?”

The officer shrugged, “Nothing.”

Mike scowled, “What do you mean nothing? It’s been hours!”

The officer's eyes bugged, and he suddenly seemed small. “I…I don’t know, detective…sir.” 

“Shit, sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve dealt with a psycho of this caliber.”

Michael went in the next door. A pane of one-way glass framed the suspect sitting in a chair. He hadn’t moved. He hasn’t moved at all. I’m not sure he’s blinked. Tactics need to change. 

Instead of slamming the door open, Michael entered the interrogation room calmly. He had picked up two coffees and set them down on the table. 

“You want a coffee?”

“I truly appreciate the gesture. However, coffee does not agree with me.” Said Ed with a smile.

“Ok, Ed. I’m just trying to answer some questions here. How about I ask you some simple questions, and you give me some simple answers?”

“That is all I have done, and will do, Detective.”

Michael stifled an aggressive, primal reflex and took a deep breath. “...Where is the other car?”

“We only owned one car, and to my knowledge it is still parked in the garage.”

“Now…Caranthor… this is what I was talking about. That’s not an answer. We have oil on the ground and a second set of track marks in the garage. So, where is the car?”

“We owned one car, or motor vehicle; the other space was reserved for what you would call a ship, or a plane. I hate to belabor the point, but I would really enjoy some cheese; no need for an aged Hook’s cheddar, anything will do.”

“Man, I’m trying really hard here.” Michael’s voice cracked. “You’re telling me… you have…a space ship?!”

Ed paused. “I guess that would be the ideal analogous term, yes. It is a flying device of sorts.”

“Ok, ok, ok, ok.” Michael held up his hands in surrender. “We’ll move on to something else. Why is there blood in your sink drain?”

“There is no blood in my sink drain.”

“Well, I found some, C-Man… in the drain. Didn’t think I’d look there, did you?”

“I’m truly sorry, Detective Lewis. It seems like you would like me to have different answers to your questions, or be the person you are looking for. If I could, I would absolutely help you, but I’m not sure how to right now.”

Michael knew faces. He’d seen every kind of liar and cheat, but this one was new. 

“Ed, sorry, Caranthor… where is Ptarfon?”

“You have a different name. You refer to it as K2-18b. We are a race much like yours but also very different. My sister and I came here after our family was excommunicated due to the actions of my uncle. However, three days ago we were informed that we could return. My sister decided to leave, but I have grown to like humans and this planet. Many of you make unintelligent decisions, but many of you are also good and true of heart. I think you are good and true of heart, Detective Michael Lewis. Also, I really enjoy cheese.”

Michael pulled his chair closer to the table. “What did your uncle do?” 

“He had worked his way into a position of power in the government and used it to marginalize many groups. Eventually there was a rebellion and he was removed from power. Unfortunately, we were told to leave as well, by association.”

“Well that’s not exactly fair, your uncle was…wait, wait, what am I saying?! This is complete bull!” Michael stood up. “I’ll get a psych in here. I’m done with you, and if… no, when I find your sister, god willing alive, you will spend the rest of your life rotting in a cell. Maybe try acting like a human from here on out?”

“I can do that, Detective.”

Michael deflated. “Good.” He grabbed both coffees as he left. Paused at the door, knocked, and the officer outside opened the door. 

“Hey Mike!” Sean was walking down the hall. 

Michael was stunned; a labby was upstairs! “Uh, Sean, is everything ok? You know there are windows on this floor?”

“Shut up. I got the results back on that swab. Whatever that shit is, my machines don’t like it.”

“Don’t like it?”

“Yeah, they just turn off.”

“How old are these ‘machines’?”

Sean shrugged. “I mean they’re a bit dated, but they still work fine.”

Michael shook his head. “Sean, I don’t need you screwing with my investigation because your machines- sorry, your friends are too old and don’t work. You know what? It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m handing this off to psych. That dude is not even close to his rocker.”

“What do you want me to do with the sample?” Michael’s eyebrows raised. “I mean…I’ll just catalog it.”

A tall woman in heels walked up, and Michael handed her one of the coffees. “It’s cold, sorry, but you’re gonna need this.”

The woman took the coffee with a nod and went into the interrogation room.

Darkness had taken over the small midwestern city. Michael’s hands hurt as he pried them off the steering wheel; his head was pounding and his teeth hurt. His apartment had its own entrance. It was on the second floor, but the space under was the landlord’s office, so no one was there to be bothered, or to bother him. A leather couch sat a few feet from a small TV set on top of the box it came in. The light switches collected dust, but the fridge lit up the small space. Empty. Michael opened a cupboard and pulled out some instant oatmeal packets. He filled and started his electric kettle. Just as he sank into the Michael Lewis-shaped depression of his couch, sleep won. 

***

“Hey, Mike, did you know E.T.'s court case started 10 minutes ago? You wanna go and support the bleep blorp bleep?” 

Michael shut the door of his office; it was time to clock out. It’d been weeks since he handed that case over. He had written his part of the report and called it quits. His doctor was always telling him to remove things from his life that increase cortisol. “Well maybe I will, s’pose a spaceship’ll come get him.” Laughter from the floor. Michael grabbed his jacket. “Hey, no matter what, it'll be a show.”

The courthouse wasn’t far from the station. A belt started squealing on the Mercedes but it was still running smoothly. A grand total of 17 people were in the courthouse that day. Michael sat down and met eyes with Ed, who smiled at him and waved.

The judge yawned, “Prosecution, the floor is yours.”

A greying 40-something in a suit stood and looked at the jury. “I don’t believe I have to say much. Edward Peterson had the means and the motive to make his sister disappear. We found blood at the scene…”

Michael’s face contorted. Blood?! But Sean was so sure.  

The lawyer continued, “You’ve all seen the report. Edward is a high-functioning and very sane human being. Her memory is in your hands.”

Wait what?! There’s no way. Was the psychologist drunk?! 

The judge motioned toward Ed, “Do you have any final thoughts, Ed?”

Ed stood and walked to the center of the floor, positioning himself to address all but the judge. “I like humans. I really like cheese. You all have serious faults, some so bad they cause very real problems. However, you also have a tenacity for morality and cheesemaking. The flavors and sensations I have experienced with aged cheeses are some I will never forget. Thank you, I am eternally grateful to you for your goodness and the goodness of your cheeses.”

The judge’s face had seized into disbelief; he advised the jury to deliberate in a separate room, and they filed out. Michael stood up and approached the front of the room. He didn’t know any of the prosecution, but he walked up to the suit who had just spoken to the jury and flashed his badge.

“Hey, uh, I was a detective on this case. Psych really ok’d this guy?”

The man turned and motioned for Michael to come closer. Through a smirk, he whispered, “Dude, this guy is so F’d. This would’ve been a case, but he’s defending himself and just kept saying he didn’t do anything.” 

Michael didn’t have words. He was stunned. Minutes passed as he replayed the case over and over in his head. 

The suit chimed back in, “That’s gotta be a record.”

They both watched as the jury filed back in. All of them sat, but one. 

“We the jury find the defendant… guilty.”

Michael’s ears rang. Voices muffled. He had to force himself to look. Ed met his eyes and then smiled and waved.