Poor Tony Bassinet

POOR TONY BASSINET

The forest was quiet. Wonderfully quiet. The light filtered through the trees, creating dancing patterns of light and dark. The air was filled with that intoxicating smell of damp earth and new growth. It was an idyllic place. A place a person visited to calm their soul, and settle their brain.

But it was not where I needed to be right now. I needed to be on the road headed into the city. I had a deposition that I needed to conduct, and a boat-load of pre-trial preparation that needed to be finished in time for opening arguments in three days.

So, instead of actually preparing for the trial, I was marching back up the hill towards the last house that I had seen before my stupid car decided that this was, literally, the end of the road.

And, you know what else the tranquil forest is known for? Allowing a person to disconnect from the world around them. I knew this was true because I had zero bars, and was unable to contact the auto club, or a tow truck, or even my office to let them know that I was stranded on the side of the road, in the actual middle of no where. If the road hadn’t cut through the forest I would have sworn I was in an unexplored corner of the world.

But the road did cut through the trees, and I knew that, at some point, I was going to run into civilization. The question was when. Hopefully, sooner than later. I hadn't seen a single vehicle in the last half hour that I had been walking. And, I was pretty sure that no cars had actually passed me the entire time I'd been driving on this road. That was the reason that I loved this route it was a tranquil, beautiful drive—drive being the optimum word. I’m sure that there were people out there who liked to walk along sparsely populated forest roads. I was not one of them.

I continued to march back up the hill. I was not a happy camper. And seriously, I knew the forest was where you go to clear out all the cobwebs, and centre yourself, but what the hell was that smell?

Gross.

I stopped and looked around. Yup, it was super quiet out here. So quiet that I could hear the flies buzzing. Lots and lots of flies.

Shit.

Even me, city girl extraordinaire, knew what lay ahead. Bad smell plus a swack of flies equals something dead. By the sheer overpowering odour, I figured something big, maybe a deer, or a moose, or some other large animal that roamed the woods, had met its demise somewhere close by.

There was no way I was going to be searching for the source of the smell. That was just morbid and gross. Instead, I just covered my mouth with the collar of my shirt, picked up my pace, and continued my march towards civilization and a tow truck, hoping that I’d be past the smell quickly.

At least that was my plan. What I didn’t count on was the dead body coming to me. Not literally, like a zombie or anything, but there was the source of the smell, face up, crumpled in the ditch. I stared—male, maybe mid-thirties—it was hard to tell with all the insect infestation and signs of predation. The bloated skin, the maggots and other creepy crawlers slithering all over the face, in and out of the nose and mouth …

I turned away and vomited up my morning croissant and tea. Then I looked back. And threw-up again.

I couldn’t just stand there staring and puking. I was feeling extremely queasy. I didn’t know how long I could continue to stand there gawking before my legs gave out. I did not want to be forced to sit by the corpse until I was strong enough to get back up again, so I had to get moving. And I had to tell someone. I was a sworn officer of the court, and it was my duty to inform the authorities. Also, this was someone’s brother, father, husband, or son, lying in a ditch on the side of a mostly deserted road. His family needed to know.

I looked around. If I left, would I be able to find this place again? I had no idea. One tree looked pretty much like the other, the verdant green of the forest spreading all around me, as far as I could see. And while hilly, the road was also very twisty. There was nothing extraordinary about this spot in the road—except, of course, for the dead body. I needed to mark the spot. Short of shucking off a piece of clothing and using it as a flag, I had nothing. So, I walked a little ways past the corpse, and into the forest, grabbed a sturdy looking branch out of the leaf litter and walked back towards the dead man in the ditch. Before I got to within heaving distance, I stuck the stick vertically in the mud in the bottom of the ditch. It wasn’t much, but it was the best I could do.

Then I set the step-counter on my watch, and started walking away. It was over an hour before I saw the big Victorian down a long, treed driveway.

“Thank God,” I said out loud. I looked at the house. It was fairly well maintained, so hopefully, someone lived there. I trudged up the driveway. When I got to the door, I noticed that the mail was piling up in the box, and three newspapers littered the front porch.

Damn it.

I knocked anyways. Then again, and again, and again. Nothing. I sat down on the porch, my elbows on my knees holding my chin in my hands.

I was thirsty, tired, and getting worried. I took out my phone. Zero bars, of course. I created a text anyways. I sent a message to my office explaining where I was, and what was happening. I didn’t say, directly, that there was a dead body, but that I needed the police. I pressed send and watched the wheel spin and spin until the no service screen appeared. Not surprised, I just hoped that it would send if and when I received a signal. It was the best I could do, besides keep walking.

Before I continued my trudge towards civilization, I walked around the house looking for an outdoor tap. I needed to rinse my mouth and get a drink. The property was taken care of—the lawn had recently been mowed, and the garden had been maintained. I found the hose and for the first time today, something went my way. I turned the handle and cold, clear water sputtered out. I rinsed, washed my face, and drank deeply. A little part of my brain niggled that I hoped the water wasn’t from a contaminated well. I ignored it.

I was at the back of the house, and I looked around. It was a lovely property, covered with mature trees that looked as if they had been planted on purpose. There was a big deck off the back, with connecting sliding glass doors that led into the house. I cupped my hands around my eyes and peeked in through the glass.

The house was trashed It looked as if it had been tossed by someone looking for something. I tried the handle on the sliding glass door.

It was unlocked.

I was unsure as to what I should do. Go in—someone could be hurt in there (or maybe there was a landline). Or walk away and try to find an inhabited house further down the road.

It was not my finest hour—I slid the door open, and in I went.

“Hello! Anyone in here?” I waited. Nothing. “Hello! Is everyone okay?” Still nothing. I pulled down my sleeves to cover my hands in case this was a crime scene, and not just the result of an adult temper tantrum. I was pretty sure it was a crime scene—at a minimum, a break and enter. Worst case scenario, this mess had something to do with the poor soul dead in the ditch.

I walked through the main floor. The place had definitely been tossed. Not a robbery. There was a TV, gaming system, some VR goggles, sitting in plain view, not touched. I walked upstairs and peeked into every room. What there wasn’t, was a computer—just a screen in one of the upstairs rooms and a tangle of cords that must have been plugged into the back of the CPU. So, someone was definitely looking for something specific.

In the master bedroom, the carnage was the same—drawers opened, contents thrown on the floor. The clothes from the closets had been thrown into a heap, only a few empty hangers remained. Anything that had been stored on the top shelf had been thrown on the pile.

All the clothes were men’s clothes, so either a single man or or couple. There was nothing that led me to believe that a woman or child lived in the house.

What I wasn’t finding was a land line. I went back to the kitchen, looking around. That’s when I heard a scratching sound. I whirled around. It sounded like it was coming from behind the basement door.

Of course it did. The basement. I looked around. I needed a weapon. I walked over to the pile of utensils that had been dumped out of a drawer onto the floor, and picked up the biggest knife I could find.

I crept back to the basement door and listened. The scratching started again. This time, accompanied by a whining sound.

A dog.

I opened the door slowly, but was almost bowled over by a golden streak fleeing from behind the door.

It was a dog. A big golden retriever mix. A very agitated golden retriever mix. He? She? Ran out through the open sliding glass door to the middle of the lawn and peed. And peed. And peed. And … well, did what dogs do that have been locked in a basement for who knows how long.

That’s when I heard the vehicle at the front.

I rushed out through the back door to the front of the house, around to the front. It was a parcel delivery truck. I had never been so happy to see another human.

Before the driver could get out of the truck, I yelled, “I need help.”

He looked a bit taken aback—maybe even a tiny bit frightened. He remained in his truck.

“I need you to call the police.”

He still said nothing, just looked at me. I suck my hand in my pocket and pulled out my ID and handed it to him. “There’s been an accident. I need the police here as fast as possible.”

He handed back my ID. “You’re a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Can you fix a speeding ticket?”

I could not believe what I was hearing. I stared at him incredulously. “No. I cannot fix a speeding ticket. But I can put in a good word for you, if you call the police and tell them I need them here.”

He looked at me, contemplating. I could see his options swirling around in his brain. I held my breath. He leaned over and picked up his microphone and clicked it.

“Base, driver two-five-seven here. I have a lady at 1368 Forest Road who had asked me to have the police come to this address. She said there’s been an accident.”

The dispatcher told him to hold. After a couple of minutes she came back. “Police are en route. ETA about ten minutes. No need for you to remain on the scene two-five-seven. Please continue on your route.”

Commerce never sleeps.

I thanked driver two-five-seven. He handed me the parcel that he was supposed to deliver, and drove away, his task completed.

I looked at the address. Then at the name. Tony Bassinet. I knew that name. He was a witness for a fraud case I was prosecuting. In fact, it was his deposition that I was supposed to be conducting today.

I had a sinking feeling that Tony Bassinet wasn’t going to be testifying for my case, or anyone else’s, ever again.