Before I begin, I have not forgotten about any of the other stories I am currently working on. I just have a problem with focusing on one at a time, and I really wanted this first part finished before I forgot about it (sometimes I have great ideas for fanfictions that I never get done simply because I don't write them down once they're in my head). So yeah, those of you following the Unraveling, or Another Side, Another Story, I have not forgotten about them or any other story I've currently got in development.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! or any characters used in this fiction except for Detective Tony Rawdun and Rick Sutherland (so far).
The Lloyd family, despite their wealth and lineage, had never really been much for publicity over the years. Especially not after the birth of their daughter. It seemed as though once she was in the picture, all the media turned elsewhere. This was not that time, though. On the small 35" TV in my office, I can see the headlines clearly.
"LLOYD HEIRESS DISAPPEARS."
My office is located on the fourth floor of one of the oldest buildings in Hillwood. If my office were on the other side of this building, I would be able to see Elk Island and the rest of the bay. Instead, my view is that of a crime-infested city. And Lord knows our police force is anything but reliable. Which is where people like me come in.
I'm Detective Tony Rawdun. I've lived in Hillwood pretty much all my life. I grew up being surrounded by the crime and urban tales that only Hillwood could come up with. I used to be on the police force as a consultant (I never actually went to the police academy, so I was never an official officer), but some odd years back, I decided to ride solo. Good thing, too, because the police didn't really improve since I left. Of course, for petty crimes like robbery and back-alley muggings, they didn't bother to do much other than file a report and assure people that they were on the case, whether they actually were or not. But now not only is there a missing child, but that missing child is the daughter of one Buckley Lloyd. Never really knew what he did for a living, always said something about "international finances", but he was still important enough to get the best help money can buy. So of course the police were going to care now. They wanted their Christmas bonuses and there weren't enough people speeding or driving recklessly to get it through driving tickets.
Which is where I come in.
Soon after I saw the news on the TV, I got a call on my cell phone, probably the only thing in this office that belonged in the 21st century. Everything else was antique bookshelves, the wooden desk with all my files, the previously aforementioned TV, and a hat rack that only held one hat. My only other real luxury was my liquor cabinet, which I had helped myself to earlier tonight. I only had time for one shot of rum before I got the call, and it was from none other than the police chief himself. Chief Rick Sutherland. Formerly my boss when I was a consultant with the police force, he was one of the few people I could trust to do things right in that excuse for law enforcement. Considering this, I decided to answer his call. I had a feeling I knew what this was about.
"Detective Rawdun speaking," I said, as if the Chief didn't know who he was calling.
"Hey Tony," Sutherland said, "Have you seen the news?"
"The one about the Lloyd's missing daughter?" I asked, "Little whats-her-name?"
"Rhonda," Sutherland replied, "Rhonda Wellington Lloyd. And yes, that's what I was asking about. Now, I know your area of expertise is homicide investigation, but the boys here are stumped."
"Well it's only been one night, right?" I asked, "You sure she won't just turn up sooner or later?"
"Well, I'm sure you know about the drastic increase in child kidnappings in the county lately," said Sutherland, "Now, they're not all heiresses to old money, but they've still taken priority over other crimes. This case just happens to be getting more press lately despite the fact that they've got numerous restraining orders against some freelance journalists."
"Well, Chief, that's all interesting and everything, but what's this got to do with me?" I asked.
"I want you to meet with the parents and assure them you can find their daughter," Sutherland replied, "I already gave them your name and your profession. They were a little skeptical about your particular area of expertise, but I assured them you were one of the best when you were still on the force."
"Even though I was a consultant and not an officer."
"Nonetheless, I think this is something within your capabilities," Sutherland said, "Can you meet with them?"
"Only for you, old friend," I said.
Actually, there wasn't much else for me to do. Despite the crime rates in this city, the last week was rather quiet in the office.
"Very good," Sutherland replied, "We'll be in touch."
As he hung up the phone, I grabbed my beige trenchcoat and checked myself in the mirror to see if I still had any stubble. After seeing that I didn't, thus not needing to shave, I left the office and headed for the Lloyd residence.
At first I was a little underwhelmed by the Lloyd residence. It didn't look any nicer or bigger than the other houses on the block, just a different paint job, but exactly the same brick patterns as the rest of the neighborhood. However, once one of the maids opened the door to let me in, that was when I was reminded of how well off the Lloyds really were. Only the front room I had just entered had traces of carpeting. Every other room on this floor had either tile or marble flooring. Especially the kitchen. Something right out of Playboy Mansion, only less 'frat party' setting and more 'proper family upbringing' setting. I had already counted three maids and one man who was probably the butler (he had an English accent and was too well-dressed to be the chef or the gardener) by the time I had been escorted to the outdoor balcony. I saw the couple leaning against the balcony out towards the garden that no other backyard in this neighborhood could possibly have.
"Detective Tony Rawdun to see you, Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd," the maid said.
Funny. I didn't even say my name to the maid when I had asked for the Lloyds. Perhaps she recognized me from the papers. Or she was told to expect a visitor. Or she was expecting me for her own personal reasons. I made a note to look into this interesting fact later. The couple turned around, and there they were, Buckley and Brooke Lloyd. Buckley had properly combed black hair and a well-trimmed mustache to match. Brooke had the same color of hair, but down to her shoulders. And big, tacky diamond earrings. She obviously didn't wear these fancy clothes just to impress people. It seemed as though she really did like wearing things other women would find uncomfortable. Buckley, on the other hand, seemed content in nothing more than a polo-shirt with golf slacks.
"Chief Sutherland told us great things about you, Detective Rawdun," Buckley said, handing his champagne glass to the maid who let me in, "I'm hoping you can help find our daughter."
"Our poor little princess," Brooke sobbed, "Out there with God-knows-what kind of people."
"She was kidnapped?" I asked, "The headlines have only said she 'disappeared'. Nothing about a kidnapping. Unless you received a ransom demand?"
"Well," Buckley said, "No, we haven't."
"And you heard nothing like a struggle? A fight?" I continued to ask.
"I don't think so," replied Buckley.
"Then assuming she's not alone wherever she is," I added, "It's possible she left on her own accord rather than through forceful abduction."
"But why would she do that? She's never run away from home before, no matter what happens!" Brooke sobbed again.
"What do you mean by 'no matter what happens'?" I asked, "Were there...problems at home?"
I would have phrased it as 'trouble in paradise', but I was positive they would pass that along to Sutherland who would give me an earful about lack of sensitivity later. Not that I cared about sensitivity, I just need to do my job.
"Of course not!" Buckley exclaimed, "We love our daughter! We want nothing more than for her to be happy!"
"What about school? Her social life?" I asked, "Was there signs of any trouble there?"
"If there were, she never told us," Brooke replied, "She just always seemed so cheerful. Why are you implying that she wasn't?"
"I'm just trying to pinpoint a reason for her to leave from climbing out her window rather than through the front door," I said.
This threw Buckley off a moment, asking, "What do you mean? How do you know that?"
"Look at the wall just under that window there," I replied, pointing to exactly what I saw, "Faint traces of black prints that are shaped like the top of a pair of shoes. Big feet for a girl her age, but a bit too small for a fully grown adult. Am I correct in assuming that window is to Rhonda's bedroom?"
"Y-Yes, that's correct," replied Buckley.
"She clearly climbed out through her window and then used the balcony as a midpoint for a safe landing between her window and the garden," I added, "See this right here? Small but distinguishable scratches on the awning. Probably from her nails. And the very top of the fence right over there seems to be faded and worn out in comparison to other parts of the fence. So assuming that wasn't always like that, that's probably where Rhonda climbed over the fence to wherever she was going."
"You really got all that just in the past few minutes?" asked Buckley, "I guess Sutherland was right about you. But why would she leave without saying anything?"
"Best case scenario, and hopefully the right one," I said, "is that this is all a misunderstanding, say, along the lines of visiting a friend in the late hours of night and not having come back yet. But unfortunately, until I have more evidence, we can still consider this a missing persons case."
Brooke sniffled a little, but wasn't outright sobbing, seemingly convinced, thanks to my brilliant observations, that Rhonda might have just been lost or stayed out later than she should have.
"Either way," I said, "I think it may be worth my time to pay her school a visit and get some more information. Where exactly does she attend?"
"P.S 118," replied Brooke.
Peculiar that such a prominently wealthy family didn't send their only daughter to a fancy private school or, at the very least, private tutors visiting her home. Something else I would have to look into later on. But I was very familiar with where P.S 118 is.
"We'll be in contact, I'm sure," I said, "But one last thing before I leave."
"Yes?" Buckley and Brooke asked simultaneously.
"Do you have any ideas as to who the last person who saw Rhonda was?" I asked.
"I think it was that Arnold boy," Brooke replied, "The one with the oddly-shaped head."
"Quiet, but a very respectable young man," Buckley added, "But you don't think he would have anything to do with her disappearance, do you?"
"Highly doubtful," I replied, "I don't have the evidence to say it for sure, but I'm familiar with his habit of good deeds, notably halting FTI's corporate takeover of the neighborhood. I just figured it'd be good to find out what he knows and work my way backwards."
"Excellent," Buckley replied, "Well, good luck, Detective."
I followed the maid to the front door where I excused myself for the drive back to my office. For what it was worth, I was officially on the case.