Chapter five

photographs

„Personally, I don't like playing cards, ya know. Can't remember all the rules, silly schemes most of the players tend to come up with during playin'. It's just… dunno. It seems utterly and fully boringly BORIN', doc. Just like that," There was some noise, movement of some sort she guessed. "although, I can understand why some people are so mad about 'em. All those ornaments on those sheets, the emotions you can see just beneath the surface, on faces of your opponents, it's… well, mind-blowing, I guess!"

The laugh, which erupted from the throat just after a second, was quite broken, if Harleen could describe it with only one word. It seemed, as if he was choking on something, high tones intertwining with long pauses, breathing raspy and irregular. There were those noises once again, the record becoming more grainy and the sound becoming more distant.

"He liked to play poker with me, doc, one of his dirty hobbies. "The breath was still raspy, echoing in her skull. Harleen wrote down the word, her red biro somewhat shaky while adding: The subject describes a new activity; no name of the mysterious boy being mentioned. She looked at the Dictaphone in front of her thoughtfully, taking off her glasses and biting at the frame absent-mindedly. She looked up when the voice quickened, till becoming frantic at some point. "I told him it wasn't a good idea but he'd always say it wouldn't be a problem, she wouldn't have anything against us playin'. Time and time again, doc, I begged him to be cautious but he wouldn't listen to me, he wouldn't LEARN anything, doc! I kept tellin' him and he JUST. WOULDN'T. LISTEN."

Harleen stared at the gadget and Crane smiled lazily one of his lopsided grins while leaning onto the back of her chair. She turned her head and hissed at him immediately upon sensing the weight but he only gestured dismissively with his hand toward the Dictaphone. She huffed and gripped her notebook tighter, bringing it close to her chest.

"But what exactly wouldn't he learn?" Crane's voice was quiet on the tape, whisper-like. There was a clear curiosity in it and a predator-like need. To know, to have things cleared-up , at least a bit. She looked at his face, inches now only from hers. She was sure he had had the same look on his face as now. Half-lidded eyes, lips pressed tightly into a firm line, glasses a bit askew on his nose.

The voice hummed, seeming more balanced for a moment, just before bursting into a fit of giggles. "Doctor, I guess it ain't a secret for ya, just what parents of naughty children like me tend to do to 'em when they caught 'em red-handed during a game of poker or any other thing they find stupid or illegal at the mo...," Grains of the tape grew stronger, bits of changing a position on the chair more audible. Harleen thought she heard a small sniff, something akin to rubbing a material onto the skin and a hiss. She didn't know what exactly think of them, sounds faint but growing nearer after some seconds.

"Guess we will have to stop here as for today, Harley. There's nothing interesting left on this tape. Just some noises and buzzing. Someone must have dropped the cassette during the big clean-out in the archives last year or something." Crane winced at a sudden shriek-like tone, quickly taking the Dictaphone in his hand and switching it off scornfully. "I know it seems really complicated to you now, but believe me: this freak isn't even a jigsaw meant for five-year-olds. His case is one of those most easy ones, really."

Harleen glanced at him doubtfully, glancing from time to time at her notes and the gadget he was still clenching. "How come, Jonathan? To me, it doesn't look easy at all." She opened her bag and looked for a moment for some photographs Crane had given her earlier that day.

"Harley, dear. I've been doing this job for the last ten years thus I DO know what I am saying. And I'm saying that this case IS a piece of cake, especially for a brilliant doctor like you."

She just sighed, finally playing her fingertips over the slick surface of the shots. Each of them was a blurry, monochromatic snap shot done by the wrong light and later developed in poor conditions, in a room either too draughty or too humid. Not many details were visible, but she could at least get used to his face for all of the three photographs of him Crane had given her, were in fact portraits.

It was neither the prettiest one Harleen had ever seen, nor the ugliest one. The man looking across the small universe of those shots seemed nearly… boringly normal, to tell the truth. Nearly, as the first thing she saw each time were big, plump and pulsing in the faint light of a bulb, scars. Scars leading from across his lips up his jaw and nearly to his cheekbones, their lines forking, shimmering and hurting her own cheeks, her own insides with lots of twisted meaning , metaphors and explanations. She'd never seen anything like that. She dragged her fingertips across them, looking into the eyes of the man. They were dark in the photos, deep-set and encircled by shadows. His jaw was a bit square, cheekbones high, nose broken in a few places. If she made out such tiny things correctly, his hair was matted, ends meddled. He must have had them dyed a few times at least, tones mixing up and dying in the dimmest fragments of the shots.

"If you want some more, I can try and look for the rest of films. I think I've got somewhere one more left at least." Crane smiled at her shyly, looking across her shoulder. She didn't hear his footsteps and soon his face was pressed against her hair. "Perhaps we should make ourselves a quick break, huh? You seem to get lost in your thoughts awfully a lot today, dear."

"A coffee sounds great but nothing more. At the moment I'm not in the mood for eating anything, sorry." Harleen dismissively ruffled her hair, knocking the glasses from his nose. She winked at Crane and quickly made her way to the door.