Evyn and Ellie

Chapter I

I never liked The Potato.

But that didn't mean I wanted to see him dead.

My friend and coworker, Dr. Suzanna McCrory, detoured into my cubicle and plopped restlessly into the only empty chair. "Evyn," she said, (that's me: Evelyn McKay, Ph. D. or Evyn for short), "it was really gross. The police called me, ME!, to come and identify Erick's body. I couldn't even understand why but they told me that Erick had my name written in his telephone list as the person to call in an emergency. I guess that wasn't the kind of emergency he had in mind." Erick Poteet had been a medium height, medium face, medium coloring, blob of a man with apparently moderate intelligence and even less personality. The very monotony of his person had prompted my unkind psyche to nickname him "The Potato." Since this was cruel and heartless on my part, I tended to use the nickname privately, although Suzanna and a couple of others had heard it and occasionally used it as well.

"When I got to The Potato's apartment, the nice policeman at the door warned me that the scene inside was very unpleasant. He even offered me his handkerchief." She stopped and stared dreamily into the ceiling. That look meant that the 'nice policeman' was not only nice but handsome as well and had probably already asked her out. I gave her thirty seconds while I typed a few lines of code and then called her back to the present, "Oh, Suz..."

"Hmm, sorry." she smiled and continued. " Where was I?"
"Apartment door." I reminded.
"OK, OK. I went in and it was really gloomy inside. I mean they called at 2 AM -- in the MORNING! Anyway, it was really gloomy and I asked why weren't the lights on and they said that all the lights in the place WERE on. Erick had, like, three lights in his whole apartment. One dim lamp in the living room, one reading light in the bedroom and one light in the bathroom. There were tons of windows but this didn't help much in the middle of the night. So there I was, standing in the middle of the living room, and a policeman comes from the bedroom and asks me to follow him. I did but I wish I hadn't. I'm gonna have nightmares for weeks." Again Suzanna drifted off into reverie although this one was obviously much more unpleasant.

"Suz, don't keep all the bad news to yourself."
"Sorry, I did it again. The first thing I noticed was how spotless the room was. A place for everything and everything in its place. That's what made me look at the one thing that was out of place. The bedcovers weren't straight. Not slept in, but pulled to one side. My eye followed the covers right to the edge of the bed. That's when you could see the fist. Just a fist holding a bunch of covers like somebody out of sight on the floor was trying to crawl to the top of the bed by pulling himself up the covers. At this point I started to back out of the room, but the policemen were insistent and half walked, half pushed me further towards the bed until I could see around the corner to see whose fist that was. It was Erick all right. Even under the paint you could see it was Erick."

My first thought was that Erick had been playing those stupid war games that he always talked about and been wearing war paint or had paint pellets splattered on him. But something in Suzanna's tone said that wasn't it. "What paint?" I asked.
"The paint that killed him." she said. "You know, like Goldfinger in James Bond." she continued.
"He's dead and you're kidding." I chided.
"No, really. It was the most bizarre thing. He was painted up like, oh I don't know, like a Picasso. No, no, like a Gaugain. The guy that went to Tahiti and painted the natives and all the lush plants in those rich wild bold colors. That's what he looked like."
"You mean he had a painting on his stomach or his back?" I was trying to picture this in my mind.
"No, Evyn, he was body painted. From head to toes, all ten of 'em. Like they do at the beach as a demonstration of alternative art. You know, they paint each other up and parade naked but modestly up and down the beach."
"Suzanna, you cannot seriously be telling me that you think somebody found the Potato attractive enough to completely body paint him and maybe even more than that? 'The Potato as Art.' I just can't see it."
"Evyn, seeing is believing. The police want me to come down to the city morgue and double-check in the light that I still say that was the Potato. So you come with me."
"The Potato naked? Ugh!" On the other hand, I was now incredibly curious about this. Body painting seemed like a very intimate activity. Who would want to be that intimate with the Potato? I'd never seen any indications from Erick that he harbored any interest in either sex so I persisted in my disbelief of Suzanna's eyewitness account. And the apartment, neat and tidy? From a man whose desk was six inches thick in paper and whose computer terminal looked like it had a terminal case of the Post-it Note measles? Granted, the desk did not have the junk food, candy wrappers and new life forms in coffee cups that most software engineers' desks (including mine) had but it certainly wasn't neat. Maybe I did need to accompany Suzanna to the morgue. Now that I took a good look at her, I could see that most of what I had taken for her natural bubbly nature was really nervous energy. Her teasing words inviting me to come were hiding a real request to come and support her there. "OK, I can't resist a puzzle. I've got to see this for myself. What time are you supposed to go down there?" The clock was showing 9:12am.
"They told me to come any time after 9:00am." Suzanna sounded relieved to hear that I would come.
"Suz, are you really up to a full day's work? You look like you're close to the edge. Why did you even come in today?" The more I watched her, the more concerned I was becoming.
"Evyn, I came in today because I needed to tell all this to somebody. No, I needed to tell all this to you. There's more going on with this Potato thing than meets the eye. You write the best software in this place -- putting together little bits of information to make a coherent program -- and that makes you the most logical person to help me figure this out. Well, you and Ellie." She batted her eyelashes and I laughed. Ellie was my brother Elliot McKay and Suzanna thought he was a riot. She also knew that he and I liked to solve puzzles together. Ellie and I had solved a few minor mysteries together that others had found impenetrable.
"OK, Suz, here's the plan. I'll call Ellie and see if he can meet us at 10:00 at the morgue. After we take care of the obligatory stuff there - and if we can stomach it - we'll have lunch. Then Ellie and I will deposit you at your apartment for a long afternoon nap and we'll bring dinner and come by this evening and you can tell us everything you know. How's that sound?"
"That's what I love about you, Evyn," she said as she stifled her laughter, "you're so passive." She headed back to her cubicle and I got on the phone to call Ellie.

Ellie was hard at work deciding what would be the most effective next campaign to inspire us to purchase a certain fizzy cola. This awesome responsibility was his from coast to coast and he was very good at his job. As adults we got along very well and since his job had recently moved him to my city, we were able to see a lot of each other. He had easily charmed all my friends and was almost always invited to my social gatherings. Suz was an early charm victim.

I opened the conversation by asking Ellie if he could accompany Suzanna and me to the morgue. A snort was followed by derisive laughter and the comment that April Fool's Day was long past. My second attempt, conveyed with additional information about Suzanna and The Potato, brought a quick agreement although still tinged with disbelief. He agreed to meet us at 10:15am at the city morgue and to the rest of the day's plan. I had luckily caught him on one of his infrequent free days. With everything arranged and no pressing software deadlines, I left an electronic mail message for my boss telling her that I was going to take one of those vacation days I rarely used and that I would be back tomorrow. I collected Suzanna and, with a stop for coffee, we were on our way.

The city morgue was downtown but not situated with the other city government buildings. It was, in fact, attached to the city hospital which made sense when I thought about it. The morgue had its own entrance with a sign labeled Institute of Forensic Medicine. The reception area looked just like a hospital without the sick people although Suzanna was starting to go a little green. Ellie went up to the counter and introduced us. The receptionist picked up the phone and after a brief consultation told us which hall to take and what room to look for. With those meager directions we managed to find the right room. Apparently the police officer that met us was Suzanna's 'nice policeman' because she immediately perked up when he came into view. The policeman, Anthony Viello, muscular, dark and very Italian, ushered us inside. The room looked like a very clean laboratory but instead of being filled with large scientific instruments or machines there was a table with a lumpy, sheet-covered object on it. The white shape and the knowledge of who was under it brought the image of mashed potatoes to mind and I tried to suppress my giggles as we walked up to the sheet. Officer Viello waited until Suzanna nodded and then pulled back the sheet from the head and shoulders. It was Erick The Potato all right. Even bright green leaves and yellow hibiscus painted over his face and hair couldn't hide the chinless, blubbery, nondescript features of the late Erick Poteet. After the first recoil at seeing the corpse of someone I knew, I became fascinated with the painting done on the body. Suzanna and Ellie looked at me with horror when I asked if I could see all of the late Erick in order to view all of the painting. Tony Viello had seen it so he had no objections and gradually Suz and Ellie became as entranced as I with the vivid imagery that lay there. A wild Hawaiian island, a remote Tahitian enclave, a secluded island paradise was painted on what used to be a person. It was gorgeous. Every single inch of flesh was covered. The hair was dyed as a background and painting was done using the hair as part of the image. An appendectomy scar became the ragged edge of a distant volcano. Everything was painted in the most beautiful and imaginative way. If it had been done to an animal, you would have skinned it and hung the hide as a work of art. As a corpse, Erick was an aesthetic delight. But he was still dead.