Truth, an alabaster wonderland. Mystery, a shroud of gold. Lies, the face of every man and woman in that room. Desperation, the detective assigned an impossible case.

I was that detective and I look back on the moment with such regret. You may so believe that I was the victim of an unsolved mystery but jumping the gun only gets a face full of lead. When the call was received I was on the beat, simply waiting for a robbery, or God forbid, a homicide. Apparently God hadn’t forbidden. I was the first to arrive.

Like the ambience of the comic book city lending its name, “Gotham Hall”, a club in Santa Monica for the trendier and crazier gave off a chill which turned my soul to ice. The tiny Gideon in my back pocket burned with righteous indignation.

Ascending a stone staircase, I half expected Nicholson’s make-up ridden counterpart to greet me with a knock-out loaded squirt flower. Instead, I was received by a nervous wreck, dressed in Gucci. He resembled every other night club owner I’ve come across; a sleazy stature hidden behind chic clothing and suave charisma. Lay a body in their barn and the ooze bobs to the surface. This whimpering dog was no different. He led me to the body, taking great care in re-enforcing his innocence and outrage at foul play. I began my investigation with key interviews. The individual dialogue carries little importance. But what key details arose, I shall eagerly catalogue here. From the owner, I was informed that the victim was Sal Guccini, an Italian man of about twenty-five years of age. He frequented the club and had a renowned reputation for accumulating bedroom buddies over the course of almost a year. Many of the women I questioned had shared a night with him at one time. And for unknown reasons, all kept his secret while weekly he came and bedded yet another nubile female. Their careful guard for him gave little motive for death, and with frustration, I ruled out jealousy.

From a friend of the deceased, I was told that he always paid his debts and gave a little extra, when income allowed it. He was fun, the friend would add and never weighed down by the “weight of the world”. I bit my lip.

The witnesses continued, yet no one seemed to have seen or heard the death of this hero. His body was found in the men’s room, head bashed in by the paper towel dispenser. I was taken in to the restroom to check for any clues. Perhaps then, something would be triggered in my brain.

The bathroom smelled quite dank, though little blame could be given the death body on the floor near the sinks. Obviously, a full time janitor was not worth dolling out the dirty money earned by drunken and lustful debauchery. I held my nose, donned some gloves and flipped the body. What I saw perplexed me. Foam down his shirt, from neck to crotch. He had been poisoned!

Once acquiring his name, I had some lackey cops who had arrived run the name for background. All names and numbers were taken before the midnight ramblers were allowed to leave with the warning that any and all might be called to elaborate on testimony or testify. Few grumbled, many sighed, and all departed, grateful for freedom.

Once all details were obtained and in depth forensic data gathered, we allowed the coroners their turn, taking the body into custody for further tests later. I descended those stone steps, emerging outside and making my way back to the car. I lit a cigarette while walking, just to calm my nerves a bit. Tomorrow, with a fresh mind and body, I would put my all into evidence and speculation. But my turn of duty had ended a half hour ago, and I needed to sleep. And sleep, I did.

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The first question was frankly obvious. Why poison him and then bash his head in? This led into a second question, which I’d wait for the coroner to answer later. Which killed him first?

My money was on the poison, of course. It seemed rather effective, though I didn’t yet know what kind. Plus, a bash to the cranium, even as fierce as it had been, probably wouldn’t have killed him before poison, if at all. So while waiting for the coroner’s report from last night and this afternoon, I spread the evidence I did have across my desk. I bowed my head, spoke the Lord’s prayer quickly, then began my investigation, officially. First, I took the different witnesses testimonies. His body was found at one-thirty, a half hour before closing time. It was found by Jill Kilpatrick. I shuddered at the thought of that girl going into the boy’s room to escape a line for the girl’s. I’d heard of it before, but it never ceased to disgust me. Certain things were clear in the universe and most transparent was this: there are some places a person shouldn’t go. Nonetheless, I had to respect the courage with which she answered all my questions, some being very hard for a woman who’s been the one to find a dead body on a night she had thought would be fun and games.

She immediately ran out, having not even used the facilities yet. She told the bartender, who left the bar to his assistant and checked it out. He found her telling the truth, told the owner, who immediately called us. We arrived at twenty minutes to two. According to the bouncers, thirty people left between one o’ clock and when the body was found. Anyone trying to leave after the body was discovered were held back by the bouncers, at the request of the Police Operator. They had complied, at least according to their statement. I sighed, knowing that the murderer could’ve been any of those thirty. The time of death, before the coroner had given me more details, was already narrowed down to between one twenty and one thirty, as one young man claimed to have left the bathroom at the former time, while the body was found at the latter. No one saw Sal (by now he was positively ID’d) enter the bathroom. He never came with anyone, though he always left with someone. Not a witness could remember him ever leaving alone, neither could they remember him ever bringing anyone. With so many people around, I felt unbelievably disappointed that not a single person could remember Sal going into the bathroom and then someone else. If I had a single person know that he was in there alone before Jill found him, I’d still have been more pleased than I was now. I hoped that fingerprint and DNA analysis might provide some clues or identity. The main problem existed in how public this public restroom was. How is one to gather the clues necessary when hundreds of prints would come up. Hair samples found on his person could be considered inadmissible, as clubs tend to be tight squeezes, and a few scattered hairs could’ve been transferred easily when he squeezed between a few people on the dance floor. And if any belonged to women from that club… forget about it. I had a paddle, but the creek still smelled bad. I lowered my head to the desk in agitation and as an age old tactic to thinking. Then I began to bang my head against the desk. Just in time for one of my fellow officers to bring in the forensic and analysis evidence for me to add to my extensive collection of dead ends. He would’ve questioned my actions, except he ran the robbery division and could understand the tension that derives from a difficult case. He’d be a bit surprised that I’d only been on this a single day and already so annoyed.

I pulled open the envelope. That’s when it occurred to me that this didn’t resemble the standard packaging of the coroner. What shot out, as I had finished ripping it open was the last thing I’d expected, but deep in me, there was a truly “cop” mentality where I’d been expecting some sort of double cross. Or triple cross as things would later turn out. But for now, whatever this stuff was, it knocked me out. And I would not wake again for days. Ironic that a poison meant to shorten my time would also knock me out for half of it…