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It was not unusual for Rose to find her husband standing still as a statue in the kitchen, leaning back on the countertop staring at a spot on the floor as he chewed on his cigar. Whenever she found him like this, she always wondered how long he had been standing there. A second, more mischievous thought always followed, which was: if she stood perfectly still, how long would they be facing off in a statue competition? She never did act on this impulse due to the fact that she knew that he would probably win. As she purposefully stepped on the squeaky floorboard, the detective finally noticed another presence of life in the room with him, besides the snoring dog curled in the sunlit spot under the dining room window. His gaze softened as he suddenly became aware of his wrinkled shirt, undone tie, and hair that had become messy from the number of times he had run his hand through it. Columbo could never change the fact that he was untidy, and he knew that Rose had learned to live with it, but he could never hide from the shame of his wife seeing him like this; a nagging, irrational fear lurked in the back of his mind that she would suddenly grow sick of his mess and leave him when she noticed one too many crumbs on his pants. Rose, on the other hand, never had any such thought.
“What did you need from the house last night?” She asked this question without any resentment; this was normal for the lieutenant. Rose had woken up when she heard the familiar grumble of the car in the driveway and the key turning the multiple locks on the front door. He let his eyes wander from hers to the spot on the floor next to the corner of the oven that he had been meaning to vacuum (he loved her, but Rose always seemed to miss that spot.) “Oh, nothing.” He studied the dust bunny with his tired eyes. “It’s just I- just needed a little air.” He ran his hand over his stubble and looked back at her, stifling a tired sigh. Rose could detect the bubbling irritation that was added onto his usual transfixed mind, his mouth was turned downwards into a slight scowl rather than the upturned corners that told that he was fascinated by this puzzle (no matter how much sleep he lost.) She gave him careful glances as she put two pieces of bread in the toaster and pulled out a chair. “He must have gotten really under your skin, huh?” As if she said magic words, Columbo became alive once more. Moving from his position and pointing one finger forward and placing his other hand on his belt, he exclaimed, “I’m gonna crack that son of a bitch Rose, I will. And I’m close, I’m so close, I just need-!” His hands gestured wildly in the air grasping at something, like he was a wizard throwing different ingredients into a cauldron. Avoiding a hand flying backward toward her face, Rose gently placed her hands on his arms. Without a word, she directed Columbo to the chair she had pulled out for him, and he sat down without any protest. It was then that he realized how sore he was: his feet ached, his back was in pain, even his jaw felt weary. He figured it probably didn’t help that he had been so wrapped up in his own swarm of thought that he hadn’t even bothered to light the cigar that was sitting in his mouth for quite some time, so the tobacco had been grinding in his teeth. Discouraged by his own behavior, Columbo reached across the dining table for the ashtray and sat the cigar down (knowing that he’d pick it up again soon anyway.)
“You’ll find it, you just need a reset.” Rose reached into the fridge and grabbed butter and jam and reheated the coffee pot. An angry shift in his chair was all Columbo could say until Rose demanded that he “simply took a nap” and that he “didn’t need to go into hibernation.” Columbo ran his hand down his face. They had been through this song and dance many a time before, but as stubborn as they both were, neither one ever backed down without a fight. “Honey,” he said the pet name matter of factly, “I need to do this. Right now. I can’t let this slip out of my hands.” Unfortunately for Rose, Columbo’s soft brown eyes would forever make a part of her melt, especially since they looked so tired, but so driven. Unfortunately for Columbo, Rose was a very strong woman. “Listen, just take twenty minutes.” She put her hands on the counter and leaned onto it, a powerful stance. “That’s all I’m askin’ from you. Or at least get some help on the case.” She tried to hide her smile when mentioning the second option. She knew at this point he could never ask for help from another officer, he was too deep in his own train of thought. The bread popped out of the toaster, now crisp and warm. Columbo’s head swiveled at the sound of the noise, salivating like Pavlov’s dog. Fetching a plate, jam, and butter she brought the plate over to the famished man and ran her hand along his hairline attempting to smooth out the cowlicks. “Maybe a twenty-minute nap and a shave, huh? I got you that on-the-go shaver and you never use it.”
“I do, I do!” He said with his mouth full and sticking his hand up like he was swearing on the Bible. Columbo’s nose began to twitch like a dog at the smell of warm coffee drifting up from the pot. Pouring some into her travel mug, Rose noticed Columbo’s pleading eyes. “No!” She gave him the same tone that she gave their dog when he begged for food. “Please honey, I’m dyin’-!” His hands reached for her cup as she came to sit at the table with him. Rose playfully swatted his hands away. “No, I said! I’m sure you’ve had enough to kill a small horse already. How about some water Frank?” No response.
He searched every corner of his mind for anything that could connect to the case. His memory of walking into the crime scene was replayed over and over again. Maybe he had missed something with that photo... He had stared at it for so long but maybe he needed to go look at it again. Rose’s hand on his leg pulled him out of his train of thought that was bound to go nowhere. “Go to bed.” She said before he could get an apology out of his mouth. “Your star suspect could walk in here and you’d never even notice.” Columbo smirked and held up a finger in protest. “Oh, I would definitely notice him. I have a few choice words to say to him, I’ll tell ya that much.” He ran his hand over his stubble and smiled at the thought of the photographer having a stunned look on his face as Columbo outwitted him. “What’s he been doin’? Has he been insulting you?” Rose tilted her head to try and meet her husband’s gaze. “I told you Frank, it wouldn’t hurt to stand up for yourself once in a while! It makes me mad to think of your intelligence being insulted! I don’t want people to think I married a dimwitted fella.”
“I would never do anything to have it come back on you hon. I just like to see their faces. Seriously, I need to start bringing a camera with me so you can see what I’m talkin’ about!”
“Yeah, yeah. You always have loved a show.” Both of them chuckled at that, Columbo always had a flare for the dramatics. “Alright, I gotta get to work.” Rose checked her watch and stood up from the table. “I’ll be back on my lunch break and when I come home you better have slept and showered.” Columbo smiled up at her. “Love you.” she said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I love you too.” He took her hand and held her there for a minute. He couldn’t help but think about that photo of Paul Galesco’s wife and how it was clear to him that he did not show much remorse. Rose could notice the sadness in his eyes. She almost thought about calling off work and staying with him all day, but she knew he wouldn’t let her. “I’m gonna be upset if I come home and you’re in the same spot.” Columbo smiled sheepishly as he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I won’t Rosie, I won’t.” He swayed his hand at the air, dispelling the image of him sitting still in the same chair.
Columbo slept longer than twenty minutes. A shock went through him when he noticed that the clock read 11 A.M, instead of 8:20 A.M like he had planned. As he groaned and laid his head back on the pillow, he was not sure if he even remembered getting in bed, changing clothes, or the fact that he took a shower (he was surprised to find his hair wet.) A small part of him wanted to sleep longer but his ever-busy mind motivated him to throw the covers off.
As Columbo shaved and then made his way to the kitchen for coffee, the hotel room kept springing to the front of his mind. Posed in a thinking position in his living room recliner, he ran through how Galesco did it over and over. He kept coming back to the scene in the hotel where the camera was planted. He figured maybe he just needed to go through the details once more in an attempt to see it from a different angle. He fished in the raincoat of many pockets and found his worn notepad. Standing in the middle of the house lighting a cigar, Columbo attempted to play Galesco’s game once again and tried to visualize what he wanted the police to believe had happened. The plot hole in this case was right on the tip of his tongue. He felt his fingers buzzing with excited anxiety as he twirled his cigar in his fingers. “If I were to kidnap a woman...” was a thought that was not unusual for the lieutenant. Murder was a formula for him at this point (when it was planned. The odd rampant killer was not his specialty, the unknown variables frustrated him.) He had the motive, the plan, the framed man, he just needed something plausible to seal the case shut. Deciding to try a reliable solving method, Columbo sprung up from his chair and chose the magazine off the coffee table he thought his wife was least likely to miss. Bringing an old issue of Better Homes & Gardens to the kitchen table along with a spare sheet of paper, scissors, and glue, Columbo began to craft a ransom note.
Like many times before, Columbo became distracted by another idea, and he abandoned the ransom note halfway through. Galesco was overly confident that Columbo would never figure him out, so maybe he could use that against him. Playing dumb was a key part of his act that led to success, and that was something about Columbo that really irked Galesco, so maybe if he could use that aspect of Galesco’s character against him...
His next train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the door. Columbo watched as his dog got up from his spot on the carpet for the first time all day and waddled over to the door, tail wagging happily. “Some watch dog,” he thought. “Frank?” He heard his wife call out. “Dining room.” he replied. Rose walked into her home to find her husband rubbing his hands together in an anxious rhythm standing by a half-finished ransom note. “I really hope you’re not planning to kidnap me; I still have things I need to get done back at the office.”
“Huh? Oh!” Columbo began to laugh as he noticed what this must appear like. “No, uh- definitely not.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Good. I would hope that I would see it coming.” She sat at the table and looked over the scraps of paper. “Is this my Better Homes and Gardens?”
“Ummm. Its evidence.” Columbo muttered and tried to dismiss the question as best as he could. “Glad to see you took care of yourself like I asked you to.” Rose straightened the letters out on the paper. “Only for you hon.” Columbo said and kissed the top of her head. “How was work?” He asked. As much as he hated to admit it, Rose coming home was disrupting his thought. He hoped to wrap up this small talk quickly. “Fine.”
A beat.
“Alright, well I’ll quit bothering ya. What do you want for lunch?” Columbo breathed a small sigh of relief. “Whatevah you want.”
Columbo sat and smoked while his wife made them a quick lunch of pastrami on rye. He played out the scene in his mind: he could use Galesco’s ego in order to catch him. He was such a perfectionist in his art, maybe he would abandon his attempt to get Columbo off his trail in order to feel superior to the lieutenant. It was risky, but Columbo felt confident in his people reading skills (his best assets.)
Over lunch, the two studied the paper, scraps of miscellaneous letters littered the table and floor as the two sat next to one another. After looking it over, Rose said, “So you found the newspaper-”
“Yes.”
“With a bunch of little holes cut out like this?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you save that?”
“You wouldn’t, you shouldn’t! Too easy.”
Suddenly, Rose watched as Columbo’s brow unfurled and his entire face seemed to unfold in a lightbulb moment. “And...” he said softly and slowly, eyes wide. “Where did the scraps of paper go? I mean look at this mess-” he gestured toward the table and floor. “I see it-”
“Rosie, you can’t cut this ransom note without leaving a paper trail. There would have to be a trail.”
“Why would the cleaners take the scraps and not the paper?” It clicked for her as well. A huge smile spread over the lieutenant's face. “It’s a purposeful trail, you don’t think any other is accidental?” At Rose’s question, it clicked for Columbo. Throwing his fists in the air in a victory pose, he exclaimed: “Got em!” After taking her face in his hands and kissing her quickly as a thank you, the detective shot up from the dining table and ran to the nearest phone. Giggling as he dialed the station, the perfect scene was forming in his mind. “Get me Steve down in evidence... Hello? This is Columbo. I’m gonna need that picture of Mrs. Galesco blown up huge.” Rose watched as her husband practically bounced on his heels as he talked to his coworker. She loved seeing him so excited. “Alright I’ll be there in five to explain to you what I’ve got in mind. Alright, thank you- Oh! Oh, wait Steve one more thing- can you flip the image? Can you do that?... Oh, that’d be wonderful, just terrific, thank you.” Slamming the phone down defiantly, Columbo could barely wait for this to all come together. “Seems like you’ve got a wicked plan, hm?” “Something like that” Columbo chuckled.
He dashed upstairs to put on a fresh collared shirt and tie (although he didn’t bother to tie it now, there was no time to waste!) Grinning ear to ear and mind buzzing at a million miles an hour, Columbo had both shoes on (untied) and was almost out the door before he heard his wife call out: “Honey!” He turned around to see her standing in the hall, smirk on her face and raincoat in hand. Columbo smacked his hand to his forehead. “How could I forget?” he laughed. Putting his safety blanket on he went to head back out the door. “Frank!” He stopped in his tracks again, turning around to find his wife holding his car keys and notebook. “Oh my god!” he exclaimed, rushing to go get his leave-behinds. “Go get ‘em.” she said, taking his hand before he turned away. He squeezed her hand, winked, and shut the door behind him.