-=+Fiction7+=-
"It was time I started getting some answers, but since nobody was volunteering, and the session at Venga's was 50/50- It could mean something but I had no idea what -I decided to bring my mind back to the time when I had first shown up, before all the bad stuff had gone down..."
=FLASHBACK=
It was a cold but sunny morning. The juxtaposition did nothing to ease my mind as I drove into Kentown. The heavy weight of the three guns I carried should have helped, but the queer ammunition in two of them made me nervous, and I didn't like being nervous. I liked being calm, and rational, and in the know, but silver bullets wierded me out, and I didn't like it.
I realized I was repeating myself in my head and made myself stop.
The briefing materials I had been sent were complete, down to a practically photograph quality sketch of the body on the floor, surrounded by a halo of blood. There were ancillary sketches of all of the people involved, which I had categorized in my head by nicknames: The Wide Man, Grandma, The Laughing Man, Knives, and Joe Cool were my primary suspects. There were others that would bear an interview or two, but they seemed to have the best motives.
The Wide Man topped my list. He had had an affair with the victim, which she had cut off abruptly and recently. He owed her money, and did not have a dime in his accounts to cover it. And finally, he had had mob connections in the past, and had a fair to middling rap sheet... but with no convictions.
Of the others, Knives was a convicted murderer now out on parole, Grandma was a confidence women and part-time psychic, Joe Cool was another ex-lover of the victim, and the Laughing Man had no information available about him whatsoever, except that he was on an Interpol watch list.
I had decided that the Wide Man was at the top of the list, and had called him from DC on my way in. He was to meet me at a bar on Second and Winchester, in a not-very-nice section of town. I had talked to a few people that knew Kentown, and they all said that the Hotel Marrones was a good place to talk without attracting attention or being overheard by nosy parkers.
I had brought the guns I had been given along with the briefing materials, but had decided to keep my own trusty Baretta in an in-the-pants holster instead of the fancy shoulder rig that I had been given to go with the new guns. I was comfortable with the Baretta, and didn't want some new trick messing me up if things got tough. And I had a feeling things might get tough...
I got into town okay, and only missed Winchester once. I found a vacant spot on the street itself and slid into it, dropped a few coins in the meter and walked over to the Hotel. There weren't any rooms for rent, but they served a mean shot of whiskey. I ordered two and went over to where the Wide Man sat. He wasn't difficult to pick out from the crowd, sitting in a big bench seat and taking up most of it. He had blond hair and a froufy little moustache that looked out of place under his bright blue eyes. The sketch of him had been black and white, and the shocking blue lent new strength to a face that I had seen as sort of dissolute before.
He looked up from his menu and smiled. It was a good smile, a movie-star smile, and I found myself feeling a bit more sympathetic than I had when I parked the car outside. However, I was a professional, and I pushed it aside as he began to speak in a deep bass voice.
"I am Devon Sinclair, and you must be my mystery caller from the Capitol. I must say, I was a bit surprised to get a call from a private detective, and despite your hints, I have no idea what you might have asked to meet me here for."
I searched his face, but there was no clue that he might be hiding anything from me. Either he was a top-notch poker player- something he was rather poor at from the accounts I had been given, or he didn't know anything about the murder at all.
"Mr.- um, Sinclair," I said (I had almost called him 'Mr. Wide Man', and coughed to hide my slight flush) "I have to ask you where you were one month ago tonight, at approximately 6:00."
As I asked, I happened to look at the clock and saw that it was 5:52pm exactly. The sweep hand on the ornate grandfather clock had just hit the twelve when I finished the question.
The Wide Man looked thoughtful for a second. "I believe I would have been with Ms. St. Ives, at the Concord Inn, engaged in business of a rather... private sort."
I stared at him, and saw him register my astonishment before i could smooth my features again.
"I- I'm sorry, Mr. Sinclair, but to admit to it, so baldly! I was unprepared for this. Do you have... a statement you wish to make about the murder?"
He looked at me like I had swallowed a tuna and then spit out a perfect model of the Eiffel Tower made of fishbones. "Murder? Excuse me?"
Again, I could detect no false note in his face or eyes. His hands were steady on the table, and there were no nervous twitches at all. I watched him for a second, but there was no change.
"The murder of Angela St. Ives, Mr. Sinclair. At the Concord Inn, her place of residence."
Now there was a change, but not the one I had expected. He relaxed totally and wiped his forehead. "Ahh, sir, then there has been some mistake. For you see, I had breakfast with Ms. St. Ives this very morning, and she was alive and well..."
Lucael
=FLASHBACK=
It was a cold but sunny morning. The juxtaposition did nothing to ease my mind as I drove into Kentown. The heavy weight of the three guns I carried should have helped, but the queer ammunition in two of them made me nervous, and I didn't like being nervous. I liked being calm, and rational, and in the know, but silver bullets wierded me out, and I didn't like it.
I realized I was repeating myself in my head and made myself stop.
The briefing materials I had been sent were complete, down to a practically photograph quality sketch of the body on the floor, surrounded by a halo of blood. There were ancillary sketches of all of the people involved, which I had categorized in my head by nicknames: The Wide Man, Grandma, The Laughing Man, Knives, and Joe Cool were my primary suspects. There were others that would bear an interview or two, but they seemed to have the best motives.
The Wide Man topped my list. He had had an affair with the victim, which she had cut off abruptly and recently. He owed her money, and did not have a dime in his accounts to cover it. And finally, he had had mob connections in the past, and had a fair to middling rap sheet... but with no convictions.
Of the others, Knives was a convicted murderer now out on parole, Grandma was a confidence women and part-time psychic, Joe Cool was another ex-lover of the victim, and the Laughing Man had no information available about him whatsoever, except that he was on an Interpol watch list.
I had decided that the Wide Man was at the top of the list, and had called him from DC on my way in. He was to meet me at a bar on Second and Winchester, in a not-very-nice section of town. I had talked to a few people that knew Kentown, and they all said that the Hotel Marrones was a good place to talk without attracting attention or being overheard by nosy parkers.
I had brought the guns I had been given along with the briefing materials, but had decided to keep my own trusty Baretta in an in-the-pants holster instead of the fancy shoulder rig that I had been given to go with the new guns. I was comfortable with the Baretta, and didn't want some new trick messing me up if things got tough. And I had a feeling things might get tough...
I got into town okay, and only missed Winchester once. I found a vacant spot on the street itself and slid into it, dropped a few coins in the meter and walked over to the Hotel. There weren't any rooms for rent, but they served a mean shot of whiskey. I ordered two and went over to where the Wide Man sat. He wasn't difficult to pick out from the crowd, sitting in a big bench seat and taking up most of it. He had blond hair and a froufy little moustache that looked out of place under his bright blue eyes. The sketch of him had been black and white, and the shocking blue lent new strength to a face that I had seen as sort of dissolute before.
He looked up from his menu and smiled. It was a good smile, a movie-star smile, and I found myself feeling a bit more sympathetic than I had when I parked the car outside. However, I was a professional, and I pushed it aside as he began to speak in a deep bass voice.
"I am Devon Sinclair, and you must be my mystery caller from the Capitol. I must say, I was a bit surprised to get a call from a private detective, and despite your hints, I have no idea what you might have asked to meet me here for."
I searched his face, but there was no clue that he might be hiding anything from me. Either he was a top-notch poker player- something he was rather poor at from the accounts I had been given, or he didn't know anything about the murder at all.
"Mr.- um, Sinclair," I said (I had almost called him 'Mr. Wide Man', and coughed to hide my slight flush) "I have to ask you where you were one month ago tonight, at approximately 6:00."
As I asked, I happened to look at the clock and saw that it was 5:52pm exactly. The sweep hand on the ornate grandfather clock had just hit the twelve when I finished the question.
The Wide Man looked thoughtful for a second. "I believe I would have been with Ms. St. Ives, at the Concord Inn, engaged in business of a rather... private sort."
I stared at him, and saw him register my astonishment before i could smooth my features again.
"I- I'm sorry, Mr. Sinclair, but to admit to it, so baldly! I was unprepared for this. Do you have... a statement you wish to make about the murder?"
He looked at me like I had swallowed a tuna and then spit out a perfect model of the Eiffel Tower made of fishbones. "Murder? Excuse me?"
Again, I could detect no false note in his face or eyes. His hands were steady on the table, and there were no nervous twitches at all. I watched him for a second, but there was no change.
"The murder of Angela St. Ives, Mr. Sinclair. At the Concord Inn, her place of residence."
Now there was a change, but not the one I had expected. He relaxed totally and wiped his forehead. "Ahh, sir, then there has been some mistake. For you see, I had breakfast with Ms. St. Ives this very morning, and she was alive and well..."
Lucael