A Great Night For a Killing by missfae

A Great Night For a Killing, part 2 - missfae

Part 1 found here.

Fifteen minutes later, I approached my office; Jim was making like a second shadow. Simon turned as we marched through the door.

“Sandburg… ‘bout time you got here.”

Ecce Homo, behold the man. Let me take a moment to sigh and fan myself. Captain Simon Banks of the Major Crimes unit of the Cascade Police Department is 6’4” of dark, brooding, muscular, good-looking-as–homemade sin yummiest. The gold framed glasses he favored did nothing to hide the intelligence shining from his brown eyes. His broad nose and thick kiss-me lips has made many a woman, and man, sit up and beg. Did I sleep with him? Well… would you be surprised if I said ‘no’? I would be. In fact, I only agreed to interview Jim because of Simon’s wonderfully persuasive techniques. What are they? Use your imagination. I can only say- no rubber hoses were involved; although, we did make use of ropes and handcuffs.

Simon grumbles that if he hadn’t insisted I meet with Jim the two of us would be in a relationship. Funny how all the complaints stopped when Detective Brian Rafe swooped in to lick his wounds.

“Simon-”

“Captain Banks-”

“Okay…” So, it’s to be one of those nights. I grinned. “… Captain Banks.” Simon snorted and nodded to Jim.

“Why is he sniffing the air?”

I glanced at him. “Jim?” He rubbed his nose. I turned back to Simon. “I would ask what brings you here, but I figure the reason isn’t my stunning good looks.”

“Sandburg…” Jim’s slap to the back of my head snapped it forward.

I rubbed the spot. “Okay, okay. Jeez. So, what happened?”

Pulling a cigar from his inner pocket, Simon stared as he rolled the cylinder between his thumb and index finger. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded towards the body.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

I shrugged. “Our last meeting ended with him eating a high-priced dessert.”

“Blair shoved a $200,000 credit down the creep’s throat.”

I patted Jim’s arm. “He was alive when I left him.” I paled. “Don’t tell me Sears choked to death. Did I need a lawyer, or better yet a re-animator-”

“Sandburg!” Simon’s bellow cut through my panic. “His neck’s broken.”

Jim bent down and reached for the sheet. “May I?”

Simon gave a “makes-no-difference-to-me-one-way-or the-other” gesture. “Be my guest.”

Jim pulled back the sheet. I think I gasped, but I’m sure my stomach turned at the sight of the head twisted completely around to face the back.

“Talk about understatement,” I muttered. Jim sniffed again. “What?”

“I’m not sure.” He squinted in concentration. “Smells like…” He sniffed again. “…pig.” As Jim re-covered the corpse, Simon held out his hand.

“This was clutched in Sears’ hand.” Simon held out a torn piece of paper…a piece of newspaper. “This is a copy of Cello’s column.”

“Jimmy’s?”

He rolled his eyes. “Unless you’re acquainted with another Cello who’s a writer.” Anticipating my trademark snappy reply, he ordered, “Take it; the paper’s been scanned. The only fingerprints are Sears. Read it.” I took the paper to my desk and began to smooth out the wrinkles. “Read!”

“Stop yelling at me,” I simpered. “I get all weepy.”

Simon took a step towards me; Jim took a step towards him, so I read aloud, “Fred Sears is finding it hard to explain his past dealings in North Africa. He’s finding it even harder to explain his husband’s need to seek out the friendship of local nightclub owner Lee Brackett. Last night at the Pelican Club…”hey Jim and I saw the fight first hand “…last night at the Pelican Club your favorite writer stopped by Mr. Sears’ table. My only thought being to wish the couple a good evening.

“Imagine my surprise when Mr. Brackett arrived at the same table. Words were exchanged and when your courageous columnist tried to make peace, he received a broken nose as his reward. Fortunately, Brackett defended his honor and flattened Sears.”

Jim rubbed the space between his eyes. “He is certainly subject to flights of fancy.”

I nodded towards the article. “You mean lying?”

“Obfuscating-”

“Is that what this is?”

“Okay.” Simon snatched the paper up and dropped it into an evidence bag.” “Cut the comedy routine. I got a murder and you two are making like Homer and Bart.” I grinned; he held up his hand. “Don’t.”

I watched as he took off his glasses and removing a handkerchief from his pocket, polished the lenses.

“So, what do I tell the commissioner?”

He had put his glasses back on and I didn’t like the way he was staring at me. “Wait a minute. You don’t think that I did this.”

“Word on the street is you two had a fight and the next day the cleaning lady finds him dead in your office.” He ran a hand over his head. “Some would say that you are the most logical suspect. So I ask you again- what do I tell the commissioner?”

I was about to tell him what he could do with his logic when a noise near the door drew my attention. Rafe entered dictating notes in his handheld recorder. I grinned at his waddle.

“I don’t know. Tell ‘im Rafe’s having puppies.”

Seven-month pregnant Brian Rafe Banks scowled. As he moved into the room, he pushed back a lock of brown hair covering his eye.

“Cap, you sure Sandburg didn’t off the guy?” His lips pulled back into a leer. “Maybe he couldn’t seduce Sears.”

I swayed and clutched my heart. “Me, meet someone I can’t seduce… perish the thought.”

“Sandburg-”

“Rafe-”

The barked names overlapped.

I grinned. “Okay, okay… uncle.” Rafe flashed the peace sign. “Seriously, you don’t think I killed him?” Simon shook his head. “Give me a few hours. Let me try to flush out the killer.”

Simon blew out a breath. “I don’t know. The commissioner’s breathing down my neck-’

“Be a pal.” I gave him the big eyes. “The commissioner has a fit when he hears my name. If he finds out that the dead man was found in my office, he’ll probably pull my license…”

“Two hours… that’s all I can spare-”

“Simon-”

He held up a hand. “Take it or leave it.”

I raked fingers through my curls. “I’ll take it.” I was turning to leave when Simon asked,

“Where were you at 1:00 this morning?”

I stopped. “That the time of death?”

“Uh huh.”

“Ask Jim.” I winked at my blushing mate. “We were playing, ‘Sausage, Sausage who’s got the Sausage.’”

Simon’s “too much information” and Jim’s growl followed me down the hallway.

End Part 2

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