Hannah Bronto - Lovers in paradise

"I've got to go now, darling," I said.

Irene, who's always in her best mood after she has come, smiled sexily at me, licking her tongue around the rim of her mouth. "What's afoot, Mal? Not another woman I hope?"

I grinned at her. I would have loved to stay; my cock was hard already. "Irene, darling," I said, leaning over the bed and kissing her cheek, "as far as I've concerned. You know that you'll always be the woman in my life. The only woman."

Twenty minutes later I was on West Thirty-fifth Street. Standing outside the building was Commissioner Moran, Jocelyn Wolfe, and Sergeant Mycroft. Two police cars were parked in front of the ancient brownstone, their overhead lights flashing steadily. An ambulance was vanishing into the corridor a little way down the street, its wailing siren sending echoes rippling into time itself. All eyes were on the ambulance. Everyone was grim and silent.

"What's up?" I asked, sensing it was something big.

There were tears welling up in Jocelyn's eyes. She turned abruptly away and walked rapidly down the walk path, heading toward Ninth Avenue.

"Oh, my God," I said. "Another rape?"

Commissioner Moran heaved a sigh. "Worse."

I drew back. "Worse? I don't…"

"Murder," he snapped angrily. "Not only did he rape this one, he slaughtered her as well. It's the first damn murder we've bad in almost two centuries!"

For some reason, Sergeant Mycroft wasn't at his usual post behind his desk just outside of Commissioner Moran's office, so I knocked on the door once, and walked in unannounced.

Expecting to see the Commissioner behind his desk, I was surprised only to find Jocelyn in the room. She was seated in one of the two free-form black plasteel chairs which faced the Commissioner's desk. Her eyes were closed, and she was leaning back in the chair, with her hands clasped across her flat, pinched belly. At first I thought she was sleeping, but her lips pushed in and out, as if in indication that something was going on behind those tightly-lidded eyes.

The moment she heard me enter the office, her eyes snapped open. "Oh, it's only you."

"Sorry to disappoint you. You're right: it's only me. Might as well get some more shut-eye."

"I wasn't sleeping," she said defensively.

"You could have fooled me." I sat in the other chair, swiveling around so that I was facing her. "What were you doing?"

"Thinking…"

"About what?"

"That should be obvious, even to you."

"The murder of Effie Spade, no doubt."

"That and the whole damn case. There's something about it that just doesn't – ah, well, forget it."

"No, go ahead. Are you on to something?"

Jocelyn nodded and smiled. "I just may be. But until I'm certain, no one but me is going to know what it is. It's my lead."

I frowned. "Do you think that's wise, partner? Keeping an idea or a piece of evidence to yourself in a case of this magnitude isn't a smart move."

"It is if I solve this case," she said. "Don't worry, partner, I'll let you in on it – in due time. I'm not going to take all the glory for myself: but just enough of it with which to save my skin."

I shrugged indifferently. "Have it your own way."

"I will, thank you."

"Where is everybody?" I asked, indicating the Commissioner's empty chair. "Even Mycroft wasn't at his usual post."

"Haven't you heard? Sergeant Mycroft got the day off. He's getting married."

"Married? But what about his wife? They were devoted." I remembered suddenly my invitation for sex with his wife that Mycroft had so graciously offered.

"He got married again," Jocelyn explained. "He's taken a second wife. Some woman by the name of Valerie Marple. It seems she's a rehabilitated criminal he had taken out a few times. They got along very well, and when he brought her home to meet his wife, she liked Miss Marple as well. All three were compatible, so he decided to marry her."

"Hum," I said smiling. "Miss Marple."

Jocelyn looked at me curiously. "Do you know her?"

"Me? Don't be silly. Where would I meet someone like that." I smiled across the room at her. "Where's the Commissioner?"

"He went down to the lab. The Autopsy Report on Effie Spade was ready. He was anxious to see what it said. I offered to pick it up for him, but he insisted on getting it himself." She shrugged. "You know how he is sometimes when he fixes upon an idea."

Indeed I did.

A second or two later, the door to the office opened, and in walked Commissioner Moran, his face buried in the pale blue folder of the Autopsy Report. He looked up for a moment from the page.

"Ah, Mal, you're here." He closed the folder and dropped it on the edge of his desk. "I was just going to call your office."

"What does it say?" I asked, indicating the blue folder. "What did she die of?"

"What we first suspected."

"A blaster?" Jocelyn's voice was incredulous.

Commissioner Moran nodded gravely. "She took the full blast right in the chest. There are some pictures of her in the folder in case you'd like to see. I warn you – they're not pretty."

I picked up the folder and looked. He was right. They weren't pretty at all. Neither was Effie Spade any longer. I reclosed the folder and offered it to Jocelyn. She shook her head.

"I guess that gives a whole lot of credence to what Mrs. Hudson said." I dropped the Autopsy Report back onto the Commissioner's desk. "Unless, of course, it was just a coincidence."

Commissioner Moran shook his head. "I don't believe in coincidences. Not in a murder case."

"Do you realize what that means?" Jocelyn asked. "My God, I've never even see a blaster outside of a picture or in a museum. Where would he have gotten one? They haven't been manufactured in ages."

I shook my head. "It beats me. This whole damn case beats the hell out of me. First rapes, then a murder, and then we find out the murder was committed with a blaster. What next?"

"What's next is that we try and run down that weapon," Commissioner Moran asserted. "I want every person or place where blasters are kept checked out. And that includes armories, museums, private collectors, even police stations…"

Jocelyn seemed shaken. "Do you mean that weapons are still kept in police stations? At this late date in time? You mean, right here, in this station there are weapons like that around?"

"There are some in the vault downstairs," I said. "But how would anyone get to them? They're under constant lock and key, as they would be in any place that kept weapons."

"How does any criminal commit crimes?" Commissioner Moran asked. "There are ways. There are ways for every improbable thing to happen. If, they didn't happen, we'd be out of jobs."

I grinned cynically. "Right now that doesn't seem like too bad an idea. Besides, I have a feeling that if we don't get some breaks in this case soon, we might be all out of a job regardless."

Commissioner Moran glared; he had no sense of humor about some things.

"Detective Browne," he said dryly, "I want you to check out the weapon angle. Get a rundown from the computer of every possible place and person who would have access to weapons of any kind. If we're lucky – and I frankly see no reason why anything will change in our favor – somewhere a blaster will turn up missing. If it does, we'll at least have some where to begin."

"And if it doesn't turn up?"

The glare intensified. "Then we'll be no worse off than we are now."

"Check," I said meekly.

"Miss Wolfe," he said, turning to Jocelyn, "what do you have to report on possible suspects?"

"There are three, sir," she said.

"That's all the computer turned up?"

"Yes, I've afraid so."

"You included, of course, Mal's theory?"

"Of course, sir," she said crisply. "Interestingly enough, the computer seemed to verify my own view in that it didn't turn up a single female suspect. All three are men, sir."