“Good morning, Chief Inspector. We’ve got a nasty one here.”
It was hardly morning. A full moon beamed down on the back of the modest house in the Mayfair district. Dawn was only a purple smudge on the horizon. I peered inside the kitchen. The walls and cabinets were spattered with blood. An elderly woman, mid seventies, lay sprawled face down on the floor. Her nightgown and her flesh were badly shredded.
“Doris Whickam,” the constable reported, referring to his notepad. “Age 73. Dead three to four hours. No sign of forced entry. ME won’t give the COD until they get her on the table, but she says there are a dozen different wounds that could have done the job. Husband found her,” he said. “Phoned it in an hour ago. Didn’t hear anything. He’s deaf as a post.” He flipped his pad closed and looked into the kitchen. “Hell of a mess, what?”
“Thank you, Constable.” I turned to the technician taking photographs of the scene. “Mind if I come in?”
“I’m done with the floor, Inspector. Have a care you don’t touch anything else.”
I stepped inside and bent to examine the body. The tears in her faded gown had jagged edges. The wounds appeared tattered and ragged as well. “Can’t be a knife,” I mused aloud. “Too much tearing.”
“ME thinks maybe a meathook or a letter opener,” said the tech. “Something pointed but not all that sharp. I’m sure we’ll turn up something useful in this mess”
“Let’s hope so,” I replied, surveying the scene. There was blood spatter in the sink. No effort to clean up the place. A butcher block knife holder next to the range was full. A rumpled sheet of pink paper on the breakfast table caught my eye. I went over to take a closer look. It was a take-out menu, Chinese. It lay open, but had been folded twice. The table was smeared with blood, but there was none on the menu.
“Make sure you get a picture of that,” I said to the tech, pointing at the menu.
====
I sat at my desk reviewing the reports and finishing the last of a late lunch. The uniforms had canvassed the neighborhood. No one heard or saw anything, except one woman who swore she heard howling sometime around midnight. The couple’s finances and acquaintances didn’t point to any motive.
Photos from the scene covered my desk. A preliminary report from the ME shed no light beyond what I had guessed on my own. All the blood tested so far was the same type. Further analysis would have to wait. The immediate COD was a gash to the throat.
I found myself returning to the picture of the take-out menu again and again. It looked so out of place. The husband couldn’t remember having had takeout in the recent past, but a note on his interview sheet warned that not much of what he said was reliable: shock, senility, or a combination of the two.
Lee Ho Fook’s. I’d eaten there many times. Lee Ho Fook’s. The name kept nipping at the edges of my brain. Lee Ho Fook’s.
It couldn’t be! I jumped from my desk and headed out the door. Fifteen minutes later I pulled up outside Trader Vic’s. When you’ve got nothing, you grasp at straws. I’d put a lot of nasty people away by gathering up enough straws.
I walked into the bar. There he was, drinking a piña colada. He was dressed in a crisply pressed suit; a handkerchief tucked neatly into his pocket. He stood and put out his hand as I walked over.
“Chief Inspector Dwight. I was hoping you would come.”
I ignored the proffered hand. “And you are?”
“Talbot. Lawrence Talbot,” he said, taking his seat. “Please, won’t you join me?”
I sat opposite him at the small table. “You were expecting me? Any particular reason?”
“Hoping, Inspector, hoping. But no special reason. Let’s just call it ‘instinct’,” he said. A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “You’ll have to forgive me. I have a weakness for the dramatic flair. Let the games begin!”
With that he stood and walked out the door. I had no reason to stop him, but I managed to snap a picture with my cell.
I went over to the hostess and flashed my badge. “Could you please get me a plastic bag? I’m going to need to take that cocktail glass with me.”
“Certainly, Inspector,” she said. “And the gentleman left this for you.”
She handed me a small, velvet box. I opened it slowly. Light glinted from the one sliver bullet that lay inside.
I checked my phone to see if I had gotten a useful picture. I had. I couldn’t help but notice that his hair was perfect.