“Ms Hope?” She turned to me, somewhat reluctantly. “You got anything to add?”
“Yeah.” I angled out from behind Archer’s shoulder. “It was about 5 pm. I was sitting at my desk and Mr Ed was inside his room. I can’t see inside his room when the door is closed like it is usually. He doesn’t like to be disturbed, you see?”
Hwang nodded which meant yeah-yeah-go-on.
“I think he was working on a case that was coming up later in the week. Marcia O’Dooley. She was caught at the kerbside soliciting a guy who turned out to be one of you. She was packing a few hits of the white stuff. They hauled her in ….”
Hwang waved a hand that meant blah-blah-blah. Okay, so she was not interested in Marcia O’Dooley. In my opinion, she better be interested in all that Mr Ed had done in the last few days. But I wasn’t going to tell a detective how to do her job, right?
“So then this guy came in and walked straight to Mr Ed’s door. I told him to wait because he didn’t have an appointment, and people who want to see Mr Ed usually call first. Generally it’s from inside the jail, so they don’t come in and see him, it’s him that goes to see them. But this man kept on like he hadn’t heard me and went straight inside and closed the door. Next thing I know is there are shots, and the man is running out.”
“Where does Mr Hamilton come in?” She let her eyes rest on Archer and her lips curved slightly. He has ‘that’ effect on women. That is why I don’t give him the benefit of my attention.
Naturally he smiled back, grooves bracketing the smile. I swear Hwang sighed and licked her lips.
That gave me time to beat him to the answer. “Yeah, well, he happened to walk in a moment before we heard the shots.” Brief and to the point, just the way she wanted it. So how come she didn’t look pleased.
“And what brought you to the office, Mr Hamilton?”
“Archer, please, Ma’am,” wide grin. “I was working on a divorce case for Mr Ed. I brought him some photos.”
“Anything in particular you noticed about the shooter? We will ask you to work out a portrait later. But any distinguishing features?”
“I just saw his back briefly,” said Archer. “Stocky guy. He was wearing a black jacket.”
“Medium blond hair tied in a ponytail, brown eyes, left-handed, about 5 feet 10 inches, 220 pounds. Scar on the back of his left hand like he had been in a knife fight. Wearing a diamond on his pinkie.” The images stood out in my mind. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to forget them.
Then one thing struck me. The guy knew who I was and where I was to be found. What if he came after me? “Don’t you have a witness protection program, Detective?” I quavered. “He wouldn’t want me to identify him in the court. I am the only one who saw him. He is probably part of some major crime syndicate. They may have a hit out on me this very moment.” I stood up. The chair crashed against the wall. “I need protection!”
Hwang stood too. She was a few inches taller than me. How come they let detectives wear stilettos and short skirts? Wasn’t there a dress code? Like, no make-up and no moussed hair.
“Calm down, Ms Hope. These kinds of things happen all the time. There is nothing to panic about. If we had witness protection programs for all witnesses, we’d be babysitting the whole time.” She swiveled around, was done with me. “Archer, I need you and Ms Hope to come down to the station pronto. Get her a cup of coffee and get a ride out.”
“No problem, Ma’am. I have my car.” Archer and Hwang smiled at each other some more, then Hwang strode out, leaving behind a whiff of expensive perfume and a glimpse of never-ending legs. I swear Archer sighed and drooled.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Saturday, October 6, 2007
On Crime Fiction
Crime fiction - read a Kathy Reichs for the first time, was inspired by the TV series. Also borrowed an ancient Dick Francis from the library. He's the best. Last week I happened to drop into the New York Public Library, and the crime selection made me drool. Had to leave the place in a hurry before I gave in to addiction. It is actually not so easy to write one, although it appears quite effortless when other people do it. That's probable because I am not a writer but a reader of fiction. Need to graduate.
I should’ve gone to his assistance instead of taking after the killer. I should’ve left the door open while they were talking. I shouldnt’ve allowed the guy to walk in the door. I should’ve….
“You’re contaminating the crime scene,” pointed out Archer. He was at the doorway, conspicuously keeping himself away from all surfaces.
I sniffed. Maybe a tear or two rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away, careful not to contaminate the crime scene. “I was just checking to see if he needed any help. He doesn’t.”
Archer shifted a bit, looped thumbs around his pockets. “Ah… Hmm…So who was the guy?”
“Dunno. I never saw him before.” I stood, somewhat unsteadily. My legs were trembling. I slid past Archer and went back to my chair behind the desk. It seemed like the safest place at the moment.
Archer frowned and continued to question me about what had happened earlier. Jeez, I know he is hotshot PI and all, but did he have to start right away? I glowered at him. “I said I don’t know. Never saw him before. Don’t know why he turned up. Never said anything to me. Not everybody asks me out for a cup of coffee every time they see me,” I added nastily.
The emergency team dropped by then, and soon the whole place was swarming with cops. It was like a scene from CSI, but not really. No cameras panning from person to person, churning out flashes of imagery a part at a time. No close-ups of tiny bits of evidence being carefully placed in plastic bags. No discussions and comments from the main players. The cops talked to each other in staccato monosyllables, incomprehensible one-liners. Or maybe I was just zonked out.
They put Archer and me on two plastic chairs in the lobby of the building where curious office people milled around. Two policemen did the rounds of who had heard what and who had seen what, then they let them go one by one. It was long past office hours and most people, after a glance up the stairs where they could not see much beyond cops tramping up and down, were anxious to get home.
“Hi. I’m Detective Lucy Hwang.” Tall, slight with long slim legs and hardly any butt. “Thanks for sticking around. May I take this chair.”
She pulled a chair in front of us. “You are Annie Hope and J. Archer Hamilton..?”
Like she didn’t know. We nodded.
“So tell me how it played out. You saw the man, right?”
“We actually got in a shot. Hit him on the shoulder. I gave your guys the description of his car. If he is wise, he should be in a hospital right now.”
“You the PI?” Was this a new dumb-cop routine the police - sensitive, cooperative public servants – were supposed to display to the public?
Archer dug out his ID, flashed it at her. “We don’t know who he was or why he was meeting with Mr Ed. Don’t know why he turned up. Never said anything.” Hey, that was my line.
I should’ve gone to his assistance instead of taking after the killer. I should’ve left the door open while they were talking. I shouldnt’ve allowed the guy to walk in the door. I should’ve….
“You’re contaminating the crime scene,” pointed out Archer. He was at the doorway, conspicuously keeping himself away from all surfaces.
I sniffed. Maybe a tear or two rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away, careful not to contaminate the crime scene. “I was just checking to see if he needed any help. He doesn’t.”
Archer shifted a bit, looped thumbs around his pockets. “Ah… Hmm…So who was the guy?”
“Dunno. I never saw him before.” I stood, somewhat unsteadily. My legs were trembling. I slid past Archer and went back to my chair behind the desk. It seemed like the safest place at the moment.
Archer frowned and continued to question me about what had happened earlier. Jeez, I know he is hotshot PI and all, but did he have to start right away? I glowered at him. “I said I don’t know. Never saw him before. Don’t know why he turned up. Never said anything to me. Not everybody asks me out for a cup of coffee every time they see me,” I added nastily.
The emergency team dropped by then, and soon the whole place was swarming with cops. It was like a scene from CSI, but not really. No cameras panning from person to person, churning out flashes of imagery a part at a time. No close-ups of tiny bits of evidence being carefully placed in plastic bags. No discussions and comments from the main players. The cops talked to each other in staccato monosyllables, incomprehensible one-liners. Or maybe I was just zonked out.
They put Archer and me on two plastic chairs in the lobby of the building where curious office people milled around. Two policemen did the rounds of who had heard what and who had seen what, then they let them go one by one. It was long past office hours and most people, after a glance up the stairs where they could not see much beyond cops tramping up and down, were anxious to get home.
“Hi. I’m Detective Lucy Hwang.” Tall, slight with long slim legs and hardly any butt. “Thanks for sticking around. May I take this chair.”
She pulled a chair in front of us. “You are Annie Hope and J. Archer Hamilton..?”
Like she didn’t know. We nodded.
“So tell me how it played out. You saw the man, right?”
“We actually got in a shot. Hit him on the shoulder. I gave your guys the description of his car. If he is wise, he should be in a hospital right now.”
“You the PI?” Was this a new dumb-cop routine the police - sensitive, cooperative public servants – were supposed to display to the public?
Archer dug out his ID, flashed it at her. “We don’t know who he was or why he was meeting with Mr Ed. Don’t know why he turned up. Never said anything.” Hey, that was my line.
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