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.