Back at Homicide
Stottlemeyer had decided to spend the day catching up on old times. He found it hard to believe he was nostalgic for the daily grind in the homicide department.
But, then again, he spent most of his working life captaining it.
"He's a drunk," said Stottlemeyer to Disher. "It's as plain as the red nose on his face."
"I know it," said Disher. "When I call him off duty he's always slurring and hiccuping. It's sort of funny."
"I bet Sharona doesn't think so," said Stottlemeyer.
"I don't care," shrugged Disher. "He's a good detective. He's always sober on duty - he's not breaking any regulations."
Besides, you can tell what day of the week is by how plastered he looks."
"Speak of the devil," Stottlemeyer observed.
Benji came in, looking the worse than the day before.
"Thursday," said Disher, triumphantly.
Stottlemeyer and Benji glanced at him. Disher turned his attention to his laptop.
"I've been studying Miss Bream's affairs."
"And . . . ." hinted Disher, irritably.
"Her late father left the vast majority of his fortune to be shared equally between Miss Bream, her brother, and their heirs. The one stipulation was that, by the terms of the will, the fortune would not go to the beneficiaries until 21 years after either Miss Bream or her brother dies."
"So she killed her nephew, so she could inherit the whole thing in 15 years," asked Disher.
"Not really . . ." started Benji, but he was interrupted by a phone call.
"Really? . . . Okay, we know, . . . Mrs. Fernandez's number . . . uh
Benji handed Disher a sheet, Stottlemeyer looked over to see Benji's tottering, drunken, illegible characters.
"His drinking doesn't affect the job," muttered Stottlemeyer, sarcastically.