Uncomfortable lightning
Lieutenant Columbo of Homicide Department scratched the thick mop of his greying shaggy hair with a chewed quarter cigar between his fingers and with his other hand tucked inside the pocket of the wrinkled tranche coat that were too big for his small crouching frame.
He and his Sergeant watched as skunk-striped architect Elliot Markham was put in the police car while others began to dig up the hidden body of the Texas tycoon Bo Williamson.
Dark clouds roomed over the dark night followed by a low rumbling.
"Let's get this over with, looks like it's gonna rain cats and dogs," one of the superior officers said.
The Sergeant noticed how Columbo winched and looked a bit uncomfortable as he looked up warily.
"What's the matter, Lieutenant, afraid of thunder?" the Sergeant asked teasingly.
Columbo said nothing as if he was in some kind of a trance.
"Lieutenant?" the Sergeant spoke again louder this time, the teasing going over to concern, snapping Columbo out of it.
"Hm? Oh, sorry, Sir," Columbo slowly rasped with his gravel voice. "I don't know why, but as long as I can remember, I haven't been overly fond of lightning."
The Sergeant nodded.
A lightning blinked and for a brief moment the Sergeant saw over Columbo's frame the ghostly image of a tall thin handsome man in robes and a helmet with long pointy horns on the front.
The Sergeant blinked and took another look, but didn't see anything this time.
'I should get some rest. I'm beginning to see things,' he thought while rubbing his eyes.