'What is it, Wes?' asked Detective Kate Lockley. 'Did you see something?'
They were both standing in Griffon's spacious bedroom. The dark blue carpet
contrasted the white walls.
'If she's running an autopsy,' started Wesley, 'then will a full stomach content test be ran.'
'That's standard procedure.'
Wesley cracked open the folder he was holding, he layed in on the double- bed and lifted sheets of paper out until he got to the report on the food that was laying on the circular table. 'Salmon, sweet potatoes and white wine.'
'What about them?'
'That was what the lab reported was the meal layed out downstairs. Two plates, two glasses and an empty bottle.'
'You think you got something?'
'Quite possibly. Can you get Dr Hemmingway back on the phone, I want to know if the woman had any alcohol in her bloodstream.'
'Sure, Wes,' said Lockley as she pulled out her minature phone. She pressed the redial button and got straight through. 'Hi, Dr Hemmingway, this is Detective Lockley. I need to know, did the woman have any alcohol in her blood? . . . Really? Yeah, thanks. That's all I needed to know.' She clicked the phone down and turned to Wesley. 'No trace of alcohol,' she explained.
'No alcohol in her, yet their were two glasses. I think Mr Griffon had another visitor that evening. Talk to the doorman, it was a woman.'
'How do you know it was a woman?'
'Lipstick on the second glass was a dead giveaway. And I think that if we find out who the dead woman is, then we'll be able to close the case.'
'Really? I have a couple of detectives working on it, trying to find a name for her.'
'If they're using legitimate channels don't bother yourself, she won't be there.'
'Then where do we look?'
***
Detective Lockley walked through the large doors of Klondike Fashion and past row upon row of designer suits and fashionable dresses. All colours but no sizes over fifteen. The desk at the end of the shop was made of solid wood, old style with knots and bows in the surface. A single clerk was standing behind the till, dressed in a blue blazer sporting the logo of Klondike Fashion on one side and a name tag on her left. 'Hello, Emily,' said Lockley. 'I'm with the Los Angeles Police Department, I was told you stock a certain type of dress here.'
'Of course, detective. What are you looking for?'
The desciption Dr Hemmingway had given her was very detailed. The dead woman was wearing a dark-blue evening dress with a plunging neckline, it ended above the knees and it was sort of tight around her waist. Her hair was light-brown and worn up, her eyes, a hazel colour, and blue pumps. Her ears were pierced, yet she had no earrings in. She was attractive, could've been a model or something, with perfect bone structure and skin tone. The only personal piece on her was a silver anklet, it was lacking a hallmark which had been filed off. The clerk knew which dress she was talking about, a fairly daring backless number which had a hefty price tag.
'That's the one,' said Lockley. 'Do you have a reciept for it?'
'Let me check,' said Emily. She went behind the desk and reached into one of the drawers and pulled out an A4 notebook with a hard, black cover. She opened it up and flicked through the pages until she got to the right date. 'It was payed with in cash,' informed Emily. 'Fairly odd since it costs almost five hundred dollars.'
'Do you remember anything about the person who purchased it?'
'Now you ask me, I do. She was beautiful, and Russian, I think.'
Russian?'
'Yeah, definitely Russian.'
Lockley noted it down. 'When was this?'
'January the third, this year.'
'You've been a great help, thank you.'
'We do discount for policewomen,' said Emily.
Lockley chuckled as she headed for the Mall Security Office. On her salary the closest she'd gotten to a Klondike had been when she escorted a corpse out.
***
'Yet again, Wes, your feeling was right,' said Dr Melissa Hemmingway as she met Wesley in the corridor of the LAPD Precinct 17. They were down among the dead men, the Morgue beneath the station house proper. Antiseptic air, cold as all flowed about, channeled through several A/C units mounted at strategic places.
'Really?' asked Wesley. He looked at the woman he'd spent the night with, she was wearing corpse-issue gear, a long white coat and medical gloves.
'Yep, stomach contents was what you'd find if you had a McDonalds.'
Alright, so he hadn't actually guessed in that kind of detail, but his idea was simple: The dead woman was not who the meal was laid out for, and therefore would not have the contents inside her stomach of said meal. This meant that another line of enquiry could be drawn up, working by the idea that Mr Griffon was a popular man, with two houseguests the night he died.
As they got closer Melissa handed him a folder, a brown cardboard one with a sheets of paper inside.
'Also, she said, 'it was eaten less than an hour before she died.'
'She may have been a prostitute,' said Wesley, 'Griffon may have called for her when he got nothing from his date.'
'If she was a hooker, that's what we call them in the US, Wes, she wasn't a very good one. She hasn't had sex for at least two weeks.'
'You can tell that with a post mortem?'
'I can tell you what your favourite colour is,' joked Melissa.
An unerving silence reverberated through the walls, Melissa cleared her throat. 'I think Detective Lockley has a lead, she following it up right now.'
'What is that then?'
'She called me earlier, got a desciption of the dress. It's a pretty expensive one, I think she can trace it.'
'Interesting,' said Wesley, he hadn't even though of that line of enquiry . . . yet.
This must be the famous British reserve, though Melissa, if it was an American she probably wouldn't have heard from him ever again, yet another layer to this man. She thought better of it to mention the events of last night, especially when they were so deep in the work they had, solving the murder of Roger Griffon.
'Lockley mentioned you had her walking around the entire building,' said Melissa.
'Yes, just to clear a few things up.'
'Did it?'
'Actually, yes. I think I've worked out how, all we need is the why.'
'The motive?'
'Yes, the elusive motive.'
'I think I can help you out there, Wes. Mrs Griffon called this morning, from Paris, she want him to be buried as soon as.'
'Suspicious.'
'Yep. But there's nothng funny in his blood or his organs, she's got no reason to want him in the ground, for God's sake she's barely time to mourn.'
'She's in Paris while Mr Griffon is entertaining women friends, I think they're no love loss between them. And I've heard of some Wills that people want their deaths investigated to the full extent, even if it's an accident or natural causes.'
'So this woman wants her husband buried because the Will won't go into effect until he is. Why would she need money that quickly?'
'Gambling debts,' mused Wesley.
Somehow they had stalled in the corridor, looking at each other, teasing their minds.
'He was a rich man,' commented Melissa. 'A rich writer, who by all accounts had just finished his final book.'
'Bound to boost the salies if he had a mysterious death. A motive!'
They looked across the two metre gap between them, their eyes met. Each saw something in the other that they didn't have in themselves, that they'd probably been searching for their entire lives. True love? Here, in a morgue? Stranger things had happened.
They kissed passionately, Melissa jumped into Wesley's powerful arms, her legs wrapped around his body. His hands began to wander down the curves of her body, under the plastic autopsy clothing while her hands clasped his face and held on with dear life. Melissa uncrossed her legs, she pointed to a wooden door set into the side of the corrdior, her mouth went as far from Wesley's as she dared, words formed in her throat. 'In here, it's the duty coroners office, he's on holiday.'
Wesley and Melissa were wrapped in each others grasp as they opened the door, Melissa closed and locked it. She ran back to the plain desk and knocked everything off it with one sweep of her arm and looked at Wesley longingly.
***
Lockley took another sip from her polystyrene cup of coffee, it tasted like mud, but it was sure to be packed full of caffine so she drank it.
Five hours, five stinking hours in this little office, searching for a glance, an image of the Russian woman. She'd lost count of how many cups of coffee she'd consumed.
'This is it, I think,' said the beefy guard. He pulled a single VHS cassette from a cardboard box that had been under a shelf of similar boxes, slid the box back and put the cassette into the machine.
'If it was down there, why did it take you so long to find it?' asked Lockley.
The security man shrugged and depressed the play button. 'God moves in mysterious ways,' he muttered to himself, more than Lockley.
An image came up on the fifteen inch, black and white, Sony screen. It was from the camera from the boulevard on which the Klondike Fashion store stood, the date was in the bottom right-hand corner, it was 3:1:02, the date the dress was purchased by the esoteric female.
The security man leant back on the back two legs of his metal seat. 'What time were you looking for?' he asked her.
'I don't know,' replied Lockley. 'Just keep going until you've got something.'
'This tape only records four hours of the day, detective.'
'Just keep a lookout for a woman coming out of Klondike fashion, please.' God she hated these rent-a-cops, always trying to show them they could make an officer. Lockley wouldn't have even had to come here if Klondike didn't tape over their security cassettes every week, a cost- saving measure that made her feel sick, or was that the weird-looking coffee?
Her eyes bleered a little as fast-moving people zipped about their daily lives, probably shopping for bargains after the Christmas glut which left unwanted gifts laying about store shelves. Eventually, at 4:11 PM, screen time, the woman walked into the Klondike Fashion store. She'd approached from the same direction as the camera was pointing down, so Lockley could only see her dark hair that had been wrapped into a nice bob.
'Play it realtime,' instructed Lockley.
'You see something?' asked the security guard.
'Yes, the person we've been looking for, now play it normally so we can see her coming out.'
'Sure.' He pressed the horozontal triangle and the image ceased its celerity and settled down to normal speed. Half a minute passed before the woman walked out of the store, back down the way she had come, which allowed the camera toget a perfectly clear shot of her face and upper body.
'Pause it!'
The man did as he was told.
'Can you zoom in?'
'Shouldn't be a problem.' He reached forward and grabbed a little stick that was on a base connected to the monitor. His free hand searched for a button on the side, and when he found it, the image flicked inwards. He continued to go in and pan across at the same time, showing off his technical prowess until it got to the young woman with a dress draped across her arms.
'Gotcha,' said Lockley proudly. 'Go in a bit further.'
The screen went in again, and Lockley stopped him when it was just her head and neck, with a few people in the background.
'That's her.'
'You wanna screen shot of her?'
'Yeah, go on.'
A printer in the corner of the room screeched to life. A sheet of paper began to push out from the printers ass and when it had finished Lockley snatched it up and went outside, glad to be free of the environment and the guards many interesting smells.
***
Melissa was doing up her shirt and throwing the odd glance at Wesley who was also getting dressed. They heard the footprints approached, click- clacking down the corridor and held their breathe. When they started to recede they both gave a little sigh of relief. That was close.
It took another couple of minutes before Melissa was ready to leave. Wesley had exited about a minute earlier, to make it look nonchalont. He walked into the Morgue's main area, the one with a row of steel trays to hold bodies on one side and came across Lockley who was looking about the examination area.
'Hello, detective,' he said as he approached her.
Lockley jumped a little at the sound of his masculine voice. She turned away from what she was doing and proferred a piece of paper.
'What is this,' said Wesley, pulling his glases out of his top pocket. He noticed his shirt was still out, and quickly tucked it in.
'That, Wes, is the woman who was found dead in Griffons apartment. She is, of course, patently alive in this picture, taken from a security camera in the Mall shortly after she purchased the dressed she was caught dead in.'
'That's amazing,' said Wesley, genuinely surprised. 'So you know who she is?'
Lockley cleared her throat. 'I'm still looking into it, but now we know where she was, it shouldn't be that tough.'
'Are you sure? LA is a big city, lots of places to dissapear.'
Lockley turned to face the new arrival as Melissa walked in, she was tucking her red hair into a ponytail as she eyeballed Lockley.
'Hello, doctor, I just came down here to show you this picture. Wes.'
Wesley handed her the picture of the deceased woman, feeling her warm skin before he pulled away.
'It's her!' exclaimed Dr Hemmingway.
'Yeah,' said Lockley. 'I think we can crack the case wide open now we have this picture.'
'Why's that, detective?' asked the forensic expert.
'With this we can check every Motel in LA. Hopefully we'll get a hit, then we've got our female vic.'
'So,' interjected Wesley, 'you have a theory about the killings?'
'No,' replied Lockely, 'I was just trying to bust open another lead.'
'Did you talk to the doorman again?' he asked.
'No I never got around to it, I was busy doing police work, y'know, catch the bad guys, bang, bang.'
'I was just thinking with this picture you could confront the doorman.'
'You wanna paint the doorman in for shooting JFK, too?' joked Lockley.
'I'm sure he let the first woman out.'
'First woman? quested Lockley
'Yeah,' answered Hemmingway. 'Me and Wes surmised there may have been two women, the first who had to be let out by the doorman, and the second, the dead girl, who had to be let in.'
'Actually,' said Lockley, 'I may have something about that.'
'Really?' asked Wesley.
'Yeah. Hanley, uh, he's a detective upstairs, on the case too, he's pulled up a four year old file on the doorman, just handed it to me upstairs. The boss said we have to check every lead, no matter how improbable.'
'Thinking just like a forensic scientist now, detective,' commented Hemmingway.
'Thanks a lot, doc. Well, it's for GBH, I think we can lean on him then, with the picture he should crack. I bet the residents of the Pasteur Building have no idea they have a convicted criminal on the door.'
'So he was convicted?' asked Hemmingway.
'Spent a year in Pentonville, back east.'
'Ladies,' said Wesley. 'I think I see the end of the case on the horizon.'
'If she's running an autopsy,' started Wesley, 'then will a full stomach content test be ran.'
'That's standard procedure.'
Wesley cracked open the folder he was holding, he layed in on the double- bed and lifted sheets of paper out until he got to the report on the food that was laying on the circular table. 'Salmon, sweet potatoes and white wine.'
'What about them?'
'That was what the lab reported was the meal layed out downstairs. Two plates, two glasses and an empty bottle.'
'You think you got something?'
'Quite possibly. Can you get Dr Hemmingway back on the phone, I want to know if the woman had any alcohol in her bloodstream.'
'Sure, Wes,' said Lockley as she pulled out her minature phone. She pressed the redial button and got straight through. 'Hi, Dr Hemmingway, this is Detective Lockley. I need to know, did the woman have any alcohol in her blood? . . . Really? Yeah, thanks. That's all I needed to know.' She clicked the phone down and turned to Wesley. 'No trace of alcohol,' she explained.
'No alcohol in her, yet their were two glasses. I think Mr Griffon had another visitor that evening. Talk to the doorman, it was a woman.'
'How do you know it was a woman?'
'Lipstick on the second glass was a dead giveaway. And I think that if we find out who the dead woman is, then we'll be able to close the case.'
'Really? I have a couple of detectives working on it, trying to find a name for her.'
'If they're using legitimate channels don't bother yourself, she won't be there.'
'Then where do we look?'
***
Detective Lockley walked through the large doors of Klondike Fashion and past row upon row of designer suits and fashionable dresses. All colours but no sizes over fifteen. The desk at the end of the shop was made of solid wood, old style with knots and bows in the surface. A single clerk was standing behind the till, dressed in a blue blazer sporting the logo of Klondike Fashion on one side and a name tag on her left. 'Hello, Emily,' said Lockley. 'I'm with the Los Angeles Police Department, I was told you stock a certain type of dress here.'
'Of course, detective. What are you looking for?'
The desciption Dr Hemmingway had given her was very detailed. The dead woman was wearing a dark-blue evening dress with a plunging neckline, it ended above the knees and it was sort of tight around her waist. Her hair was light-brown and worn up, her eyes, a hazel colour, and blue pumps. Her ears were pierced, yet she had no earrings in. She was attractive, could've been a model or something, with perfect bone structure and skin tone. The only personal piece on her was a silver anklet, it was lacking a hallmark which had been filed off. The clerk knew which dress she was talking about, a fairly daring backless number which had a hefty price tag.
'That's the one,' said Lockley. 'Do you have a reciept for it?'
'Let me check,' said Emily. She went behind the desk and reached into one of the drawers and pulled out an A4 notebook with a hard, black cover. She opened it up and flicked through the pages until she got to the right date. 'It was payed with in cash,' informed Emily. 'Fairly odd since it costs almost five hundred dollars.'
'Do you remember anything about the person who purchased it?'
'Now you ask me, I do. She was beautiful, and Russian, I think.'
Russian?'
'Yeah, definitely Russian.'
Lockley noted it down. 'When was this?'
'January the third, this year.'
'You've been a great help, thank you.'
'We do discount for policewomen,' said Emily.
Lockley chuckled as she headed for the Mall Security Office. On her salary the closest she'd gotten to a Klondike had been when she escorted a corpse out.
***
'Yet again, Wes, your feeling was right,' said Dr Melissa Hemmingway as she met Wesley in the corridor of the LAPD Precinct 17. They were down among the dead men, the Morgue beneath the station house proper. Antiseptic air, cold as all flowed about, channeled through several A/C units mounted at strategic places.
'Really?' asked Wesley. He looked at the woman he'd spent the night with, she was wearing corpse-issue gear, a long white coat and medical gloves.
'Yep, stomach contents was what you'd find if you had a McDonalds.'
Alright, so he hadn't actually guessed in that kind of detail, but his idea was simple: The dead woman was not who the meal was laid out for, and therefore would not have the contents inside her stomach of said meal. This meant that another line of enquiry could be drawn up, working by the idea that Mr Griffon was a popular man, with two houseguests the night he died.
As they got closer Melissa handed him a folder, a brown cardboard one with a sheets of paper inside.
'Also, she said, 'it was eaten less than an hour before she died.'
'She may have been a prostitute,' said Wesley, 'Griffon may have called for her when he got nothing from his date.'
'If she was a hooker, that's what we call them in the US, Wes, she wasn't a very good one. She hasn't had sex for at least two weeks.'
'You can tell that with a post mortem?'
'I can tell you what your favourite colour is,' joked Melissa.
An unerving silence reverberated through the walls, Melissa cleared her throat. 'I think Detective Lockley has a lead, she following it up right now.'
'What is that then?'
'She called me earlier, got a desciption of the dress. It's a pretty expensive one, I think she can trace it.'
'Interesting,' said Wesley, he hadn't even though of that line of enquiry . . . yet.
This must be the famous British reserve, though Melissa, if it was an American she probably wouldn't have heard from him ever again, yet another layer to this man. She thought better of it to mention the events of last night, especially when they were so deep in the work they had, solving the murder of Roger Griffon.
'Lockley mentioned you had her walking around the entire building,' said Melissa.
'Yes, just to clear a few things up.'
'Did it?'
'Actually, yes. I think I've worked out how, all we need is the why.'
'The motive?'
'Yes, the elusive motive.'
'I think I can help you out there, Wes. Mrs Griffon called this morning, from Paris, she want him to be buried as soon as.'
'Suspicious.'
'Yep. But there's nothng funny in his blood or his organs, she's got no reason to want him in the ground, for God's sake she's barely time to mourn.'
'She's in Paris while Mr Griffon is entertaining women friends, I think they're no love loss between them. And I've heard of some Wills that people want their deaths investigated to the full extent, even if it's an accident or natural causes.'
'So this woman wants her husband buried because the Will won't go into effect until he is. Why would she need money that quickly?'
'Gambling debts,' mused Wesley.
Somehow they had stalled in the corridor, looking at each other, teasing their minds.
'He was a rich man,' commented Melissa. 'A rich writer, who by all accounts had just finished his final book.'
'Bound to boost the salies if he had a mysterious death. A motive!'
They looked across the two metre gap between them, their eyes met. Each saw something in the other that they didn't have in themselves, that they'd probably been searching for their entire lives. True love? Here, in a morgue? Stranger things had happened.
They kissed passionately, Melissa jumped into Wesley's powerful arms, her legs wrapped around his body. His hands began to wander down the curves of her body, under the plastic autopsy clothing while her hands clasped his face and held on with dear life. Melissa uncrossed her legs, she pointed to a wooden door set into the side of the corrdior, her mouth went as far from Wesley's as she dared, words formed in her throat. 'In here, it's the duty coroners office, he's on holiday.'
Wesley and Melissa were wrapped in each others grasp as they opened the door, Melissa closed and locked it. She ran back to the plain desk and knocked everything off it with one sweep of her arm and looked at Wesley longingly.
***
Lockley took another sip from her polystyrene cup of coffee, it tasted like mud, but it was sure to be packed full of caffine so she drank it.
Five hours, five stinking hours in this little office, searching for a glance, an image of the Russian woman. She'd lost count of how many cups of coffee she'd consumed.
'This is it, I think,' said the beefy guard. He pulled a single VHS cassette from a cardboard box that had been under a shelf of similar boxes, slid the box back and put the cassette into the machine.
'If it was down there, why did it take you so long to find it?' asked Lockley.
The security man shrugged and depressed the play button. 'God moves in mysterious ways,' he muttered to himself, more than Lockley.
An image came up on the fifteen inch, black and white, Sony screen. It was from the camera from the boulevard on which the Klondike Fashion store stood, the date was in the bottom right-hand corner, it was 3:1:02, the date the dress was purchased by the esoteric female.
The security man leant back on the back two legs of his metal seat. 'What time were you looking for?' he asked her.
'I don't know,' replied Lockley. 'Just keep going until you've got something.'
'This tape only records four hours of the day, detective.'
'Just keep a lookout for a woman coming out of Klondike fashion, please.' God she hated these rent-a-cops, always trying to show them they could make an officer. Lockley wouldn't have even had to come here if Klondike didn't tape over their security cassettes every week, a cost- saving measure that made her feel sick, or was that the weird-looking coffee?
Her eyes bleered a little as fast-moving people zipped about their daily lives, probably shopping for bargains after the Christmas glut which left unwanted gifts laying about store shelves. Eventually, at 4:11 PM, screen time, the woman walked into the Klondike Fashion store. She'd approached from the same direction as the camera was pointing down, so Lockley could only see her dark hair that had been wrapped into a nice bob.
'Play it realtime,' instructed Lockley.
'You see something?' asked the security guard.
'Yes, the person we've been looking for, now play it normally so we can see her coming out.'
'Sure.' He pressed the horozontal triangle and the image ceased its celerity and settled down to normal speed. Half a minute passed before the woman walked out of the store, back down the way she had come, which allowed the camera toget a perfectly clear shot of her face and upper body.
'Pause it!'
The man did as he was told.
'Can you zoom in?'
'Shouldn't be a problem.' He reached forward and grabbed a little stick that was on a base connected to the monitor. His free hand searched for a button on the side, and when he found it, the image flicked inwards. He continued to go in and pan across at the same time, showing off his technical prowess until it got to the young woman with a dress draped across her arms.
'Gotcha,' said Lockley proudly. 'Go in a bit further.'
The screen went in again, and Lockley stopped him when it was just her head and neck, with a few people in the background.
'That's her.'
'You wanna screen shot of her?'
'Yeah, go on.'
A printer in the corner of the room screeched to life. A sheet of paper began to push out from the printers ass and when it had finished Lockley snatched it up and went outside, glad to be free of the environment and the guards many interesting smells.
***
Melissa was doing up her shirt and throwing the odd glance at Wesley who was also getting dressed. They heard the footprints approached, click- clacking down the corridor and held their breathe. When they started to recede they both gave a little sigh of relief. That was close.
It took another couple of minutes before Melissa was ready to leave. Wesley had exited about a minute earlier, to make it look nonchalont. He walked into the Morgue's main area, the one with a row of steel trays to hold bodies on one side and came across Lockley who was looking about the examination area.
'Hello, detective,' he said as he approached her.
Lockley jumped a little at the sound of his masculine voice. She turned away from what she was doing and proferred a piece of paper.
'What is this,' said Wesley, pulling his glases out of his top pocket. He noticed his shirt was still out, and quickly tucked it in.
'That, Wes, is the woman who was found dead in Griffons apartment. She is, of course, patently alive in this picture, taken from a security camera in the Mall shortly after she purchased the dressed she was caught dead in.'
'That's amazing,' said Wesley, genuinely surprised. 'So you know who she is?'
Lockley cleared her throat. 'I'm still looking into it, but now we know where she was, it shouldn't be that tough.'
'Are you sure? LA is a big city, lots of places to dissapear.'
Lockley turned to face the new arrival as Melissa walked in, she was tucking her red hair into a ponytail as she eyeballed Lockley.
'Hello, doctor, I just came down here to show you this picture. Wes.'
Wesley handed her the picture of the deceased woman, feeling her warm skin before he pulled away.
'It's her!' exclaimed Dr Hemmingway.
'Yeah,' said Lockley. 'I think we can crack the case wide open now we have this picture.'
'Why's that, detective?' asked the forensic expert.
'With this we can check every Motel in LA. Hopefully we'll get a hit, then we've got our female vic.'
'So,' interjected Wesley, 'you have a theory about the killings?'
'No,' replied Lockely, 'I was just trying to bust open another lead.'
'Did you talk to the doorman again?' he asked.
'No I never got around to it, I was busy doing police work, y'know, catch the bad guys, bang, bang.'
'I was just thinking with this picture you could confront the doorman.'
'You wanna paint the doorman in for shooting JFK, too?' joked Lockley.
'I'm sure he let the first woman out.'
'First woman? quested Lockley
'Yeah,' answered Hemmingway. 'Me and Wes surmised there may have been two women, the first who had to be let out by the doorman, and the second, the dead girl, who had to be let in.'
'Actually,' said Lockley, 'I may have something about that.'
'Really?' asked Wesley.
'Yeah. Hanley, uh, he's a detective upstairs, on the case too, he's pulled up a four year old file on the doorman, just handed it to me upstairs. The boss said we have to check every lead, no matter how improbable.'
'Thinking just like a forensic scientist now, detective,' commented Hemmingway.
'Thanks a lot, doc. Well, it's for GBH, I think we can lean on him then, with the picture he should crack. I bet the residents of the Pasteur Building have no idea they have a convicted criminal on the door.'
'So he was convicted?' asked Hemmingway.
'Spent a year in Pentonville, back east.'
'Ladies,' said Wesley. 'I think I see the end of the case on the horizon.'