estriel- welcome back from Ibiza, please don't die. thank you.
snowwolf- those free standing counters/tables in the middle of really classy kitchens are called islands. least that's what i calls 'em.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter Eight
Out of the Frying Pan…
Inspector Hargrave was one of those people with the ability to instantly analyze two separate instances and find the connection between them. It was what made her such an excellent cop. So when the news came in that five cars had been stolen last night, she immediately linked this with our visit to the station and called in Holmes, so that she could glare at the two of us from behind her desk.
"You show up to look at the file and three days later our car thieves are back in business. You're up to something and I can't prove a thing." She sat back in her chair and sighed. "Any other intern would have been fired a month ago."
"Lucky me." Holmes shrugged. "Look we both know that it is only a matter of time before the press hears of this. We can bring them down in a matter of weeks, if not days."
I wish he hadn't used the plural. If Hargrave was peeved at Holmes working outside of the law, she was downright pissed at me, a "civilian" coming along for the ride.
Hargrave considered us for a moment. If she threw the book at us, she would probably get in trouble for letting her intern run wild. If she let us continue, it would seem like it was her idea all along, she would solve the case, and we wouldn't be prosecuted. Hargrave decided to go with expediency.
"You will keep me informed at all times."
"Yes ma'am."
"What have you learned so far?" Holmes recited most of the information we had gained last night, omitting the fact that a member of the gang was injured. I didn't react to that, mainly because by the time I realize he hadn't said anything, he was finishing his tale.
"Good. It was a stupid risk to take, Holmes, Watson." She paused, suddenly realizing the irony. I often wondered if this would keep happening if we were grocery clerks or something. Hargrave swallowed her chuckles.
"It was a stupid risk, but damned if it didn't get results." We decided to take this as a dismissal, and made ourselves scarce before she could change her mind.
At the bottom of the stairs I turned right to head back outside and realized Holmes was no longer walking beside me.
"Watson." Holmes had made a left. I shrugged and followed him back into the recesses of the station. All the doors were numbered instead of labeled, and every single one had a keypad lock. Holmes paused in front of one and knocked. Nothing. Holmes knocked a bit harder, and this time the door was answered by an older man in a lab coat. He reminded me of the doorkeeper in the "Wizard of Oz."
"Ahh, intern. You have something from Inspector Hargrave?" He peered over his reading glasses at the both of us.
"Fingerprinting analysis." Holmes held up an empty beer can in a properly labeled and sealed evidence bag. The doorkeeper admitted us gleefully.
"Just perfect for trying out the new fingerprint lifter…" He said, and a great deal more that I didn't listen to.
"Shorty's prints?" I asked. Holmes must have switched the can with his own when he threw it away last night.
"Yes. If Shorty's arm was indeed injured in bar fight, his prints will be on file." He was a clever boy, my Holmes was. The doorkeeper, whose lab coat identified him as Dr. Hammond, puttered about with his glues and computer scanners for about ten minutes before the fingerprints came up with electronic *bloop!*
"There are three sets of prints." Hammond typed something and the muddle mass of prints magically separated into three groups. "One is identified as Alexander Holmes." Hammond raised an eyebrow at Holmes.
"I forgot to put on gloves. Sorry." Holmes tried to look sheepish and failed utterly. Hammond merely shook his head at this heresy.
"Second set unidentified. Placing it in the database as Unknown #68752. Third set…" The computer blooped again and pulled up a file on Jonathan "Shorty" Murphy.
"History of petty crimes," Holmes read the file aloud. "One arrest for car theft, released for lack of evidence. Arrested a week ago in the Kilt and Candle Pub for drunk and disorderly behavior. Released from the detention ward of St. Anne's hospital two days later. That's our guy."
We shook hands with the doorkeeper and left him alone with his beloved equipment.
"Well, at least we know that Shorty's "accident" isn't a trap of some kind." Holmes offered. We were sitting at a stop light.
"One less thing to worry about. Man, I thought to myself that this summer would be a chance to relax, unwind, sleep in a bit. And what am I doing? Playing three shows a week with the Irregulars, going undercover with an international gang of car thieves and trying desperately to get some sleep in the space between."
"Perhaps you should have gotten a summer job?"
"Nah, that's too much hassle."
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•.
snowwolf- those free standing counters/tables in the middle of really classy kitchens are called islands. least that's what i calls 'em.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter Eight
Out of the Frying Pan…
Inspector Hargrave was one of those people with the ability to instantly analyze two separate instances and find the connection between them. It was what made her such an excellent cop. So when the news came in that five cars had been stolen last night, she immediately linked this with our visit to the station and called in Holmes, so that she could glare at the two of us from behind her desk.
"You show up to look at the file and three days later our car thieves are back in business. You're up to something and I can't prove a thing." She sat back in her chair and sighed. "Any other intern would have been fired a month ago."
"Lucky me." Holmes shrugged. "Look we both know that it is only a matter of time before the press hears of this. We can bring them down in a matter of weeks, if not days."
I wish he hadn't used the plural. If Hargrave was peeved at Holmes working outside of the law, she was downright pissed at me, a "civilian" coming along for the ride.
Hargrave considered us for a moment. If she threw the book at us, she would probably get in trouble for letting her intern run wild. If she let us continue, it would seem like it was her idea all along, she would solve the case, and we wouldn't be prosecuted. Hargrave decided to go with expediency.
"You will keep me informed at all times."
"Yes ma'am."
"What have you learned so far?" Holmes recited most of the information we had gained last night, omitting the fact that a member of the gang was injured. I didn't react to that, mainly because by the time I realize he hadn't said anything, he was finishing his tale.
"Good. It was a stupid risk to take, Holmes, Watson." She paused, suddenly realizing the irony. I often wondered if this would keep happening if we were grocery clerks or something. Hargrave swallowed her chuckles.
"It was a stupid risk, but damned if it didn't get results." We decided to take this as a dismissal, and made ourselves scarce before she could change her mind.
At the bottom of the stairs I turned right to head back outside and realized Holmes was no longer walking beside me.
"Watson." Holmes had made a left. I shrugged and followed him back into the recesses of the station. All the doors were numbered instead of labeled, and every single one had a keypad lock. Holmes paused in front of one and knocked. Nothing. Holmes knocked a bit harder, and this time the door was answered by an older man in a lab coat. He reminded me of the doorkeeper in the "Wizard of Oz."
"Ahh, intern. You have something from Inspector Hargrave?" He peered over his reading glasses at the both of us.
"Fingerprinting analysis." Holmes held up an empty beer can in a properly labeled and sealed evidence bag. The doorkeeper admitted us gleefully.
"Just perfect for trying out the new fingerprint lifter…" He said, and a great deal more that I didn't listen to.
"Shorty's prints?" I asked. Holmes must have switched the can with his own when he threw it away last night.
"Yes. If Shorty's arm was indeed injured in bar fight, his prints will be on file." He was a clever boy, my Holmes was. The doorkeeper, whose lab coat identified him as Dr. Hammond, puttered about with his glues and computer scanners for about ten minutes before the fingerprints came up with electronic *bloop!*
"There are three sets of prints." Hammond typed something and the muddle mass of prints magically separated into three groups. "One is identified as Alexander Holmes." Hammond raised an eyebrow at Holmes.
"I forgot to put on gloves. Sorry." Holmes tried to look sheepish and failed utterly. Hammond merely shook his head at this heresy.
"Second set unidentified. Placing it in the database as Unknown #68752. Third set…" The computer blooped again and pulled up a file on Jonathan "Shorty" Murphy.
"History of petty crimes," Holmes read the file aloud. "One arrest for car theft, released for lack of evidence. Arrested a week ago in the Kilt and Candle Pub for drunk and disorderly behavior. Released from the detention ward of St. Anne's hospital two days later. That's our guy."
We shook hands with the doorkeeper and left him alone with his beloved equipment.
"Well, at least we know that Shorty's "accident" isn't a trap of some kind." Holmes offered. We were sitting at a stop light.
"One less thing to worry about. Man, I thought to myself that this summer would be a chance to relax, unwind, sleep in a bit. And what am I doing? Playing three shows a week with the Irregulars, going undercover with an international gang of car thieves and trying desperately to get some sleep in the space between."
"Perhaps you should have gotten a summer job?"
"Nah, that's too much hassle."
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•.