Chapter Eight
Good Cop, Bad Cop
It was one thing to chat with a friend in your own kitchen in your PJs, it was quite another to be interviewed by the police in such an outfit. I told Mala to stall the cops as long as possible while I changed. The back entrance to the Clever Thief provided access the kitchen and the back staircase, convenient when one need to leave the building by means other than the front door.
You are what you wear. People's first impression of you is generally based on the clothes you are wearing, and for good reason. You (consciously or unconsciously) project an image when you pick an outfit for the day. The cops aren't stupid of course; they train their officers to look for subtle clue about a person based on their outfit (á la Holmes). This is how I justify my rather voluminous wardrobe. I went for the innocent but competent look. A billowy skirt and loose embroidered tunic gave the proper impression, even if it did make me look like a hippie. Some chunky turquoise jewelry finished off the ensemble.
I paused at the top of the main staircase and straightened my spine. This wasn't my first police interview, and it certainly wasn't going to be my last. The main problem was I didn't know what type of cop I would be facing. It could be the gruff-man-of-few-words or the sympathetic-rookie or the stressed-hard-ass or the ever popular I-am-woman-hear-me-roar cop. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for girl power, but sometimes certain feminists gave me migraines.
I glided gracefully down the stairs, in keeping with my role, and surveyed the two representatives of London's finest.
"Oh, Harris. It's you." Harris Bowman gave me a mock salute. The younger officer, probably a trainee, stiffed at the informal greeting. Harris and I were old pals from when he tried to arrest me for a little misunderstanding regarding a missing necklace.
"Good to see you too lass. Been keeping busy have you?" Harris replied evenly, but managed to inject about four layers of meaning to the statement. Harris was an incurable ladies' man.
"You know me. Bake sales and the ladies sewing circle." Harris chuckled and turned to the trainee.
"Aurora, this is Officer Brows. I've been showing him the ropes." Officer Brows offered his hand formally. He tried to shake as quickly as possible, I wouldn't let him get away with that.
"Take the rod out of you spine son. You feel a lot more comfortable." If anything Brows stood up straighter. Harris nobly refrained from chuckling.
"Why don't you invite your friend in and we can all have a chat." Harris said amiably. I was startled for a moment; Holmes was definitely not in sight. Ah, I see now. He was eavesdropping at the kitchen door and he cast a shadow on the light coming from underneath the crack of the door.
"You heard him, Holmes. Come on in."
"Any friend of Aurora's is a suspect of mine." Harris said. "You already know our names."
"My name is Sherlock Holmes." He replied with perfect equanimity. Brows visibly started. Harris shook his head and started to rummage in his pockets for his notebook, muttering about how he didn't get paid enough to deal with this sort of thing.
"Right then. To business. I suppose you know what this is about?"
"Skyler. I was wondering when you guys would get around to it." Brows twitched imperceptibly at the implied insult.
"We were hoping he would come to you for help. Didn't want you to warn him off. I guess we needn't have worried. We know he was here last night."
"Ah, did your boys on stakeout tell you that?"
"Matter of fact they did." Harris confirmed. Brows gave me a suspicious look, as if shouldn't have been able to figure that out. My pub was a well known hang out for thieves, and therefore under more or less constant surveillance.
"I take it that it wasn't a happy family reunion?"
"My brother and I don't get on well."
"Do you know where he's going?"
"Immediately? No. He said he has a debt to collect and then he's going back to the City."
"The City? Ah, you mean New York." I nodded. To a New Yorker, there was only one City.
"You might want to try some of his former business partners."
"We're doing that now. Needless to say they've been less than helpful." Harris muttered, scribbling in his notebook. "Speaking of which, do you know a Walter Lankenau aka Robin?"
"Ah, vaguely." I replied cautiously. "Why?"
"He turned state's witness against your brother and his friends. But he never actually testified. Since we had enough evidence, it didn't seem wise to put him at risk for recriminations."
"Naturally." I agreed. "Why do ask?"
"We were hoping you might know why Skyler put him in the casualty ward of St. Anne's last night." Brows spoke up suddenly with the same cheery air as an oracle of doom.
"If Skyler didn't know Robin turned state's evidence, I can't think why he would go after him." I lied, thinking quickly.
"Uh huh. If anything should recall itself to your memory," Harris slid his business card across the table, "be sure to give me call."
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•.
Good Cop, Bad Cop
It was one thing to chat with a friend in your own kitchen in your PJs, it was quite another to be interviewed by the police in such an outfit. I told Mala to stall the cops as long as possible while I changed. The back entrance to the Clever Thief provided access the kitchen and the back staircase, convenient when one need to leave the building by means other than the front door.
You are what you wear. People's first impression of you is generally based on the clothes you are wearing, and for good reason. You (consciously or unconsciously) project an image when you pick an outfit for the day. The cops aren't stupid of course; they train their officers to look for subtle clue about a person based on their outfit (á la Holmes). This is how I justify my rather voluminous wardrobe. I went for the innocent but competent look. A billowy skirt and loose embroidered tunic gave the proper impression, even if it did make me look like a hippie. Some chunky turquoise jewelry finished off the ensemble.
I paused at the top of the main staircase and straightened my spine. This wasn't my first police interview, and it certainly wasn't going to be my last. The main problem was I didn't know what type of cop I would be facing. It could be the gruff-man-of-few-words or the sympathetic-rookie or the stressed-hard-ass or the ever popular I-am-woman-hear-me-roar cop. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for girl power, but sometimes certain feminists gave me migraines.
I glided gracefully down the stairs, in keeping with my role, and surveyed the two representatives of London's finest.
"Oh, Harris. It's you." Harris Bowman gave me a mock salute. The younger officer, probably a trainee, stiffed at the informal greeting. Harris and I were old pals from when he tried to arrest me for a little misunderstanding regarding a missing necklace.
"Good to see you too lass. Been keeping busy have you?" Harris replied evenly, but managed to inject about four layers of meaning to the statement. Harris was an incurable ladies' man.
"You know me. Bake sales and the ladies sewing circle." Harris chuckled and turned to the trainee.
"Aurora, this is Officer Brows. I've been showing him the ropes." Officer Brows offered his hand formally. He tried to shake as quickly as possible, I wouldn't let him get away with that.
"Take the rod out of you spine son. You feel a lot more comfortable." If anything Brows stood up straighter. Harris nobly refrained from chuckling.
"Why don't you invite your friend in and we can all have a chat." Harris said amiably. I was startled for a moment; Holmes was definitely not in sight. Ah, I see now. He was eavesdropping at the kitchen door and he cast a shadow on the light coming from underneath the crack of the door.
"You heard him, Holmes. Come on in."
"Any friend of Aurora's is a suspect of mine." Harris said. "You already know our names."
"My name is Sherlock Holmes." He replied with perfect equanimity. Brows visibly started. Harris shook his head and started to rummage in his pockets for his notebook, muttering about how he didn't get paid enough to deal with this sort of thing.
"Right then. To business. I suppose you know what this is about?"
"Skyler. I was wondering when you guys would get around to it." Brows twitched imperceptibly at the implied insult.
"We were hoping he would come to you for help. Didn't want you to warn him off. I guess we needn't have worried. We know he was here last night."
"Ah, did your boys on stakeout tell you that?"
"Matter of fact they did." Harris confirmed. Brows gave me a suspicious look, as if shouldn't have been able to figure that out. My pub was a well known hang out for thieves, and therefore under more or less constant surveillance.
"I take it that it wasn't a happy family reunion?"
"My brother and I don't get on well."
"Do you know where he's going?"
"Immediately? No. He said he has a debt to collect and then he's going back to the City."
"The City? Ah, you mean New York." I nodded. To a New Yorker, there was only one City.
"You might want to try some of his former business partners."
"We're doing that now. Needless to say they've been less than helpful." Harris muttered, scribbling in his notebook. "Speaking of which, do you know a Walter Lankenau aka Robin?"
"Ah, vaguely." I replied cautiously. "Why?"
"He turned state's witness against your brother and his friends. But he never actually testified. Since we had enough evidence, it didn't seem wise to put him at risk for recriminations."
"Naturally." I agreed. "Why do ask?"
"We were hoping you might know why Skyler put him in the casualty ward of St. Anne's last night." Brows spoke up suddenly with the same cheery air as an oracle of doom.
"If Skyler didn't know Robin turned state's evidence, I can't think why he would go after him." I lied, thinking quickly.
"Uh huh. If anything should recall itself to your memory," Harris slid his business card across the table, "be sure to give me call."
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•.