"Car exploded on 7th Street. My...um..." he generally tried to keep the fact that he'd hired a publicist and agent quiet among colleagues. If they knew, he thought, they'd all want one. "...my friend...was inside."
"Dead?" AK's eyes widened, slightly in awe, mostly in disbelief.
"Yeah, Janey's dead."
"Car just blew up."
"Yeah. We had a drink at Marty's, she gets the car from the valet, turns the corner and just blows up. Ka-boom."
"Come on, Flak. You don't know people who blow up."
Flak frowned. He was being mocked, he was sure of it. He wasn't going to stand for it.
"Well I do now, don't I?" Snap! Flak thought.
"Sorry, man," AK said and shook his head. Then he went back to staring at his flat screen monitor.
Flak stomped his foot on the floor and sniffed. Pull yourself together, Flak. He works for you...
"So, what do you have for me?" Flak said. AK looked up at him blankly. "C'mon. On Bannister."
"Yeah, I know...I'm just messin' with ya. Here, come take a look at this."
On the wide screen, high resolution monitor was a photo of the body that once was Lane Bannister, TV anchor, now mutilated and hollowed out corpse. Flak felt the remains of the egg salad sandwich he'd had for lunch nearly 12 hours ago rising toward his esophagus. He covered his mouth.
"Why don't you just tell me what you see?"
"Breath mint."
"Geez, do I need one?"
"No, look." AK clicked a mouse and zoomed in on a spot to the right of Bannister's head. "Breath mint."
"You want one?" Flak said.
"No, man, look!"
"I don't get it." Flak didn't get it. AK wheeled around on his chair and faced Flak. "Son of a bitch, Flak! Open your eyes!" Flak's eyes were squeezed shut and his hand was over his mouth.
"Just tell me, AK. Please," he said through his hand.
"Just tell me, AK. Pleeeeaaasaasssseee," AK said. "Look, I've zoomed in. You can't see the body anymore."
"You can't?" Flak opened his eyes a crack, then all the way and uncovered his mouth. "Good. I don't have much expertise at forensics."
"Sure. Now do you see that right there?" There, on the plush red carpet, was a round, white pill speckled with blue flecks.
"Breath mint!" Flak said.
"Don't mind if I do!" AK said and filched the box of Altoids from Flak's trench coat pocket.
"No, right there -- that's a breath mint." Flak paused, and began to pace. "So. Our victim was killed in this most horrific fashion. He's stabbed, then shot."
"Shot...then stabbed."
"Right. Shot, then stabbed," Flak said, miming the actions as he spoke each word. "Then, he chokes, and out pops...this breath mint. Sucked upon for, I'd say, approximately 30 seconds."
"Amazing..."
"Yes. I know this because you can still see the blue specks."
"Uh huh."
"Longer, and it would turn white."
"Wow."
He's mocking me again, isn't he? Flak thought. Ignore it. Move on. He'll respect me when I'm chief.
"So," Flak said. "The question is: What makes a man take a breath mint?"
"On a whim, I'd say he had bad breath," AK said, a small, mocking smile playing across his face. Inscrutable, Flak thought.
"Exactly!" Flak announced, dramatically taking the conversational initiative.
"Well. I'm glad we settled that," AK said. "You want to know what I think, Mr. Holmes?"
"Yes, I want to know what you think," Flak said loudly, his impatience rising.
"I think that most people don't pop breath mints when they're alone," AK said. Flak furrowed his brow seriously. He decided it would appear more commanding for him to appear to listen carefully.
"Mmm hm," Flak said.
"Mmm hm," AK said, "and he'd just popped that breath mint before he was shot, stabbed and gouged and cut and whatnot."
"Hm. Yes, go on," Flak nodded.
"And, we know that there were two sets of fingerprints in Bannister's condo -- one set his, and the other unknown. So, I'm surmising here that he wasn't alone when he was shot, stabbed and gouged and cut and whatnot."
"Well of course he wasn't!" Flak could keep silent no longer. "The murderer was with him!"
"Well. Yes," AK said slowly. "But what if the murderer was not dressed in a black mask and striped shirt, like most murderers, but was dressed in, say, a little black dress, when she entered his condo?"
"Why, then..." sputtered Flak, "she'd be a woman!"
"True," AK said even more slowly. "But, more importantly, she would be a woman that knew Lane Bannister. Perhaps she was someone who Bannister thought he might kiss."
"If he was planning a date, as you seem to be implying," Flak said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "he would have arranged his room just right, combed his hair, brushed and flossed, maybe lighted some candles..."
"Yeah? And?" AK said hopefully.
"And," said Flak, "just before she arrived..."
"Yeah...?"
"He'd pop a breath mint!"
"Yes!" AK shouted. "That's it! And so what happened?"
"Bannister's date had just arrived when the murderer burst in and killed him!" Flak shouted triumphantly, then ducked as a heavy, black metal object that happened to be a Swingline stapler flew by his head, grazing his ear. "Hey! Cut that out!"
"Or," shouted AK, "since there was only one other set of fingerprints in the room, it was his date that killed him!"
Flak froze.
"So we find the date..." Flak said quietly.
"And we find the killer," AK finished.
"I was going to say that," Flak said.
# # #
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