Peter Flak, Big Time Detective, Part VIII

"Flak! Flak! Flak! Flak! Flak!"

The media mob sounded like a flock of mallards around a man in a trenchcoat with a bag of bread, but instead of bread the man handed out heaping hunks of news, and these media mallards were hungry ducks.

"Ha ha!" Detective Lieutenant Peter Flak said, raising his hands to quiet the crowd. "I have a brief statement, and then you may ask questions. One at a time, please. You'll all get your turn."

Flak paused looking out over the mob, satisfied at their expectant quiet.

He smiled.

The reporters stared.

Flak smiled wider.

"A statement, Detective?" one of the reporters, a young pixieish girl with short blonde hair and a "News 6" logo jacket, called out impatiently. "We've got deadlines, y'know."

Flak smiled even wider.

"A statement, yes," he said, standing up taller, and summoning up a firm, competent, determined expression. "I have a brief statement, and then I will answer your questions."

"You said that already," growled a grizzled print veteran in a coffee stained white Oxford.

"Yes. My statement is this: We have been working night and day on our investigation into the heinous murder of Laine Bannister. This investigation will clearly be a long, hard climb."

Up the stairs...holding the bannister, he thought to himself.

"Is something funny?" the News 6 reporter asked.

"Of course not," Flak said, recovering his steely expression. "Murder is never funny." He cleared his throat and continued.

"As I said, this investigation will be a long hard climb. But, we are making significant progress. We have uncovered critical clues that already point us toward a number of possible suspects. Our investigative team is interviewing some of these suspects at this very moment."

"Do you know who killed Laine?" News 6 called out.

"Not yet," Flak said. "Do you?"

"No! Why would I...You're the... ?" Ha!

"What can you tell us something about the critical clues you've discovered," the grizzled print vet said in a low voice.

"You know, of course, that I can't tell you that... we are always careful not to tip our hand to the perpetrators of crimes yet under investigation. But, I can tell you..." and at this Flak paused, dramatically, for effect, and among the effects were reddening faces and gnashed teeth inherent to people who spend all of their waking hours on deadline.

"...that we know one key fact about this crime. We believe that Mr. Bannister was on a date the night he was killed. With the killer."

Flak paused again, allowing the revelation to settle in, and, incidentally, tilting his good side to the photographers as flashbulbs burst. When they finished, Flak smiled at the mob... and walked away from the microphone.

"You said you'd take questions, you son of a bitch!" "Get back here, Flak!"

Flak ignored the screams. Janey always told him to keep the media on their toes -- it was better to keep them guessing than to answer questions straight out. She'd never taken it this far, of course, but that's why he was the boss. Or would be. Some day.

As he headed back onto the precinct house, the blonde News 6 reporter caught him by the sleeve and shoved him inside, cornering him against the wall just inside the door, and out of reach of the slowly dispersing media horde.

"Samara Steele," she introduced herself. "News 6. Listen, Detective. I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but Laine Bannister was a friend of mine. You better not be on a fishing expedition here."

"How good a friend, Miss Steele?" Flak said, cocking an eyebrow.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Steele said. Then she shoved another palm into Flak's chest, causing him to rapidly expel a lungful of carbon dioxide at Steele's hair. It had no effect. "Listen, yeah. I was dating Laine. I was his girlfriend for the past six months. Am I under investigation?"

"Hmm," Flak said. Considering that he had no other suspects, this conversation might turn out to be a godsend, he thought. "I didn't say you, specifically, were under investigation. But perhaps you should be?"

"I didn't kill, Laine," Steele scoffed. "And he didn't have any girls on the side."

"How can you be so sure," Flak asked.

"Let's just say I'm very sure. What I want to know is what the hell this critical clue is that you're hiding back there."

"You must understand that I just can't say. My hands are tied," Flak said, demonstrating how his wrists were locked together by invisible ropes and offering a helpless shrug.

"All I know is that your clue better not be one of his goddam breath mints. He eats those things like they're popcorn."

"We knew that," Flak said, quietly.

"I'm sure," Steele said. "Look, Flak. I'm watching you. And I'm watching this case. And I'm going to find out who did this to Lainey whether you like it or not. We're going to be on you. We're going to make sure the public interest is served, and that justice is done. Or else. Got it?" And with that she pointed her adorable pixie fist at Flak's chin and tapped, hard. Then she stalked out of the precinct house.

Flak rubbed his chin and smiled. He was going to have his own camera crew on this one!


----------------------------------------

What do you think? Click the envelope below to comment, or email me.

Peter Flak, Big Time Detective, Part VII

"Well, sir, one thing we do know is that there was someone else in the room with him when he died," Flak said, speaking slowly, trying to remember what it was he was supposed to know about this case.

"Well, lookee here. We got the ever-lovin' Sherlock Holmes here!" Captain Johannson said. "What? Did you think he did that to himself?"

"No, sir! Of course not, sir!" Flak said, snapping out of his stupor. "It's just that, he wasn't alone...if you know what I'm saying."

"No. I do not. Flak..."

"What I mean, sir, is that he had a breath mint."

"A breath mint. Flak! See that window behind you?"

"Yes, sir."

"How high up would you say we are?"

"I'd say we're on the seventh floor, sir, but..."

"I swear to god I'm going to push you out that window, watch you fall seven stories, take the elevator down to the street and start pounding the rest of you with a battering ram if you don't start MAKING SOME GODDAMN SENSE!"

Flak was beginning to realize that his boss was a bit steamed. He figured there was only one way to go from here.

"I certainly wouldn't like that, sir! What I'm saying is that we are working under the theory that Laine Bannister was on a date when he was killed, and that the killer may well have been his date!" Flak smiled proudly.

"And?" Johannson said, leaning forward.

"And what, sir?" At this point, Flak deduced that the expected compliments were not forthcoming.

"What else? Recent dates? Spurned lovers? Desperate housewives? Where's your goddamn list?"

"Sir, we're still developing that sir," Flak said, thinking quickly. "I have a plan to gain that very information very quickly, sir."

"And how, pray tell, will you do that?" Johannson said in mocking tone, completely lost on Flak.

"Tomorrow," Flak declared, "I will hold a press conference!"

"Oh, God," Johannson put his face in his hands. "Get the hell out of here. Flak!"

"What?"

"Just go!"

# # #

What do you think? Click the envelope below to comment, or email me.

"Peter Flak, Big Time Detective, Part VI"

Flak looked at his reflection. Not bad, he thought, and mussed his hair a bit, then flipped up the collar on his trench coat, which he had left on despite having spent the last two hours indoors, pacing the cramped confines of the precinct interrogation room.

The door slammed open, and Captain Johannson entered like a bursting balloon.

"FLAK! Why the goddam hell do you have a goddam publicist?"

Under intense questioning from colleagues clearly relishing the chance to put the screws to the "Super Cop," Flak had been forced to admit that Janey was not a date or a suspect or anything other than his publicist, who he was meeting for drinks at Marty's last night, just before her car exploded. Flak, not surprising in retrospect, had become the prime suspect.

"Well, I don't anymore, now do I?" Flak said petulantly.

Johannson grunted. "I see you cared deeply for her."

"Janey was a great girl. I guess I'll miss her," Flak said.

There was a long silence as Johannson scanned the file, then stared at Flak, and then scanned the file again.

"May I go now?" Flak asked, meekly.

"Sit down. Flak."

Flak sat.

"Flak. Besides evidence that you were sharing appletinis with this...publicist... and the fact that you fled the scene of a crime, which I'm going to chalk up to cowardice..."

"Thank you, sir."

"Ahem. I have nothing I can pin on you."

"Just as I would have expected, since I've done nothing."

"Hurrg," the Captain grunted. "That's what you're best at. I'm going to keep trying, though." The Captain stared at Flak, thinking that if Flak would just flinch or sweat or make any kind of move, he might just sock him one. But Super Cop was cool now, that sonofabitch.

"So," Johannson growled. "What have you got on Bannister?"

* * *

What do you think? Click the envelope below to comment, or email me.