end. A film of grey lay over everything as shadows crept across the face of the fading sun and dragged behind them the cloak of night.
Emmet beckoned them in. He reached down and took out a bottle of whisky. Without asking, he poured out two fingers’ worth into a couple of mugs and handed them over. He then checked his Chihuahua mug, shrugged at the dregs of coffee and poured himself a drink.
Each man took a taste and allowed themselves to get lost momentarily in the heat of the alcohol.
Frank followed the warmth, felt it almost like he’d never felt it before, as it slid over his tongue, to the back of his throat and down into his gullet. When it hit his stomach, the warmth spread like the branches of a tree through his capillaries and blanketed his frayed nerves. He closed his eyes and let the sensation travel to his head. The day became blunted, still there, but without the edge that seemed to cut into him with each step he took.
‘This is nice whisky,’ he said, almost to himself.
‘It’s the same cheap crap I always keep,’ said Emmet.
‘Somehow,’ said Frank dreamily, ‘it seems better.’
‘You’ve had a rough day. Maybe you just needed it more.’
‘Maybe,’ said Frank.
‘So,’ prompted Emmet. ‘Which one of you wants to fill me in with the details of how you two happened to end up in the greenhouse of death on the way to the Dybek place?’
Frank explained. The more he said, the more foolish he felt. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t acted upon what he’d seen. Emmet sat and listened, occasionally dipping into the mug of whisky.
‘Wow,’ said Emmet. ‘What you’ve just told me is that for the past thirty-six hours you’ve been sitting on the description of someone who may be involved in three murders…’ He held his hand up as Frank attempted to interject. ‘…and who stood outside your house in the middle of the night staring up at your window, plotting God knows what kind of mayhem, and you decide that now, right this moment, is the time to bring it to my attention.’ He turned his to Steve. ‘You know about this?’
‘Not all the time.’ It was a plaintive whine.
‘I see. Just some of the time. Well, that’s alright then’ He turned back to Frank. ‘Frank, can you say with any certainty that if we’d had this man’s description out yesterday morning and he’d been apprehended by lunchtime that others may not be dead?’
Frank lit a cigarette. He had to take this. He deserved it. ‘No, Captain, I can’t, but neither can I dismiss the possibility.’
‘Steve, did you ever see this man?’
Steve shook his head.
Emmet leaned back in his chair and finished his drink. He stared into the mug as if the answer had been revealed by the draining of its contents. ‘It may be a good thing if we keep this to ourselves. I don’t need to tell either of you that you should’ve known better. However, I understand your reluctance, Frank, to come forward in light of the fact that you were the only one who’d seen this man.’ He looked at Frank from beneath a knitted brow. ‘You understand how benevolent I’m being here, Frank?’ Frank nodded. ‘Get a description out before you go home tonight.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Frank. Inside, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Emmet rubbed his hands together as if washing the unpleasantness away. ‘Okay then. Did you find anything at the apartment?’
‘No,’ said Steve. ‘We did another door to door, but nobody heard or saw a thing.’
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. The thin face of Milt Eckhart, the ME, his large expressive grey eyes flicking from Frank to Steve to Emmet, peered through the door.
Emmet waved him in. ‘What’s up, Milt? Thought you’d’ve been home and tucked up between the sheets by now.’
‘That some kind of office humour?’ Milt smiled. ‘That’ll cost you a drink. And don’t say you haven’t got any. It smells like a Virginia still in here.’
‘We all got colds,’ said
Emmet beckoned them in. He reached down and took out a bottle of whisky. Without asking, he poured out two fingers’ worth into a couple of mugs and handed them over. He then checked his Chihuahua mug, shrugged at the dregs of coffee and poured himself a drink.
Each man took a taste and allowed themselves to get lost momentarily in the heat of the alcohol.
Frank followed the warmth, felt it almost like he’d never felt it before, as it slid over his tongue, to the back of his throat and down into his gullet. When it hit his stomach, the warmth spread like the branches of a tree through his capillaries and blanketed his frayed nerves. He closed his eyes and let the sensation travel to his head. The day became blunted, still there, but without the edge that seemed to cut into him with each step he took.
‘This is nice whisky,’ he said, almost to himself.
‘It’s the same cheap crap I always keep,’ said Emmet.
‘Somehow,’ said Frank dreamily, ‘it seems better.’
‘You’ve had a rough day. Maybe you just needed it more.’
‘Maybe,’ said Frank.
‘So,’ prompted Emmet. ‘Which one of you wants to fill me in with the details of how you two happened to end up in the greenhouse of death on the way to the Dybek place?’
Frank explained. The more he said, the more foolish he felt. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t acted upon what he’d seen. Emmet sat and listened, occasionally dipping into the mug of whisky.
‘Wow,’ said Emmet. ‘What you’ve just told me is that for the past thirty-six hours you’ve been sitting on the description of someone who may be involved in three murders…’ He held his hand up as Frank attempted to interject. ‘…and who stood outside your house in the middle of the night staring up at your window, plotting God knows what kind of mayhem, and you decide that now, right this moment, is the time to bring it to my attention.’ He turned his to Steve. ‘You know about this?’
‘Not all the time.’ It was a plaintive whine.
‘I see. Just some of the time. Well, that’s alright then’ He turned back to Frank. ‘Frank, can you say with any certainty that if we’d had this man’s description out yesterday morning and he’d been apprehended by lunchtime that others may not be dead?’
Frank lit a cigarette. He had to take this. He deserved it. ‘No, Captain, I can’t, but neither can I dismiss the possibility.’
‘Steve, did you ever see this man?’
Steve shook his head.
Emmet leaned back in his chair and finished his drink. He stared into the mug as if the answer had been revealed by the draining of its contents. ‘It may be a good thing if we keep this to ourselves. I don’t need to tell either of you that you should’ve known better. However, I understand your reluctance, Frank, to come forward in light of the fact that you were the only one who’d seen this man.’ He looked at Frank from beneath a knitted brow. ‘You understand how benevolent I’m being here, Frank?’ Frank nodded. ‘Get a description out before you go home tonight.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Frank. Inside, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Emmet rubbed his hands together as if washing the unpleasantness away. ‘Okay then. Did you find anything at the apartment?’
‘No,’ said Steve. ‘We did another door to door, but nobody heard or saw a thing.’
They were interrupted by a knock at the door. The thin face of Milt Eckhart, the ME, his large expressive grey eyes flicking from Frank to Steve to Emmet, peered through the door.
Emmet waved him in. ‘What’s up, Milt? Thought you’d’ve been home and tucked up between the sheets by now.’
‘That some kind of office humour?’ Milt smiled. ‘That’ll cost you a drink. And don’t say you haven’t got any. It smells like a Virginia still in here.’
‘We all got colds,’ said
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