Posted on 2012-10-31

1

"Bingo!" Anne Elliot commented to herself when a long-legged blonde came out of the house she was observing. After the blonde, a tall, bald man with a deep tan came out of the same house. Fizz. So far he'd been a one-hit wonder, but he kept himself busy enough. Mostly with other women, or so his wife believed. Fizz was holding a cell phone to his ear and he grinned, sunlight reflecting off his gold tooth. Then he hung up. She took a picture of the blonde kissing Fizz goodbye.

Well, that was that. Fizz, also known as Fitzwilliam Darcy, was in trouble.

He wouldn't be grinning when he was confronted with that photo, Anne suspected, although she wouldn't be there to see it. Another case solved by the secretary, she thought wryly as she packed the camera and the blonde drove off. While Frederick Wentworth, PI, was gallivanting around the seedy parts of town with his hat and his scar, and she was doing all the legwork that was actually needed for the cases.

It wouldn't have been her first choice to apply for this job, but it had been available and she had needed money. So far it hadn't been too difficult, just boring, spying on people. They never noticed her. Anne had a great talent for remaining invisible even if she was in plain sight. Just ask Frederick. He always looked right past her at the office as if he didn't even notice she was there.

If he was there at all. She liked to work during the day and apparently he didn't. Anne didn't understand why information could only be got in seedy pubs after dark.

Frederick Wentworth pushed his glass towards the new barmaid for a refill. Harville wasn't here tonight. That was a pity, because Wentworth was looking for information and Harville usually had some. Once in the Navy, Harville now organised bootcamps. It drew an interesting crowd sometimes.

Wentworth lit a cigarette and studied his glass. It was too full. This barmaid was getting him drunk, or what? But she was trying hard enough to do her job well. He smiled at her.

There was Musgrove, drawn like a moth to a flame. He snatched Wentworth's cigarette out of his hand. "Mary won't let me smoke," he said as he took a heavenly drag.

He always said that, Wentworth reflected, and he always wanted to ask why Mary had any say in the matter at all. It would be useless, so he rubbed the stubble on his chin until Musgrove's agitation had died down. Wives were hell. "I need wheels."

"Again?" Musgrove was surprised. He had provided a car only a week ago.

"Something classy."

"I can do classy." Despite not looking it. "You're not going to crash it, I hope? I assume you crashed the other car?"

"I never drive anything with the intention to crash it," Wentworth said emphatically. Was the guy stupid? "It just happens."

"What for?" Musgrove said in resignation.

"I need to go talk to Fizz."

"Fizz. Fizz. Help me out there."

"He's a rap artist. I'm the King of Bling-Bling?"

"Not my style. Not yours either. Why?"

"Fizz is cheating on his missus. She wants to divorce him. Etcetera. I need to get into his house. To...see things," he said vaguely.

"Just your thing to crash gate with the car." Musgrove looked morose as he imagined another car lost. "Instead of ringing the bell like a normal person. Why do you need a classy car? I don't follow."

"Sweetheart," Wentworth said to the new barmaid. "Give my friend here a drink."

"The name is Louisa," she replied.

"Yeah," he said indifferently. "It's on me, Muzz."

"Don't bribe me," said his acquaintance.

"By the way, if there's anything you can tell me about Fizz, Mrs Fizz, the ex-Mrs Fizz, or the future one, let me know."

"Sorry, never heard of them." Musgrove downed his glass as if he was afraid the barmaid was going to take it back. Mary probably didn't let him drink either.

"I'll pick the car up tomorrow." Wentworth donned his hat. "Legit, yeah? Don't want that Tilney fellow breathing down my neck again. Though his partner can do so any time." He grinned. They were always breathing down his neck, waiting for him to do all the useful things they weren't allowed to do themselves.

"Don't underestimate her," Musgrove said to his empty glass. He began to say what he had once done to Sergeant Morland and what she had done in response, but Wentworth was gone.

"Going off to the casino again?" a sympathetic voice came out of the darkness when Wentworth stepped out of the bar.

His eyes were still adjusting to the lack of light in the alley, but he recognised the voice. Why was he not surprised? They were always breathing down his neck. "Trying to save my soul, Tilney?"

"That would be useless," Tilney replied, still in the same sympathetic voice. "I just want to pick your brain about a dead Russian we found a few days ago."

"And there's something in my brain to pick?"

"Here's no place to talk."

"No, we 'd be in the way of people's business," said Wentworth, spotting a few shadows among the bins at the other end.

"Not the sort of business we should be sympathetic to."

"But the sort of business that will always be around."

"Unfortunately," said Tilney. "Casino?"

"Why?"

"Because you were going there already, weren't you?"

They left the alley and turned left. The street was lit there and there were people around, the usual ones. You didn't want your daughter to walk around there on her own, but there was Sergeant Morland, as innocent-looking as ever, chatting to two thugs everyone else would give a wide berth.

"Morland, casino," said Tilney.

"You left her here?" Wentworth raised an eyebrow. He wouldn't have.

"Yes, no problem."

"Are we going to bet with his money?" Morland inquired.

"Not with mine," Tilney agreed. "I haven't got any, but Wentworth here must have a fortune. He's a decorated sailor. And all those divorcées."

"Maybe they pay in kind," Morland suggested. "And he's actually as poor as a church mouse. He doesn't pay for his cars, does he?"

"That car a dead Russian was found in."

"The car that can't be traced to you because you didn't actually pay for it."

"But you did drive it."

"Out of Musgrove's garage."

They neared the casino. Wentworth wondered if the charming alternating conversation would stop as they went in, but it didn't.

"Without the Russian, I admit," Tilney continued.

"But you picked him up later."

"Already dead."

"Oh, thanks," Wentworth felt compelled to say when they left a few seconds for him to react. It was kind of them not to pin that murder on him.

"You don't kill," said Morland, as if he didn't already know.

"We'd like to know who he is."

"Check his wallet," Wentworth suggested. "I didn't."

"Maybe we should say what he is."

Tilney nodded and found a table in the bar section. They ushered Wentworth into a seat.

Anne returned to the office. It was empty, of course. It usually was. She checked the voice mail and made notes. Only two people wanted information on their rates, but neither sounded too certain about seriously wanting to hire a private investigator. She phoned them back and invited them for a face-to-face intake the next day. With no other case going on she would probably not be out spying on anyone tomorrow.

Then she uploaded and printed the photos she had taken and laid the file on Frederick's desk. He was avoiding her, of course, staying out of the office as much as he could. Then she opened his second drawer and took out a bottle. It was nearly empty, as she had expected. She put it back. A full one was already waiting. She took it and poured half into an empty bottle that had been waiting in her second drawer, then she filled both up with tap water.

Frederick hadn't let on if he was aware of her activities. He simply continued filling his hip flask. A part of her feared his reaction, but another part knew she was completely justified.

Then she walked down to the gadget store. Admiral Croft was at the bar, his workbench, looking at a flower pot with what appeared to be plastic flowers. Mrs Croft was talking to a customer. Anne adored them. She wondered why they were in this dark business, because the admiral never understood why people needed to spy on each other. He willingly fixed gadgets, though. Mrs Croft was more astute, but without being cynical about mankind.

They had first also run the office, until business had amazingly picked up. Anne wondered how it could have, since Frederick hadn't obtained any results since she had joined the agency. She had been responsible for all successes. She didn't know what he did all day -- or night -- but before she had been hired he must have worked well.

"Hi Anne, done for the day?" Mrs Croft asked when she had seen the customer out.

"Yes, another case done." And if she could, she stuck to ordinary office hours.

"You might have a new case. A Mr Darcy was here when you were out."

"How? I was watching a Mr Darcy." Anne wondered if there were more of them.

"Briefly, just before you got in."

But she hadn't stopped to talk to them when she got in, eager as she had been to close the lid on the case. That was why she heard only now. "Oh. What did he say?"

"He is being watched and he wants to know by whom."

"Well, that would have been me. I've been watching his assignations with barely-dressed females. In fact, that was what the case was about. I told you this morning."

"2012's Mrs Darcy," said Mrs Croft dryly. "We're nearing 2013, so it's time for a new one indeed."

"If they're all so interchangeable," said the admiral to the flower pot, "I wonder why he doesn't simply stick with one. It would be cheaper, for one."

"So Mr Darcy wants to hire us so we can find out we are the ones watching him?"

Mrs Croft shrugged. "Could be, but he seemed afraid. He wouldn't be afraid of you. Where's Frederick?"

It was Anne's turn to shrug. "To be honest, I have hardly seen him at all since I started working here. He's always out. I have no idea what he does during the day. I guess sleep? Since I gather he has an active night life."

"He is occasionally useful," remarked the admiral. "Because now and then he brings me new gadgets. See this flower pot? These three flowers are in fact not flowers --"

Anne had gathered as much, since they looked very artificial.

"-- but one is a camera, one records and one transmits. I could communicate with another flower pot in this manner."

She was impressed. "Wow. And Frederick got this somewhere for you?"

"Yes. It's probably the first and the last time he's ever brought me flowers," Mrs Croft said dryly.

"But is it useful?" Anne wondered as she approached the bar. "I mean, you don't want a flower that's unobtrusively recording stuff suddenly to start making a noise just because someone is talking to another flower pot."

Wentworth turned up his collar against the wind and glanced at his watch another time. It was past midnight. After Tilney and Morland had left, he had won some money in the casino. The barmaid came out of the alley and joined him, shivering. He handed her a tenner. "Your tip."

"Thanks. I'll be able to buy lunch tomorrow."

They continued on their way down the street. Tilney and Morland set off in pursuit. Tilney didn't enjoy being up so late, but Morland had promised him breakfast.

2

A black limousine pulled up outside the gadget shop. Frederick Wentworth, PI, got out and held the door open for a girl in a party dress. And another girl, similarly attired. "Is that his taste nowadays?" Mrs Croft inquired of Anne and the admiral.

"Isn't she the same as last time?" asked the admiral after barely a glance.

Anne had no opinion to give, except that she knew the girls. "I know them. They're sisters." She was surprised at Mrs Croft's interest. Usually she was mild and easygoing.

"He can do much better."

"Don't interfere, Sophia," warned Admiral Croft.

Anne studied Mrs Croft. Suddenly she spotted a likeness. The same dark eyes, the same smile -- except seeing Frederick smile had been really long ago. Nowadays he was merely dark and gloomy. She nearly fell off her barstool. "Is he your brother?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Mrs Croft was surprised. "I thought you did."

"No, I didn't." She spotted that her shoelaces were untied and knelt behind the bar to hide her shock. She really hadn't known. Granted, she hadn't been working here for very long, but this was something she should have picked up on. In retrospect the way everyone behaved to each other made complete sense, of course.

And everyone was allowed to have their secrets. She had some too. This was the moment to reveal them -- it would only be fair -- but she found herself tongue-tied and unable to stand up.

Frederick and the girls came in. "I have a party at Fizz's to go to," he announced. "Louisa and Henrietta agreed to accompany me." He didn't bother to tell them which was which and Louisa and Henrietta didn't seem to care about an introduction either.

"Frederick's the life of every party. Now there's a man who knows how to have fun," said the admiral.

Frederick usually came across as though the fun he'd had decades ago was still a heavy burden to carry, so Anne stifled a snort in spite of herself. She couldn't be too loud; she was hiding.

Frederick Wentworth only drove the limo's bumper into a low wall. That was very good, considering his track record. The two girls were excited about meeting a celebrity and couldn't keep their mouths shut. He was here to work, though, and he hoped he would be able to lose them in the crowd if he needed to. It would be difficult for them to lose him: his fedora and trench coat probably stood out among the festive party goers. And he hadn't even been invited.

"Ah, Inspector Gadget," said the tall man with the gold tooth, coming over to shake his hand. "A private word later, if you please."

"I'm not an inspector," Frederick corrected, thinking he should maybe ditch the hat and coat before he got any more so-called humorous comments. But what to do with his camera, phone, gun, cigarettes, notebook, pens, flask and lighter?

"I know, I know. Ex-Navy. They don't have inspectors. I was at your little gadget shop today, where I spoke to your assistant."

"I heard." Sophia had told him. And she was not his assistant anymore, but he didn't bother to correct that.

"Later, when all my guests have arrived, I need a word."

That was what he had come for. "Will do."

"Enjoy yourselves in the meantime." For a man with a gold tooth, he was surprisingly well-spoken, but of course Fitzwilliam Darcy had never been a street kid.

Wentworth hadn't talked to Fizz since he arrived. He had hung his coat over his arm and mingled with the crowd. He had had a drink or two, observing the other guests. Once he knew who were there he could start checking out the house.

Mrs Darcy was there. He recognised her from photos Anne had taken. He recognised the previous Mrs Darcy as well. That was surprising. The current Mrs Darcy had hired them to watch her husband because she clearly wasn't amused by his philandering, but she did accept her predecessor well enough to allow her to come to parties? He couldn't tell if they were on speaking terms. There was a physical distance between them at all times.

The previous Mrs Darcy didn't mind approaching him. "Hi, I don't know you, but you look intriguing," she purred. "I'm Caroline."

"Frederick," he replied.

She pointed to the coat still slung over his arm. "Why don't you put your coat away? Gosh and that funny hat!"

"You have a handbag, I have a coat."

"Oh, you have stuff in there," she nodded. "Anything to liven up a party?"

He considered that. "Anything can liven up a party, but probably not in the way you mean."

"Pity. So how do you know Fizz?"

"Professionally. And you?"

"I'm his ex-wife. His second. There's also Anne --"

"Anne?" he cut in.

Yes, his first ex-wife is called Anne, but she's not here. Are you in the music business?"

It was all going well, Frederick had just been thinking. He was just about to go and look for the loo when he spotted Tilney and Morland, with their light hair, light clothes and innocent faces. He could almost see their haloes. They were looking serious.

"We have a victim on our hands. He was stabbed with your knife, Wentworth," said Tilney, amiable as ever. "Could you explain that?"

This surprised him. "No, I couldn't. Who?"

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, the owner of the house."

Frederick frowned. "With my knife? Someone made me hang up my coat. I was carrying it around because I didn't want people to go through my pockets."

"Where?"

"In the cloak room. Everybody has access."

"Why take a knife to a party?" Morland, as usual, didn't seem to understand people taking knives anywhere. Why should anyone have such dangerous items indeed?

"Why would I kill him with a knife that has my name engraved on it?" Frederick reasoned. "Besides, you recently told me that I don't kill."

"We have to a-a-ask," sang Morland.

"Why were you carrying a knife?" Tilney didn't let go.

"For god's sake, Tilney, you know I always carry it. Morland has searched me before and she was all puritanical shocked innocence when she found it."

"Morland is only that way when she finds condoms on unmarried people. Don't talk poop."

Morland nodded. "You're a bad boy, Wentworth. You never listen. I told you not to carry knives, because knives are dangerous. What's up with the watered-down whisky?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Watered-down?"

"You're carrying a knife, a gun and booze, and you're driving. It may be watered down, but it's still booze. And you brought two minors with you."

Wentworth shrugged. "So test me. How do you know what I'm carrying?"

"I know your coat and it was in the cloak room, as you said. You have a permit for that gun?"

"I think so. It's a fake. Listen. Fizz was going to hire me. Why kill him? If he hired me, he would have paid me. I need that money. I'm not getting any money now."

"Not if he found out Mrs Fizz had hired you first. He wouldn't hire you then."

"I hadn't spoken to him about Mrs Fizz yet."

"Maybe she told him. She told us too. Who else did she tell?"

Fizz dead, no alimony, Anne thought. Mrs Darcy would inherit. Nice. Simple. Solved.

She started Frederick's car and drove to the address he had given her. From outside the gate she could see Frederick on the terrace, relaxing in his trench coat, all uncooperative toughness. She was ready to toss him in the pool.

"I'm here to see Inspector Tilney," she said to the uniformed policewoman manning the gate. "He called me." Sometimes it was permissible to lie.

Wentworth adjusted his fedora to keep the sun out of his face. He reached for his hip flask. Watered down? He sniffed it. It was as good as empty. How could anyone tell? Had little Morland taken a sip? Then he reached for his cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth without lighting up.

"Cool," said Morland in awe. "Can you talk like that or will it fall out?"

He ignored her, wondering about his knife. Who had taken it out of his coat? Who had known he carried a knife in the first place? Apart from Tilney, Morland and almost everyone he regularly saw...

Tilney was sitting with two girls. One was visibly shaken. Tears had stained her make-up. The other had her arm around her. "OK, let's try this again. Name?" Tilney demanded.

"Louisa," said the calmer girl.

"Henrietta," said the other.

They had told him that before, but they refused to volunteer more and they weren't carrying any ID. "Last name?" he tried again.

They shook their heads in unison. "Mum's going to be so pissed off."

"Rightfully so. If you're afraid of Mum, may I conclude you're under age?" He guessed they were, because up close they looked very young.

"We're adults."

"Both of you?"

"We're twins."

Tilney would have guessed sisters, but not twins. They were not identical, merely similar. "And how old are you?"

"We're not telling."

"Look, one of you found the body. I really need to know more about you." But as someone had been so directly behind her that she couldn't have killed anyone, he was willing to treat her with some kindness.

A uniformed policewoman interrupted. "There's woman outside the gate to see you, Inspector."

He had no idea who that might be. If she knew he was here, she could only be involved with the case. He didn't want to waste time. "All right, let her in." He turned back to the girls. "Darlings, I have the distinct feeling you're lying to me. You claim to have come here with your father, but he isn't old enough by a long shot. Are you on the game?"

"Prostituting ourselves, you mean?" asked Louisa. "Well, we have to work as barmaids to pay our way through university. My mum thinks that comes close enough. She's a terrible snob even if she hasn't got a penny herself. And my granddad would die if he heard. He only wanted to see us after we got into Oxford."

Either that was a lie, or they were not minors. Or they were brilliant students. All three options sounded equally unlikely. "Were you looking to earning an extra bit of money here?"

"No," said Henrietta, looking impatient.

"Did you know your...um...father was carrying a knife?"

"He always carries a knife," said Henrietta. "He cracks walnuts with it. It's a multifunctional appliance."

"Do you see him a lot then?"

"Oh, now you think he's our pimp," Louisa nodded.

"Well, what else can he be? He's maybe a few years older than I am, but not a lot, and I certainly couldn't have two daughters at Oxford that I'd take to dubious rap-scene parties where people get killed, in a limo. And using words like pimp," he added.

"Oh, still a virgin, are you?" Louisa chuckled impertinently.

Tilney took a deep breath. "You won't make any money off me, darling. So tell me why you are here, really."

Henrietta was the more serious one of the two. "We work for the detective agency."

"Just when I thought it couldn't get any more ridiculous!" he exclaimed. Now he was really lost. "But you just said you work as barmaids."

"Yes, we gather information that way. So we work as barmaids as well as detectives. Sort of. You know?"

"And you work for Frederick Wentworth?"

"Yes."

"And he took you here in a limousine because..."

"Because someone is using his car?" Louisa said as if it was more than obvious. "And he doesn't want to crash his own car. He's really bad at parking. Between you and me, I think he needs glasses."

"But for what purpose did he take you here?"

"Well, we were to gather information, obviously, because this Fizz character was afraid of someone."

"And Wentworth is not really your father?"

Louisa rolled her eyes. "Well, what can I say? You've got your mind made up anyway, because you seem to think it impossible for anyone under thirty to have sex."

"Oh, not impossible..." he said, head cocked to one side as he made the calculation once again.

"But improbable."

"But we're not talking thirty here, are we? We're talking...fifteen?"

"I couldn't say," Louisa said, folding her hands demurely. "Some people, however, are so immoral."

A woman entered the room and Tilney looked up. "Did you want to see me?" he asked.

"I know who did it."

"So do I. It was Frederick Wentworth with his pocket knife."

"Correction. It was Mrs Darcy with Frederick Wentworth's pocket knife," the woman said calmly.

"And you know this how?"

"Simple deduction."

"And your name is...?"

"Anne."

"Well, Anne," said Tilney. "How do you know about this murder anyway? It hasn't been made public yet."

"Frederick texted me. Only the barest of essentials, of course. We do not exactly communicate." As she spoke she wondered why he had texted her at all. It was communication of sorts. "Fizz dead. My knife. Insp. Tilney. That's what he sent. And the address. You'd agree with me that he would have phrased it differently if he'd done it himself."

"Why keep the message so short? It's rather open to misunderstanding. He might be saying that I did it."

Anne shrugged. "He knows I'm not an idiot. I hope."

"And you came here to...?"

"To tell you who did it."

"Did Mrs Darcy know he carried a knife?"

"I suppose so. She hired him, he had coffee with her, so I'm sure the knife surfaced at some point."

"Coffee? Not an affair? He didn't get rid of Mr Darcy in order to free up Mrs Darcy for himself?"

Anne laughed humourlessly. "It happens, but no."

"How can you be sure?"

She leant down to whisper in his ear. "He's impotent."

Tilney was shocked. "And how do you know that?"

"I just know. No need to ask him about it. He'll deny it, but you'll just have to take my word for it."

"And why would Frederick text you? He knows you? You too are an employee of the detective agency? Or are you a particular friend?"

She stiffened a little. "I am an employee, yes."

"And these two young ladies are known to you?" Tilney indicated the two girls, who had remained quiet.

"Yes, they are."

"Well, in that case, please take them home to their parents. They're not being very useful here." He would see them later, when hopefully the seriousness of the case had dawned on them and they would be more helpful.

"I'll do that."

Tilney joined Morland and Wentworth on the terrace. "Do you know an Anne?"

"I do," Wentworth said guardedly.

"She works for you, does she?"

"She does."

"She claims it was Mrs Darcy with your knife."

Wentworth removed the unlit cigarette from his mouth and considered that option. "I say she's close, but she hasn't yet hit the mark. She shows promise; I may keep her on."

"Since when do you employ people?"

"Since they applied? And business has been rather good."

"Did Mrs Darcy know you carried a knife?"

"I suppose so. I met up with her. She hired me."

"And you had coffee."

"If you say so. Something to drink in any case."

"Nothing more?"

"Well, a biscuit?" Wentworth recalled.

"No affair?"

"An affair?"

"Why do you take out your knife when you have coffee with someone?" Tilney couldn't imagine for what purpose one would do so.

"To cut open the coffee milk container? Yes, they have these little things to pull, but I find it easier to just punch a hole in it."

Tilney could relate. "I went off coffee milk myself for that reason. But she saw your knife then?"

"She must have."

"And considering that you're always wearing the same coat, she concluded..."

"Ask her. I don't know if she's seen me often enough for her to draw any conclusions."

"The grieving widow," Tilney said with a wry smile. "I'll send Morland in to check if she's up for a talk later."

"You don't smoke," Morland said accusingly after having observed Wentworth for a long time.

Wentworth studied his unlit cigarette. "Blimey, you have amazing powers of observation, Sergeant. I am indeed not smoking."

"She hadn't yet hit the mark, you said," said Tilney, remembering something. "What did you mean?"

"I meant that I've had the pleasure of meeting Mrs Darcy's mother."

Frederick Wentworth trudged along the road home. That blasted Morland and Tilney had forbidden him to drive the limousine home. They had, since it didn't belong to him, promised they would get Musgrove to pick it up, but on no account was he allowed to drive in his condition. No test, no fine, they had said and being short on money his only option had been to agree, even if he wasn't drunk at all and he might only marginally score over the limit.

He should be pleased they had let him go. Apparently one of the girls had said she had seen that he'd never left the room except to hang up his coat. He hadn't noticed her following him, but apparently she had. That meant he was off the hook, but his coat wasn't. He'd had to leave it behind and he felt terribly naked without a car and coat. Not to mention his hat, he thought as he raked a hand through his hair. People rarely saw his hair.

He didn't even have his cell phone, because there might be finger prints on it. Tilney had asked if there was anyone he needed to call, but he had shaken his head. Who would want to pick him up?

And who had been watering down his whisky? Sophia? Anne?

A car pulled up alongside him. A woman called out of the window. "Hi love, need a ride?"

Wentworth hesitated. If he was not mistaken she was deadly. And not beautiful enough to place him in a quandary. Deadly and beautiful might be tricky; deadly and unattractive was a no-brainer. "No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" The woman gave him a persuasive smile.

He looked left and right and reached into his underwear. She was watching in anticipation, but she would never be able to guess.

"Are you smuggling a budgie, love?"

He smiled and fired the little gun at her. Pang. Dead. Good riddance of a murderer.

"No, I don't kill," he said to himself. Let that fool Tilney continue to believe in the goodness of man. But men under attack from lascivious middle-aged women either killed or acquiesced. Goodness was simply not possible.

It was good that Morland had let him take his gun. Nevertheless he was glad when another car pulled up and its driver was so much less deadly, because the gun was still a fake. He got in and she drove off. "I lied to the inspector," she said.

He did not care. "Everybody lies to the inspector." It was more important to be safe and not at ease in this car -- his own car.

She tapped a camera. "But I solved the case."

"Well, in that case he will forgive you."

"Ah, I don't know if he is the one who --" But then she shrugged. "That woman did it."

"I know. I told him." Teamwork of sorts? It was scary.