After his meeting at the precinct, Tannehill wandered over to the Happy Hour Diner. Though he hadn't done much with his day other than sit in a cramped room and battle with two oversized municipal employees, he felt famished. He slumped into the nearest booth and waited.
A matronly woman with a puffy face and even puffier hair-do approached him. She wore an all-white outfit pining for better days and brighter moments. She held a cigarette with a one-inch ash attached to it in her left hand and an order pad gripped precariously in her right.
"Where's Vera?"
"She works a split shift most of the time," she responded while adding to the length of the ash. "Six to ten in the morning and six to ten again at night. But I'm here to do your bidding during the midday, m'lord, so what'll it be?" The last phrase ran together so fluidly it sounded like one word - "sowhuddelibee".
"Come again?"
"What would you like to order?"
"Ham and eggs." Tannehill thought for a minute and realized that his diet of late had lacked proper nutrition, "...and a side of creamed spinach."
"Okee-doke." Puffier hair turned back toward the counter. Her ash remained in stasis for a brief second before dropping to the floor behind her.
Tannehill finished his meal - leaving half the creamed spinach on his plate - and paid his bill. As he left the restaurant, he couldn't be sure, but he thought he caught the waitress curtsying in his direction as he walked through the door. Two nights with no sleep imbued the world with a surreal tinge that made him double-check his judgment.
His best option, he decided, was to catch up on a few hours of sleep before reviewing the details of the case with a fresh eye. He knew he still needed to track down the doorman and find a way to chat with Emily Brunner in a manner that wouldn't put her on the defensive. So far in this game, Tannehill was the individual holding the flimsiest hand. The police weren't too far ahead, but they weren't as interested in winning as they were in taking the house's cut and simply closing out the case, facts be damned.
Tannehill walked through the door of his apartment, removed his coat and placed it carefully on the back of the chair next to his bed. He placed his fedora on the seat and loosened his tie. He glanced at the alarm clock which ticked steadily away from 12:47. Without pulling the bedclothes back, he lay down on the bed, arms folded across his chest, and closed his eyes.
He suddenly became aware of a dull banging and opened his eyes. Riiiiing. Riiiing. He looked at the alarm clock again which ticked steadily away from 4:02. The lighting in his apartment refused to tell him if he'd been asleep for three hours or 15. He reached clumsily across the table, knocking a notepad and pencil from their perch onto the floor and haltingly answered "Hello?" with an overwhelming thickness in his voice.
"Did I catch you during a siesta?" Murphy's voice buzzed thinly from the other end of the line. Three hours Tannehill thought. I was only asleep for three hours.
"You could say that. Why...why are you calling again? Do you need decorating advice for the office?"
"No, I've already got plenty of suggestions there. I need you to come back in. There's been a break in the case."
"Hmm. I'm not that break am I?"
"No," Murphy responded flatly, "when can you get here?"
"I need to freshen up a bit but can come straight over after that. About 30 minutes?"
"Perfect." Murphy hung up.
Tannehill swung his legs off the bed, sighed heavily, and rubbed his face with both hands. He splashed cold water on his face, brushed his teeth free of any remaining egg and gathered his jacket before heading for the door.
---
"We're not going to have to do this again, are we Shorty?"
Shorty glared down at Tannehill with a mix of contempt and defeat. "Go on back," he waved his hand impatiently toward the door, "but don't touch nothin'."
Tannehill opened the door to the precinct backroom. "It's not a department store, Shorty. It's not like I'm going to swipe a few pairs of handcuffs and make off downtown for an exotic evening." By the time Shorty had responded with a string of clipped, guttural phrases, the door was closed and Tannehill was striding toward Murphy's office.
When he reached the office, the door was shut, but he was able to see through the windows that surrounded the office on three sides. Tannehill saw someone in the chair he previously occupied facing toward the wall with two patrolmen flanking him on either side. The occupant looked beefy with short dark hair thinning aggressively at the crown. The fern drooped cheerfully in greeting.
Murphy greeted him in front of the door. "Care to make a wager on that lover angle?"
Tannehill shrugged. "Why?"
Murphy held up a halting finger and walked into the office. He walked out with the two patrolmen who settled nearby. "Step over to this side of the window."
Tannehill did as he was asked and glanced at the occupant - now in profile and evidently handcuffed to the chair. He couldn't suppress an audible gasp of surprise. "That's the uncle!"
Murphy nodded, "uh-huh." He straightened up and continued. "He walked in about an hour and a half ago and confessed to Snell's murder. Said he and Snell had been vying equally for Miss Brunner's affection and jealousy got the better of him. Originally, he went to your office just to scare Snell away, but Snell wouldn't back down, so push - literally - came to shove and ended in the artwork you saw when you returned for the evening. His name's Beederman. Harry Beederman."
"You're serious?"
Murphy shrugged.
"Nothing about this story makes sense. You said yourself the violence was methodical. We both agreed that it took more than one person to subdue Snell. And," Tannehill raised a finger of his own, "you shot my theory about Brunner's involvement down because we were in the same place far away from where Snell was getting offed." Tannehill jabbed his raised finger at the suspect, who glanced at him sideways with something Tannehill couldn't place - fear, hope, satisfaction? - "He," Tannehill paused for emphasis, "was also there, so he has the same alibi. I have photos, remember?"
"He had access to a car. He'd be able to work over Snell and make it back downtown in the time it took you to ride the bus."
Tannehill gaped at Murphy with incredulity.
Murphy shrugged again. "He confessed. From my standpoint, that's as good as an early Christmas present as I'm going to get."
Tannehill inhaled sharply and considered his options. He could start a lengthy tirade about how the entire case was too conveniently gift-wrapped and the department was too lazy to do its own investigative work when they could just up their clearance rate with someone who wasn't going to put up much of a challenge, even if he were innocent. If he did so, Murphy would probably march him out the door with orders to Shorty to bar the doors of the precinct to him indefinitely.
He shrugged. "Hope it sticks."
Murphy smiled broadly. "Oh, before I forget," he walked back into the office and returned with a bulky manilla packet. "Snell's personal items. He doesn't have any known next of kin, so they're yours to do with as you see fit."
Tannehill opened the packet and slid out the contents - keys, wallet, and monogrammed cigarette case. "That's odd."
"What?"
"Snell didn't smoke. Why does he have a cigarette case?"
Murphy smiled again and shrugged in response.
[Author's Note: This week's edition is 1306 words. The running total is 18860. As a holiday bonus, I'll be releasing a second chapter in the middle of this week.]
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