The Earlier the Investigative Sandbag is Launched, the
Peopler
Inspector
Truebiscuit removed the filing cabinet from between his teeth. He stared at the end as he spoke.
“Found
anything yet?” he asked Mason Whittlepick, his assistant on many investigations
of this type.
“The
usual,” Mason replied, getting up from a crouch over the corpse. “Except for this,” he qualified, holding up
the Crown Countenance Pinwheel, a cherished object to hardcore fans of Miss
Beulah Seraph. He handed it to Inspector
Truebiscuit.
“Think this
is genuine?” Truebiscuit asked, turning the pinwheel over between his fingers
big as cut sections of fire hose.
“Probably,”
Whittlepick nodded. “The Beulah Seraph
Collection was stolen some months ago.
I read it in the paper. None of
the items were recovered.”
Truebiscuit
put the pinwheel in his filing cabinet.
He returned the latter to his mouth and continued chewing its ragged,
water-logged end. “What about the body
itself?” he asked.
“Well,”
Whittlepick turned to look down at the dead woman. “Death was instantaneous. Skull crushed, ankles broken.” A sandbag was big as a dolphin obscured the
head, but it was clear that it was a woman who lay there dead because of the
sundress and watch, which was smaller than a man’s watch would be. A tiny death sensor on the watch’s face was
blinking, indicating that the woman had been dead for nearly two hours.
“You ever
see a Beulah Seraph picture, Mason?” Truebiscuit asked. He was thinking of Flash of the Pink Chocolate, a typical duplication of the trousers
bricked and elegant.
.
