Star Power, Baby!

Ever since that note showed up at the precinct, you knew the case to follow would be no ordinary one. After all, it wasn't everyday that a wealthy socialite, Lindsay Bannister, demanded your help in protecting her life (an effort that had, unfortunately, proven to be futile - she was long since dead by the time you and your partner, one Frank Knight, arrived on the scene). Despite being amongst the stars in the glitz and glamor district that was Ivywood Hills, you tried not to fall under the tinseltown spell. As such, the absolute furthest thing from your mind was meeting one of your cinema heroes.

One of the pieces of evidence left at the scene was a cigarette case, entirely decked out in a gold facade. When dusted, it spelled out a message from the victim intended for one 'Dick Shakespeare'. You could still remember clearly when you informed Frank, himself suiting a Columbo-esque getup, cigarette poised between his fingers.

"Dick Shakespeare?! THE Dick Shakespeare!", the older man's jaw dropped, "You know who he is, right, Y/N?"

"Of course I do.", you purred, attempting to downplay your excitement, "I loved his movies as a kid."

Truthfully, that was a bit of an understatement. You had a bit of a celebrity crush on the fictional detective extraordinaire ever since you first saw him, back when you were a teenager. It seemed unusual, even with the wide array of suspects you had interviewed in your years at the Pacific Bay Police Department, to get a chance to talk to someone you so admired. Nonetheless, it crossed your mind that he had a link to the suspect - you would have to repress your feelings and treat him like any other run of the mill potential criminal. Worse yet, a potential murderer. Life was funny that way - it had certainly provided an unusual manner of meeting a hero.

The actor was called in for questioning by yourself and Frank, to which he showed up on time (quite surprisingly), awaiting his interview with crossed hands in the sparse interrogation room. While you cringed to admit it, you had put more effort into your appearance than usual - so much so that even your partner raised an eyebrow as you strolled in for the day's work.

"I'm debating asking him for an autograph.", Frank admitted outside the interrogation room door, fumbling with a notepad and pen, "What do you think?"

"Frank, that's not what we're here for.", you cracked a grin, playfully elbowing him, "Let's get going on these questions, else he'll be calling his agent."

The pair of you entered the room, exchanging greetings with the middle-aged actor. Up close, and without any studio magic, Mr. Shakespeare looked rather... drained. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his chin stubbly, and perhaps most puzzlingly, he had a white wrap of bandages plastered across his nose. And yet, something about him was unmistakably handsome. You had always had a thing for the 'rough-around-the-edges' type.

"Look.", Dick deadpanned, reddened face resting against his hand, "I woke up an hour ago with my face banged up and stinking of booze, Y/N. What's this about?"

Okay, very rough around the edges. Yet, something about his deep, drawling tone when he said your name sent your heart aflutter. He must've heard of you at some point. While you remained stoic, remembering the mental note you had made yourself upon professionalism earlier, Frank seemed to have other ideas on his mind.

"Sir, may I just start by saying it's a pleasure to meet you?", his grin stretched inhumanly wide, "I'm a big fan of your detective movies an-"

You cleared your throat, shooting a glance at your partner.

"Right, sorry about that, Y/N. Sir, we're here because Lindsay Bannister has been murdered." Frank cleared his throat, smile replaced by a grimace of embarrassment. It seemed even the typically gruff man had fallen to the star power trap.