Eldritch Noir

Part II

The precinct was unassuming. The building's style matched the architecture of the surrounding area. Looking from the outside, you would think it was an apartment complex. Alaric supposed the design was intentional. The 13th precinct was located in the most crime-ridden part of town, and maybe the designers thought camouflaging it would give law enforcement the element of surprise.

Inside, officers were rushing to and fro, all carrying out some important task. The King of Hollywood was dead, and the race to catch the killer was on. As the two detectives walked inside, Marlboro briefly spoke to someone on the phone and then hung up.

"The Squad is examining the area around the beach house. If the trophy is there, we'll find it."

"If the killer was smart, he would've walked down to the beach and chucked it into the ocean," Alaric commented.

"You're an optimistic young man."

"You weren't thinking the same thing?"

"I was, but I didn't want to say it."

Marlboro stopped by the coffee station and poured himself a cup. He drank it immediately without letting it cool down. Alaric never understood how he could do that, but it fascinated him. Despite his name, Marlboro didn't smoke, and Alaric thought he made up for that with coffee and little bottles of 5-Hour Energy, which were scattered about his car.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack one of these days," Alaric told him.

Marlboro finished gulping his coffee, and almost half the cup was gone. He quickly refilled it.

"Spend five minutes as a real detective, and you'd be right here with me."

"What do we know about the butler and the maid?"

Marlboro walked to his desk, and Alaric followed.

"Butler's name is Carl Montana. Maid's name is Eloise Baudelaire." Marlboro sat down and checked a file on his desk. "Baudelaire has been with Romano a year. Montana has been working there since '96."

"Let's talk to Montana first. He was there yesterday, and he's been with Romano the longest. He could yield the most information."

Marlboro dropped the file.

"They're both still here. Hitchins and Mills should be questioning them now. Let's go say hi." Marlboro stood, and Alaric followed him to the interrogation rooms. In the hall, Marlboro caught his arm. "Listen up. I think it's pretty clear why I brought you in, but I need you to be subtle. Remember, someone will be on the other side of the glass."

"We've done this dance before, Marlboro. Now, let's go catch our bad guy."

Marlboro nodded, and they entered suite 6. The room was rectangular, with a single bare lightbulb swinging from the ceiling. There were three chairs, two on one side of the metal table and one on the other. Detective Michael Mills was sitting across from a thin older man with thinning hair and a butler's uniform. Mills seemed surprised, especially when he saw Hawthorne.

"Sir?" He asked.

"Mills," Marlboro greeted. "Get a coffee. Hawthorne and I have some questions to ask Mr. Montana."

Mills gave a brief nod and slid past them out the door.

"Good cop, worse cop, eh?" Montana chuckled. He seemed to have a foreign accent, but it was thin, and Alaric couldn't place where it came from. Alaric and Marlboro took their seats.

"I already told your friend everything," Montana explained. "I left yesterday around three. Boss sent me home early."

"Is it unusual for Romano to let his employees leave before their shift is over?" Marlboro asked.