Work Text:
The Case
It was a day like any other. I was reading the newspaper, bouncing my leg on the ground. The amount I was interested in the stock market at the time was next to nothing, but it wasn’t as if I had anything better to do. We hadn’t gotten many customers for a while…
It’s not even as if I could talk to my partner. His name is Jack Merridew. His temper is somehow hotter than his flaming red hair, his constantly humorless face somehow less appealing than his aggressive personality, and our just-barely acquaintanceship hanging by a thread as thin as his stick-like body. If I so much as tried to make small talk with him, he’d likely snap and walk out. I barely had enough of a salary to pay for a daily meal, let alone enough for paint to cover up the ‘Merridew’ of ‘Merridew and Foley: Private Eyes.’
At that very moment, as if someone above answered my bored plea, the bell on the door jingled, and in walked a customer. Male, of about forty, with dark under eye circles and a receding hairline.
I sprang to my feet, adjusting my lopsided fedora and smiling invitingly. “Welcome, sir. Pleasure to have you.”
Jack looked up from a piece of paper on his desk, and nodded at the man.
Our customer offered a fraction of a smile to the two of us. “Good afternoon, Detectives.”
I gestured to the chair in the corner of the room. “Have a seat.” He sat. “What can we do for you?”
“My name is Mr. Joseph May, although that is of no importance. What is of importance, is that I work as the head butler for a famous actress, Miss Irene Harper. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?”
“Irene Harper?” Jack perked up, grinning. “Hell yes, I’ve heard of Irene Harper.” He whistles. “Hot damn. Think you could set me up with her?”
“She’s dead.”
My eyebrows shot up. “DEAD? Irene Harper is DEAD?”
“Yes. Murdered, actually. We’ve somehow managed to keep it out of the news for the last few days. The police don’t want to take the case, because of the publicity. So, I’ve located a somewhat small, reliable private investigator- the both of you- to help with the case.”
“Us? Wow, I’m flatte-“ I began.
“What are you going to pay us?” Jack interrupted, folding his arms across his desk.
“Would $25,000 be suitable? Miss Harper mentioned in her will that, in the case of her murder, that would be an ideal amount to pay the investigators.”
I practically had to clamp my jaw closed to keep it from hitting the floor. “$25,000? I-“
“It’s a deal.” Jack stepped forward to shake Joseph May’s hand.
“Excellent.” Our client said curtly. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, which of you is Merridew, and which of you is Foley?”
I cleared my throat, and raised my hand. “I’m Detective Ralph Foley, sir, and the obnoxious redhead over there is Detective Jack Merridew.”
“Fuck off,” Jack muttered to me. “He’s right, I’m Merridew.”
“I see.”
I sat back down at my desk, opening the drawer and pulling out a notebook along with my favorite fountain pen. “Now, sir, if you don’t mind me asking, can you give us some background information on the murder?”
“Yes, I can. This went down on Wednesday. The morning and afternoon were like any other- Miss Harper went downtown to film an undisclosed movie, before returning back home at around four in the afternoon. She was to have a dinner party with some of her closest friends at seven that evening, so she spent the next three hours getting ready.”
“Closest friends?” I said, looking up from my notes. “How many? What were their names?”
“The first two would be her twin brothers, Sam and Eric Harper.”
“Sam and Eric Harper… huh, you mean those brothers who wrote the trilogy about teenage girls stranded on an island?” Jack asked. “Didn’t know they were related to Irene.”
“The very same Sam and Eric, yes,” Joseph May verified. He paused, before continuing. “The second was Maurice Feliciano. The comedian.”
“I know him. Heard one of his performances on the radio,” I said. “Funny guy.”
“Indeed he is. A third guest was Roger Volkav. He’s been friends with Miss Harper since they were children. Odd fellow, he is… quiet, and he’s got quite the strange job.”
“What kind of job?”
“A taxidermist. Miss Harper’s got a tiger he stuffed on display in her lounge.”
Jack narrowed his bright blue eyes. “A taxidermist, eh? So he’s not bothered by dead things. Seems suspicious…”
I nodded, reluctantly agreeing with my partner. “Yes… it does.”
Joseph May continued. “Another guest was Peter “Piggy” Allston. He’s been Miss Harper’s private doctor for some number of years now, and the two have grown quite close.” He pauses momentarily. “And, finally, Simon Cambourne was in attendance. He’s the gardener at the house- and, similar to Doctor Allston, he’s befriended Miss Harper.”
I quickly scanned my notes, making sure I had everything written down. “Thank you, sir. Can you give us a call if you have any other important information? Additionally, you don’t mind if we search Irene’s house for clues?”
“Of course.” He slid over a business card, with a phone number written on it.
I slipped the card into my desk drawer, and smiled. “Thank you so much, sir. I’m sure we’ll find out who the culprit is in no time at all.”
“Excellent. Thank you, as well.” Joseph May said, before standing and leaving the office.
“That Roger Volkav did it,” Jack said bitterly, immediately after the door shut. “I already know it. Isn’t it a little odd to be working around DEAD THINGS from 9-5 each day, and BOOM, suddenly become involved in a murder case?”
I rolled my eyes. “Jack, you’ve been a detective for four years now. You know that it’s not always the one who seems the most suspicious.”
“Shut your trap,” he snapped. “What, do you think the butler did it?”
“If mystery novels are to be counted for any accuracy, then it’s possible.”
“Ralph, this is not a mystery novel. Don’t be stupid.”
“Don’t be stupid?” I scoffed. “Please. You’re the one insisting that the most obvious culprit did it.”
“He did!”
“Couldn’t it be the brothers?”
Jack furrowed his brow. “Why?”
“They’re family. They could have some sort of spite left from childhood. Plus, they’ve got a bigger chance of being in the will.”
“I guess… I’m gonna organize the investigation, then.”
“Why don’t you wait until we can get a little more organized-“
My partner pulled the phonebook out from the bookshelf near the window, began flipping through it, and sent me a look. “If you think I’m going to listen to you, you’re sorely mistaken.”