Part 6? A little later than the others, but I just felt like it today.
Lord Pyle was leafing through his filing cabinet. It was soothing, he could always count on a bit of filing to work away the stresses of his office. Of course, it was always when you were relaxing that something would come along to add the final little insult.
Today it was a polite little knock at his door, which was the sort of knock only the police manage to achieve. It was polite in the way only those in authority can be, knowing as they do that they don’t actually need to be polite to you, they just want to put you on edge.
Pyle had very definitely decided he wasn’t going to open the door, but that didn’t seem to dissuade the police officer on the other side. After knocking politely for almost a minute, he finally took the initiative and opened the door himself. And that was when Pyle realised that there was no chance of him relaxing today.
Sergeant Haul wandered into the office dripping with pulp. This alone was enough to make Pyle’s eye start twitching. Thankfully the cleaner hadn’t been yet, otherwise it may have also induced a slight aneurysm.
‘Sorry to bother you, Milord,’ said Haul, ‘But I need to ask you a few questions pertaining to a recent murder.’
‘Sergeant, why must you waste my time with this? You know exactly what I’m going to say. I even created a PR department specifically to deal with people like you and questions like these. Go and talk to them, please. I’ve had a hard day and I don’t need you accusing me of being a purveyor of contract killings to top it all off!’
To his credit, Haul barely winced. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a dog-eared notebook. He licked the tip of his finger and flicked through a few pages before, with great concentration, began to read off a number of questions.
‘Where were you during the hours of –’ Haul began.
‘Here. I’m always here. You know I’m always here. Now kindly push off!’
‘It’s just procedure, sir. No need to get testy. Now, if you’ll just answer these questions I’ll be out of your hair as quick as I can.’
Pyle sighed and stared longingly towards the open filing cabinet. Every single time. There must be a better way of having people killed for money, one where the police didn’t turn up at your door two or three times a week.