A few tendrils of fog were beginning to drift lazily on the slight breeze, lit by the soft glow of lanterns. A group of men were huddled at the end of the alley, most dressed in the familiar blue of the English Bobby, the light flashing gold on their brass buttons. A few officers were keeping the growing crowd of civilians, mainly local shopkeepers, carters, and migrant mime hunters, clustered at the mouth of the alley and away from the scene.
“What’re you thinkin,’ Detective?” asked an older officer, with a fine moustache.
“Hard to say, Sergeant,” replied the only man in plain-clothes. “He’s sort of . . . “
“Squished?” volunteered the Sergeant.
“Yes, squished.” The detective glanced up at the roofs that lined the alley. “Hardly enough of a fall to do that kind of damage.”
“Perhaps he fell from a passin’ dirigible, sir?”
“I think that unlikely, Sergeant.” The detective stepped around a pile of crates, taking care to not tread on what was left of the victim’s leg, and squatted down for a better look.
“Flung from a trebuchet?”
“Also, unlikely.”
“If he, y’know, jumped, before he left the roof, sir, that might account for the . . . er . . . extreme state.”
The detective looked over at the Sergeant. “Are you suggesting that three-odd more feet of falling could have done this?”
“Hard to say, sir.”
“Pardon me, detective,” began a young officer, who hurried up from the mouth of the alley. “There’s a gentleman who wants to speak to- oh god!” The young man turned several shades of green, including celadon, chartreuse, myrtle, and other variations I found on Wikipedia. He was noisily sick in a nearby crate, though he kept hold of the business card in his hand.
“Sergeant, if you would?” asked the detective. The Sergeant leaned over and plucked the card out of the young man’s hand. He read it solemnly.
The detective waited a moment, before sighing. “Out loud, Sergeant.”
“Ah, right, sir.” The Sergeant cleared his throat. “Mr. Charles Alonso Credenza von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt the Third. Esquire. Consulting Detective.”
Tomorrow: Part II
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2 comments:
This may just be my current choice of reading material, but I immediately thought of Lord Peter Wimsey...
I presume you're going for a general parody of mystery rather than a specific character?
Yes, it's just a general parody. I don't read much mystery and don't know who Lord Peter Wimsey is. I did read a lot of Sherlock Holmes when I was a kid and do enjoy the Hercule Poirot series (and Brother Cadfile too).
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