Deception

The door opened and in stepped Amy Scaglietti, unusually late, tired and craving a good night's sleep. In fact she was so tired that leaning against the cold door after locking it, she found that its cool surface was absorbing her stress. But she turned around and walked into the room; a sudden chill swept over her as she heard a slight movement behind her. Turning around she saw a figure she recognized.

Relieved as though she was, their abrupt presence, at midnight, was a bit unnerving.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" she asked, but the intruder seemed to be at war within. They said nothing.

"Are you alright?" said Ms Scaglietti, but all they did was raise their hand; and in it: a gun.

"The body of Amy Scaglietti was found in her house in the early hours of this morning; she was found by her friend, Sarah Burnley, around 6:30am and it is believed that she was killed between 11:45 and 12:15 last night." said the Chief of police.

"How safe are the good people of London with this killer shooting people in their own homes?" asked the reporter.

"Well, as far as know, this seems to be an isolated incident, so it is my belief that this killer will not attack anyone at random, but I do urge the people to exercise some caution."

"How will the police respond to this?"

"We were willing to dispatch the INTERPOL's finest detectives to apprehend the perpetrator. Unfortunately they are all currently occupied in another pressing matter," said the Chief, "Nevertheless; we still have two fine young detectives that will not relent until this murder is solved."

The reporter understanding that this was the all the Chief was saying merged with the crowd. While the Chief absentmindedly walked around the scene lost in thought, his deputy dragged him back to reality.

"Are you sure about this, sir?"

"They maybe blithering idiots but I really don't have a choice, do I? Giles?" retorted the Chief, "If I let this one go, the press is gonna give us some serious trouble."

Meanwhile, Matt woke up to his usual morning scenery: across the room, which takes a metamorphosis when looked at from afar, sleeping, one arm dangling at the side of his bed lay Chuck; lost in a blissful Neverland. Still drowsy from waking up, Matt looked at his watch.

"Oh, six o clock," he exclaimed and called out for Chuck, who merely gave a grunt in response.

Matt threw himself out of bed and into the bathroom, attempting to wash away the weariness of the night; and to get himself ready for another monotonous day at the department, for he and Chuck worked in the INTERPOL. They were both considerably new recruits so they hadn't seen much action yet and were never appointed to anything even remotely interesting.

Little did they know that all that was about to change.

After a nice cold shower he felt wide awake and stepped out of the bathroom and found Chuck still sleeping. He took a deep breath.

"OI! WAKE UP!" he yelled.

The sudden sound woke him up with a start, and fell off the bed.

"Huh, where am I?" said Chuck, and realizing what had happened, "Oh."

He got up slowly; almost sloth-like, and an indifferent grunt indicated he was going to the bathroom. A half-hour later, both of them were dressed and ready. Matt, in a black shirt, white belt and black pants, his untidy hair falling to his eyes and swept right; and standing up at the back. Chuck in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His glasses were a little lopsided and his hair had styled off its own accord!

The phone rang and Matt answered, the Chief spoke on the other end.

"Boys, I have a crime scene I need you to be at, so drag your asses out of bed and get there on the double!"

And the ever eager Matt replied,

"Yes, sir!" overstressing the point by repeating what he had just said several times with different phraseology, which annoyed the Chief who sighed and hung up.

"Who was that?" asked Chuck.

"That, my friend, was the call we've been waiting for," said Matt, being his usual self and overdramatizing the sentence and moving his head in a slow nod as he spoke.

"Anna called?" said Chuck, looking hopeful.

"What?! NO! SHES NOT CALLIN' BACK MAN!" said Matt exasperated, "That was the chief, said he had an assignment for us. Let's go!"

Then he reached for the door and turned back over to Chuck.

"Oh and-uh-by the way, your T-shirt's inside out."

The doors of the late Amy Scaglietti's apartment burst open and in stepped Matt and Chuck.

"INTERPOL! FREEZE!" they shouted, in unison.

But apart from the body, which had not been moved, they were alone. They looked at each other and shrugged.

"OK," they said, quite unconcerned by the fact that their attempt at a grand and exiting entrance hadn't really worked out.

Matt looked at his watch.

"One o clock, lunch-break," he theorized.

"Oh right. That explains why the room's empty."

"Thanks for that 'Captain Obvious'!"

"Sure thing," said Chuck, quite pleased with himself. He then turned around to walk out of the room but was caught in the arm by Matt.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Matt.

"Well it is lunch break so-"

"Oh no you don't!" said Matt, sounding quite stern, "This is our first homicide, and we got to do this by the book; we mess up, and it's all over."

"So why can't we just have lunch and then solve a murder?"

"This is our big break, Chuck" began Matt, overdramatizing, "Do you really want to throw away our future, the future of the department or even the world as we know it? Just for a little lunch?

"Ok aren't you being a little bit overdramatic here?"

"Oh come on man, just forget the lunch."

Irritated though he was, Chuck gave in. They moved in close to the body and Chuck bent down to examine it closely while Matt looked around the room intently for clues.

"Oh!"

"What is it? What did you find?" asked Matt, eagerly.

"She's dead."

"Whaa-!? Of course she's dead!" said Matt, impatiently, "That's why we're here!"

"I'm just sayin'."

Deciding it would be prudent to take matters into his own hands; Matt too, bent down to examine her body for himself. And then he lingered on the gunshot wound which was a tad inaccurate.

"Look at this," said Matt, "The bullet hit about an inch and a half away from the center of the head. Which means-"

"If the killer was standing at the door, it wouldn't have been hard to take this shot; even if he wasn't an expert."

"Exactly," agreed Matt, intrigued, looking around the room.

"Not too much blood splattered either, I wonder why that is."

Matt, ignored this last comment and continued to look around and did a double take. He leapt off the floor and picked up the object that had caught his eye.

A lipstick.

"What's that?" asked Chuck.

"I never thought I'd see one in my life!" said Matt, captivated by the small roll, "This is 'Le Baiser de la mort' #22!"

"I don't know what you've been smokin' man," said Chuck, amused by Matt's fascination over beauty product, "But that's just a roll of lipstick!"

"Oh for god's sake!" retorted Matt, "Haven't you ever read Jean-Pierre's Lipstick District magazine?!"

Chuck looked absolutely aghast that his best friend ever suggested something as horrible as that, so Matt began to explain.

"This is a very rare piece work; it's not mass-produced anymore due to the considerable government regulations on the stuff after the 'lipstick incident' in 2006. The stuff's been banned from sales in the market. But the point is, some companies still produce them secretly and it can be found if you know where to look."

"It is," and he paused for the effect, "the marijuana of cosmetics."

"Oh - my - god!" said Chuck, pausing at every word, "You read cosmetics magazines?!"

Matt who had been caught off guard, stammered for a second.

"Er-. No!" he said airily.

Chuck gave him a searching look.

"It's a guilty pleasure alright!" snapped Matt, annoyed at Chuck's nosiness.

"Okay, okay!" said Chuck, quickly.

But Matt suddenly looked solid.

"Oi! You okay?" inquired Chuck.

"Yeah I'm fine," said Matt, distantly, "It just occurred to me: you know how I'm a big fan of Scaglietti?"

"Yeah I've seen you go wee yourself when she's on TV," said Chuck indifferently.

"I don't wee myself!" said Matt defensively, "It's just a reflex. I've known her for a long time but I have never seen her with any kind of makeup. Let me just check something."

And with that he left the room and came back moments later; in his hands: a small box.

Chuck looked bored and Matt, who had expected nothing more from him, wasn't bothered.

"Alright, this stuff is Scaglietti's beauty supplies," said Matt, "A bit low-end I'd say. Doesn't quite add up does it?"

"Yeah, it does seem fishy," replied Chuck, playing with his ear, a sign of him being thoughtful, "So what? Do you think 'Our guy" dropped this?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but I got a feeling. Let's get this down to the lab," said Matt, "I think we can get some DNA off of this. It's been used."

"Makes sense to me," said Chuck regaining his indifferent composure.

"Come on let's go," said Matt, looking at Scaglietti's lifeless form on the floor with her right arm beneath her back, an expression of fear mixed with dislike on his face, "Dead people make me feel weird!"

"OK," said Matt, "I've sent the lipstick to be tested for DNA, it should give us something soon."

"Great," said Chuck, they were in a small room which they had chosen to be their evidence room, "It seems that our victim was quite the media celebrity."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"How about this then?" said Chuck, "She also provided critical information that got some big players into prison."

"Now that's interesting"

"What does the ballistics report say?"

Matt read an extract from the report, "It says here that the bullet that killed Amy was a .45 caliber."

"That's not very helpful considering how easy it is to get one's hand on one of those," said Chuck doing a background check on Scaglietti.

Sometime later Chuck had found an item that was particularly interesting, and decided to share it with Matt.

"OK. I got something," said he.

"What?" asked Matt, concentrating his gaze at Chuck.

"Ms Scaglietti had a friend named Sarah Burnley who she frequently visited and went out with."

"Let me see that," and he took the paper Chuck was reading, "Seems like they were very close."

"Yeah and also, she had a maid who did all her chores"

"Yet another suspect," said Matt, "Here's something else."

He indicated to the autopsy report he was holding.

"Autopsy report says that she was shot in the left hemisphere of the frontal lobe of the cerebrum missing the hypothalamus by about an inch at a 75 angle from the lower center of the anterior cranial region at the bridge of the nasal cavity."

"And you assume I know what all that means?" said Chuck in a 'you-don't-know-me-at-all-do-you?' fashion.

"It means she was shot in the head you blithering idiot!"

"Oh," dragging it, said he, smiling, "OK."

"Also," read Matt, "Little to no bleeding would be expected as the bullet was lodged into the wound preventing much loss of blood."

"Well that answers my question," Chuck looked at Matt happily.

The two of them discussed the evidence; the conversation grew steadily animated, until at last Matt pulled out his mobile phone.

"I'm calling my lipstick guy. Hello mate, it's me Matt," he spoke to the other person as soon as he'd answered the call, "I have to ask you for a favor."

Knowing his friend, he took the silence as 'The Green light'.

"I need you to check out this particular lipstick and get me some details on it," said Matt, "Yeah, it's a Jean-Pierre."

"OK, thanks," said Matt, as the person at the other end accepted the task and he hung up.

Chuck, who had been looking dumbstruck throughout the small conversation, spoke at last.

"You have a lipstick guy?" asked Chuck, in a small voice.

"Yeah," replied Matt airily, bobbing his head, "That's still not much to work with though. I say we go see the victim's friend, Sarah Burnley, maybe she can give us something."

Chuck agreed and the pair exited the room.

They arrived at Ms Burnley's apartment, a healthy brown door stood in front of them. Matt knocked and a few seconds later, Ms Burnley opened door and inquired the identity of the two strangers before her. Matt and Chuck coolly showed her their badges.

"Good morning Ms. Burnley," greeted Matt, "We're from the INTERPOL, and we would like to ask you a few questions."

"How do I know that you are really who you say you are?" demanded Ms Burnley, not impolitely.

The two detectives showed her the tag on the badges.

This seemed to be enough for her, and she invited them in to a spacious living room, furbished handsomely. Ms Burnley, quite sadly, after they were seated, spoke

"I still can't believe she's gone."

Chuck, who had brought a writing pad along, audibly noted, "Can't - believe - she's - gone."

Matt fired Chuck a glare, then looked back at Ms Burnley, kindly.

"We understand your plight Ms. Burnley, and we know how hard this is going to be for you, but we want you to try and answer a few questions about Ms. Scaglietti, for us, OK?"

"OK," she said, her voice cracked halfway, but she swallowed and spoke much more clearly, "I think I can do that."

"Great!" said Matt, "so, when was the last time you saw Ms. Scaglietti?"

"She was here the morning before she-," she broke off.

"Died?" completed Chuck, tactlessly to Ms Burnley who nodded, "At - Burnley's - home - 3 - days – ago," he wrote. Matt looked at Chuck as If he were something appalling.

"At that time did she look agitated or upset about something?" inquired Matt.

"Not that I could see," replied Ms Burnley, "I mean she was always a little frustrated about her work, but nothing out of the ordinary."

Chuck made another note, "Nothing unusual except for usual jitters."

"Would you please stop that!" shot Matt, frustrated with Chuck's indifference.

"Right, sorry," he said, finally feeling the room.

"Did she have any enemies?" wondered Matt.

"She helped bust about many high ranking criminals and reported all sorts of scandals and what not, I think she would have had a few, yeah."

"Several – enemies," said Chuck, but this time, Matt ignored him.

"Can you tell us anything else that might help? Anything at all?" asked Matt.

"Well," she thought for a moment, "I can tell that she was working on something before her, you know, but I don't know if it'll be of any help."

"Even the smallest detail can be of great help," encouraged Matt.

"She was working on a case in Citibank."

Chuck looked up at Ms Burnley, "The one in Wall Street?"

"That's the big apple!" said Matt.

"Oh no," corrected Ms Burnley, "the small one in London"

"Do you know what the story was about?" asked Matt.

"I'm sorry, I don't know."

"Righto then, next stop, Citibank!" said Chuck and added, "The small one."

They stood up and walked over to the door but Matt turned around to face Ms Burnley again and asked her to notify them if she remembers anything more; anything that might help them.

"Alright, I will," she said, smiling goodbye.

"Thank you, Ms Burnley. Goodbye."

Once they had located the Citibank office in London, they asked for an audience with the manager. The receptionist ushered them to a small room with an imposing desk, on it stood proudly, a pluck that read.

They waited in their seats, which were quite comfortable in Matt's opinion, for quite some time before the manager arrived. One side of the room was entirely glass, overlooking the road, it was painted white and the mahogany desk took up at least half the room. A filing cabinet stood against the right wall, just behind the desk. A fish tank bubbled enchantingly next to Matt, on his right-hand side and he peered in to examine the beautiful gold fish drifting in the water, floating in and out of the magnificent, artificial underwater landscape. He had always been fascinated by fish, and he loved watching them.

"Magnificent, isn't she?" said a voice that shook Matt out of his trance.

"Hello," said Matt, turning his attention towards the speaker, who was now walking over to his desk.

"Hello?" sniggered Chuck.

"Well, you have to start with hello," said Matt, matter-of-factly, and he looked at Mr. Oswald; he was in his late thirties and looked very impressive and somehow Matt got the feeling that he was a man who always got his way.

"Now," said he, in the same cold voice with which he had spoke before, "How can I help you?"

"Yes," said Matt, returning to what he was saying before Chuck had interrupted him, "We're from the INTERPOL."

"So I see-," said the manager flatly.

"And we would like to ask you if there has been any unusual activity here," Chuck cutting him.

"No, not really," said he.

"What do you mean?" asked Matt, leaning forwards.

"Well," he began, "There was a hidden camera that was discovered just two days ago."

"Really?" said Chuck.

"Yes, you see we were having a CCTV upgrade and it was found in this room, right there," Mr. Oswald was pointing at a place where the wall met the ceiling in a corner right behind him. They looked at it.

"Go on," urged Matt.

"Our Janitor then came to me and said that he'd seen the camera once, when he was cleaning," he continued, "Exactly a week ago, but he assumed it was part of the CCTV upgrade. Here it is; you can find that it has only been recording since 4 days ago."

"Was there anything else unusual?" asked Matt.

"No," said the manager, "Just this."

Matt wasn't convinced, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," said the manager, "But, quite frankly, this kind of thing happens often and between you and me the people around here aren't exactly the brightest bulbs in town so they get a real kick out of dimwitted things like this."

Chuck giggled, "I catch your drift."

But Matt's suspicions about the man not being entirely truthful weren't put at ease and as he continued to talk with Mr. Oswald, he realized that he wasn't about to let out any more information. It wasn't right; by his powers of deduction the manager was avoiding his questions. This was going nowhere so he decided to wrap it up.

"Well thank you for your cooperation. Anything unusual and you know where to find us, yeah?"

"Good day," said the manager.

"See you," replied Chuck.

As they walked out of the building Chuck was talking fervently about how he had thought the manager was hiding something and then an idea struck Matt which changed his expression to sheer smugness. He was just about to explain it to Chuck when-

"I know that look anywhere," said Chuck, smiling with a raised eyebrow, "You need a coffee!"

"No you id-," began Matt, but now that he had mentioned it; "OK you're right. I do need a coffee!"

They had a nice little coffee break and returned to where they had been standing just before they engaged their coffee break. Chuck had a problem with this.

"OK, so we had coffee, but why did we have to come back to the bank?" asked Chuck, "Shouldn't we be headed for the evidence room?"

Matt raised his finger to explain, deliberated for a second, and upon realizing the stupidity in coming back to the same spot they ziped to the evidence room.