"St. Claire! How are you?" I said.

He looked haggard behind the desk. For a second I had some sympathy for the poor - holographic or not, guy. "Long day?" Accessing sympathy --

He looked up and said, "It's you, Hunta. I thought it was someone important."

Access denied. "You know, St. Claire, I have to apologize."

He cocked his head, "How so?"

"I'm apologizing because I may have misled you. I really do think you're an idiot."

He jumped up scattering paper everywhere and puffed his chest out. "You, Sir, I don't like. You come in here thinking you are better than the rest of us --"

"No, just you."

He worked his mouth like a fish out of water for a few seconds. "I think we should handle this like men."

I smiled, "Who's going to fight for you then?"

I could see in his eyes he wanted to swing at me. Tempting fate I leaned forward and presented him my jaw. I counted to five and straightened back up. "Is the Inspector in?"

He sat down, disappointed - probably in himself, and said, "No."

I stood there for a few minutes.

He had gone back to doing his paperwork. He looked up. "You didn't hear me the first time?"

I chuckled. "I heard you, but knew you just had something else to say?"

He frowned.

"Like, what time he would be in?"

He stared at me for a long moment. It occurred to me that the author of the Gaslight series meant for Maverick, me, and St. Claire to be at odds. My disliking him was probably no coincidence and he probably had a very important role in the series.

"Your mother has a smooth forehead."

He blinked at me, "What?"

"Oh brother, you won't make this smooth. You'd rather be difficult instead."

He blinked several more times. "The Inspector won't be in until 9."

I said, "Thank you," turned and left. I'd have to come up with more insults for this guy. Krunare was right in a way. You don't have to be civil in a holographic world, particularly with holographic knuckleheads.

 

After a few minutes I found my way to the Scotland Yard Morgue. The coroner’s office wasn't too far from the staging area. I remembered this from the last time we paid him a visit. He was sitting at his desk reading some sort of thick book. I gave a quick rap on his door.

He looked up. "Matt, please sit down."

I did and sank into a rather comfortable chair.

"She was pregnant."

"Come again, sir? I thought you said she was pregnant?"

"A full trimester."

"Interesting."

He nodded. "Thanks for the other two."

I smiled. "Those, well, they needed some discipline."

He chuckled. "You know this town has seen its share of the supernatural."

I forgot that this is a fictional world with fictional people. The author meant for some of the key characters to know what was going on. There were a lot of things I assumed – and wrongly. I hadn’t the time to spend running through the Gaslight Hunter series as T’Irs did, so I was mostly lost. After sitting a few minutes talking to the Coroner I had the impression we talked often.

“Computer, pause program,” I said.

The computer beeped.

“What is his name?”

The computer said, “His name is Dr. Leonard Roland.”

“And what does Matt Maverick normally call him?”

“Matt Maverick refers to the Coroner as Leo.”

“Resume, program, please.”

A beep and Leo continued talking. “– that detective St. Claire is hiding something. I don’t like him.”

“You, too?” I laughed. A holograph bashing another holograph, I loved this technology.

He nodded.

“Maybe he’s hiding that he is incompetent?”

Leo laughed, “Maybe. His reports are rarely complete and often sloppy.”

Interesting. I said, “Maybe he really is hiding the fact that he is incompetent. Like this last murder. How was his report?”

Leo grunted. “The worst. Lots of inconsistencies.”

“Really? How so? Who found the body?”

“St. Claire did.”

I frowned.

“He wrote in his report,” then he stopped. “Here, read for yourself. And as always, leave this here.” He smiled and got up. “Care for a pick me up?” He walked over to a metal file cabinet and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out two glasses and a bottle of something clear. He blew in both glasses. I guess to clear out the dust.

I laughed, “It’s nearly nine in the morning?”

“And your point is?” He poured the clear liquid into each glass.

“Here,” he said, while handing me a glass. He sat down heavily. “For me, half the day has already gone. I’m getting old and need to retire.”

I read through several pages. Spelling errors and information left out. I took a sip. Whiskey! So Mr. Matt Maverick likes whiskey. Then I remembered T’Irs picked this character for me. “Retire then. Enjoy your life,” I replied. I realized that I could either run through this adventure like a single person shooter game or take it seriously. Krunare and Lant were fun to be with but if T’Irs or I were to run the adventures like a detective series we had to start following some basic rules and etiquettes. One, is you treat the holographs like they were real. Two, you act like you belong in this world. As much fun as I had I really did what to run this like T’Irs would. I think she regretted inviting Krunare and Lant along. The adventure turned combat and T’Irs is not about that. “Leo, retire and enjoy your live. You’re around death every day.”

He sighed, “What would I do?”

“Hobbies, maybe, and if you want excitement join us. We can always use another Hunter and I think you’d make a great member.”

He smiled and beamed. I think I triggered an Easter egg in the program. Won’t T’Irs be surprised?

I drained the glass. “Alright Leo, thanks for the spirits and the chat.”

He walked me out the door.

“I’ll think about the offer.”

“Good,” I said and I was out the door, down the hall. I had some questions I needed answered.

 

St. Claire was at the desk shuffling paper. He looked up and said, “It’s not nine o’clock yet.”

I answered, “That’s fine. As strange as it may seem I came to ask you a few questions.”

“Oh really? And what do you know about asking questions?”

I ignored him, “Who found the thirteenth victim?”

He stared at me, a little too hard. “I did.”

I acted surprised. “Really? You weren’t working, were you?”

He slowly said, “I was on my way home and I spotted the body –“

“Continue please.”

He stood up. “I don’t have to answer your questions. You aren’t the law around here.” He stepped away from the desk and headed toward one of the back rooms.

A few detectives had gathered near his desk and they looked surprised.

“What’s back there,” I asked.

“The stalls,” one of them replied.

I stepped over the railing and walked back there. I had passed several officers and a locker room. I found the bathroom and walked in. St. Claire was in one of the stalls. I decided to wait and passed the time washing my hands. A few minutes later he came out and looked surprised.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here? Get out!” He was mad and the veins in his forehead were pulsating.

“Make me,” I dared.

He seemed as if he was considering doing just that but decided not to. “What the devil do you want, Hunter?”

“How come you don’t call me by my name?”

“What?”

I repeated, “How come you don’t call me by my name?”

He paused for a moment, “I don’t remember it.” He turned away. He worked his jaw muscles for a few seconds.

“It’s Chi – it’s Matt. Matt Maverick.”

He looked at me for a few seconds then walked out. ‘What a strange fellow,’ I thought. He forgot to wash his hands, which would be punishable by beating if it were up to me.

I counted a few seconds and walked out.

St. Claire was not at his desk.

I asked one of the detectives.

“St. Claire? Probably buying ‘imself some cake.”

The other detectives laughed. I faked mine. “Computer, pause program.”

The computer beeped.

I asked, “What does cake, in this context, mean?”

“The word ‘cake’ was used to describe the Human female genitalia. Its more common usage referred to the Human female buttocks. The word was sometimes used as a designation for a female prostitute.”

“Stop, thanks, computer. Resume program.”

The laughing continued. I said, “Does he have a favorite?”

They stopped laughing and drifted off, not saying a word. I got a little frustrated and decided to use one of my help options.

“Computer, pause program.”

The computer beeped.

“Did they hear me?”

“It is a common practice that Law Enforcement personnel refrain from saying anything that could incriminate a fellow Law Enforcement co-worker. In the 20 th century this behavior would be called the “blue wall,” “Blue shield,” “Code of silence,” “Blue silence,” –“

“Computer stop.” I barely heard the beep in the background. I was thinking feverously. Something was not right here. I understood what the computer was telling me. Subconsciously I sensed it when the detectives walked away. “Computer, resume, program.” I had the notion to walk up to one of the detectives and beat it out of him. I took a step toward one and out the corner of my eye saw the Inspector walk in. I changed course and followed him to his office. “Excuse me, Inspector.”

He stopped, “Mr. Maverick, it’s you. I’d like to thank you for stopping those murderers last night. All of London can now rest.”

I nodded impatiently. “No problem, sir, but I need some help.”

We stepped into his office and I immediately took a seat.

“You need my help? Really?” He walked to his chair and sat down. “It is an honor, Mr. Maverick –“

I nodded quickly. I wanted to say, “Yeah, yeah, shut up,” but I said, “Why is St. Claire here?”

He frowned and I could see he stopped himself from giving me a dirty look. “What do you mean, Sir?” His tone was icy cold and I knew I struck a nerve.

“Why is St. Claire here?”

“That’s what I thought you said.” He got up and walked to the door and opened it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Maverick, but I have a lot of work to do. I must bide you good day, Sir.” And he held it open for a long while.

I reluctantly got up and stepped through. I turned and stopped him from closing the door. “She was pregnant.” Then I left. I stepped outside and found Maurice waiting for me.

He called to me. “Sir, will you be needing my services today?”

I hopped into the carriage. “Absolutely. Umm, what does Miss. Lynn Mei give you?”

He said, “Sir, you may give me however much you need my services.” Then he smiled.

I reached in my jacket pocket and found some loose change. I pulled out a Schilling; at least I think that’s what it was. “Here, will this be enough for half the day?”

“Must assuredly, Governa.” He took the coin and tipped his hat at me. “Where to, Sa?”

I handed him the piece of paper with the address on it.

“Very good, Sir.” He snapped the reigns and we were off.

About fifteen minutes later we were at the address. It was a rundown brick tenant. Kids and hanging clothes dotted the yard and windows. I got out. “I’ll be back, Maurice.”

“Very good, Governa. We’ll be waitin’ over there by the shade.”

I nodded at the retreating carriage. I turned and faced the building. This is what you’re supposed to do when you investigate, right? I stepped up to the front entrance and looked for some way to know who lived were.

A middle-aged woman stepped out and said, “’ello, ‘andsome, you looking for a bit of company?”

“Madam –“

“And so formal too.”

“-- I’m looking for the residence of a Miss Annie Thompson.”

Her face dropped. “Oh, sorry, Mister but Annie is not here. She was the last victim of the vicious murderer. And we thought the ripper was a problem. 'O would want to do such a thing? Bloody monster, I say. It ain’t natural I tell ya –“

I interrupted, “Yes, I know. I’m investigating her death.”

She beamed and walked over to me. “Yo’ don’t look like a Peeler. Are ya some type of detective?”

“Something like that, I’m a Hunter.”

“A ‘unter! My word and a right lookin’ one at that. ‘ow can I 'elp you ‘andsome?”

I nodded. "Did she have any friends? Any one in particular she hung out with?"

The woman thought for a moment. "There was this nice young man. 'e seemed not to mind that she was a lady of particular profession, if you know wha’ I mean."

That was a nice way to put it. "She saw him often?"

"Oh, yes Sir, on the weekends mostly. She would dance around on a cloud, she would, and say, 'ow 'appy she was. That was, until --"

"Until when?"

The woman sighed. "She was pregnant, you know."

I nodded. "Was it his?"

The woman shrugged. "Don't know. Annie didn't care. She told me that she was going to ‘ave the child and get a right decent job. Buy ‘er a ‘ouse, maybe. She ‘ad some money saved up."

"She had money, yet she continued to --"

"Annie was strange that way. She said she could ‘ave all the sex in the world and be paid for it. I tell ya, youth these days. Now a lady wouldn't be doing that for fun. It would be --"

I nodded, "I'm sorry, but you said she had money?"

She nodded, "Enough to stop doing the business. ‘er Father passed away a year ago and left ‘er with it. She was already working for years."

I nodded, "I understand. Oh, one more question."

"Anything, Governa, and you know I am a lady of discerning taste, if you know what I mean?" She winked at me.

I cleared my throat and said, "Does this man have a name?"

"I don't remember, but if you see me later tonight I may be able to remember."

Good grief. I reached in my pocket and pulled out some change. I really wished at that moment that T'Irs was around to help me out. I really didn’t have a clue about this money -- and I resisted using the computer to bail me out on this. "Ummm --"

"Yes?"

I reached for several of the large silver pieces. The Barkeep at the Pub and Maurice seemed to like those. There were six of them left. I grabbed three in the other hand. "Will this help?"

She smiled, "Maybe but I would rather you give me a pintle. I can make it worth it. This old girl still ‘as it."

I grabbed the other three. "You can buy you a -- pintle." I guessed at the meaning.

She smiled and gingerly took all six. "That right, I can." The coins disappeared. "’is name is Saint something."

"What?"

"Ya ‘eard right. Saint something. Now visit me and I'll give you the rest. I can give ya a bit for the finga."

I smiled, "You gave me enough, thanks." I handed her the rest of the money.

"Buy yourself two."

She cackled and walked off.

 

I had a notion and decided to follow it. I walked over to Maurice and the waiting horses. I climbed into the carriage and thought a few moments.

Maurice turned, "Where to Governa?"

I looked up, "Maurice, you know this town pretty well?"

He smiled, "Oh yes, Sir. Like the back of me hand."

"Is there a good place to get breakfast?"

"Absolutely, Sa. There's an establishment a bit of a ways, but well worth it I might add, it's my favorite."

I was curious about the food in this time period and decided that Holographic food was just as good as replicated food. "Take me to your favorite eatery, then."

 

About a half hour later we stopped in front of an old brick building. Kids were playing outside in the street. They seemed to be organized into teams and one kid kicked a tin can. The can went to the left and he ran to the right toward a basket. They all laughed as the kid danced and taunted, apparently, the opposing team.

‘Cute game,’ I supposed.

Maurice pulled up the carriage into a barn across the street. He unhitched the horses and led them both into a stall. He patted them. Both horses took sugar cubes from his hand as he walked by and then started eating hay from a buckle hanging in each stall. "Follow me, Sir."

I did and we walked passed the kids and through the entrance of the building. He took out keys and used them to open a door. "Maggie, we have company, make ya’self presentable." He yelled toward the back. "Please, sir, sit down."

I found a spot on a modest couch in a very modest room.

The kitchen was off to one side and there was a hallway that may have lead to a bedroom and bath. "Maurice, why are we here?"

He sat down in a chair next to the couch. "You wanted to go to my favorite eating establishment."

I nodded.

"Here it is, Sir. There is no one alive who can cook better than my Maggie. Would you care for a bit of spirits this morning? The juice will take a while. She makes it fresh, Sir."

After several minutes a middle-aged pleasantly healthy woman walked out. She was plump, but proportionally so - large chest, medium waist, slightly larger bottom half.

Maurice got up, "Maggie, this is one of the Huntas I was telling you about."

He turned to her, "Mr. Maverick, meet Maggie, the love of my life." He gave her a big kiss on the cheek.

She blushed, "Go on, why do’n’cha. He‘s such a sweet man."

They both nuzzled.

I smiled and thought, ‘Nice touch there computer, or would it have been the author?’

After several minutes, Maurice served me that drink. He only had Bourbon, but I graciously accepted it and enjoyed a holographic meal, with holographic people in a holographic world. How cruel could one get? Here I was enjoying myself with an illusion. I would never meet these folks in real life, nor would I ever eat their food. I could never see jolly ol' England , nor could I feast on the things that made it Jolly. I sighed, got up and said, "Computer, advance program to five hours from now."

The computer beeped.

"Hold." I heard the beep. "Save parameters 10 minutes before breakfast sequence. Save as 'Escape.'"

The computer beeped an acknowledgement.

My mood had turned foul at the thought of all this being a farce. At the moment I wanted to exit the program but decided not to. This is for recreational, entertainment, and educational purposes. If done right a good Holodeck program can relax or enlighten you. It's a blessing and curse rolled up into one ball and I had to remember there is nothing perfect about this world -- my world. I've been mad for a very long time and I realized I needed to be able to let it all go. Maggie and Maurice, as fake and illusional as they were, represented people who once lived. People were like that. People are still like that. I must never forget. "Resume, computer."

 

I found myself back at Scotland Yard. I nodded. Good, I was pissed and might as well be as uncivil as possible. I stormed in, walked to the dividing rail and stepped over it. St. Claire, at his desk, looked surprised, jumped up and got in my way.

I grabbed him by the collar and shook him like a dolly. I was mad and took it out on this bum. I released him and he looked stunned. I made my way to the Inspector's Office. Out of respect and years of military training I rapped on the door.

"Come in."

I stepped through and stumped up to the Inspector's desk. He leaned back involuntarily.

I got his attention. "He's a suspect, isn't he?"

The Inspector looked over my shoulders. I heard the door open and turned. St. Claire and a half dozen detectives were in the doorway.

The Inspector, much to his credit, snapped, "Get back to work. I can handle him."

Reluctantly, they backed away, all except St. Claire. He gave me a vicious stare and said, "We have some unfinished business."

"Shut up, Keystone."

He looked shocked, as did the Inspector. "How dare -- "

"You’re nothing but somebody’s hobbyhorse and cook’s own."

The Inspector shot back, "Mr. Maverick, See here, I must forcibly protest you insulting one of my men like that. Sir, you are no gentleman!"

I stopped and laughed, "Inspector, I like you, Holograph or not."

He blinked a few times. "Now, let's not bring religion into this."

I nodded, "You're right. I was rude and I apologize to you and to St. Claire." I turned to the man, "Sorry about that old chap."

His eyes narrowed and he backed away slowly.

I turned my attention back to the Inspector. "Why is he here?"

His face went dark again.

I interrupted his thoughts, "I'm not leaving this time."

We had a staring contest. No one, and I mean no one, stares better than T'Irs.

He lost his nerve and looked away. "Have a seat, then."

I did and waited.

He walked over to his little bar and poured himself a drink. It dawned on me that everyone did a lot of that. I made a mental note to ask T'Irs.

He walked back to the desk and sat. He handed me a glass. I took it and sipped.

"St. Claire is a transfer, but you should know that. He's here because of you."

Me? "Me?" Then I said, "Computer, pause program."

It beeped.

"Is that true?"

The computer replied, "The Inspector is referring to one of the earlier Gaslight Hunter Adventures."

"Ummm, how many adventures are there?"

"There are 291 permutations of the Gaslight Hunter adventures. Thirty-one exclusively featuring Matt Maverick and Miss Lynn Mei --"

"Resume program."

"Yes, you? St. Claire hasn't forgotten that."

I kept quiet for a moment and thought about what was just said. Then I remembered Leo bashing St. Claire. The guy is guilty of being incompetent.

I said, "This case with the last murder victim has interested me."

The Inspector nodded.

"And, I'm looking for a regular person."

He looked grim -- and nodded.

"May I speak with St. Claire?"

He was still for a long time. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"I want to be there."

I smiled, "Absolutely."

The Inspector had me wait in a small room at the rear of the building. A few minutes later the door opened. St. Claire and the Inspector walked in. To show respect for the Inspector I stood up and nodded my head. The Inspector took a seat in the corner and St. Claire sat in a chair opposite mine, an old worn out table between us.

He looked at me as if the stare alone was good enough to murder me.

I smiled and said, "God save the Queen."

He looked at me as if I lost my mind.

"God save the Queen," I repeated. Then I added. "You are a Patriot, aren't you?"

He frowned and seemed to be wondering where I was going with this. "Yes, I am. Are you?"

"Everyday and every night. Who do you think appointed the Hunters?"

He was about to say something, but I cut him off. "The Queen did!" The truth was I had no idea if that was right. It sounded good and I think I made my point. "And we protect the Empire from evil doers and beasts --" I let the silence hang for a few seconds. "So, when I do something I do it for the Queen, the Empire, her honor, and the lives of its citizens, in that order. What I may have done in the past was for a reason." I let him mull that over.

He stared at me for a long while. "What do you want to know?"

I leafed through his report. It was a wreck. I'm sure kids could have done a better job. "I can't quite make out the time you found the body. What time was it?"

"I don't remember the exact time. Maybe half past seven ."

"And how did you get word to Headquarters?"

"One of the locals. His name is there."

I nodded, "Pasbatu. French?"

He nodded, "I believe so."

"And what position was the body in when you found it?"

He seemed like he was trying to remember, "Face up, head pointing to the right."

I leafed through the report some more. "Was that your right, or the victim's right?"

"Pardon?"

"Your right or the victim's?"

"Mine, I guess. Look it was a taxing day. I had a lot of things going on through my head.”

"What was the temperature like when you found the body?"

"What the bloody hell does the weather have to do with this?"

"It helps to determine the time of death."

"She was killed by a bloody monster. Just like all the others. One of those things you Hunters killed bit her on the neck. What more do you need to know?"

"Did you love her?"

"You killed the murderer, why are you bloody asking me foolish questions!"

I shut my mouth and waited.

After a few minutes, his agitation wore off.

The Inspector said, "St. Claire, Mr. Maverick just needs some information. Please answer 'im."

St. Claire got red in the face and blasted, "All bloody all to hell! Yes I did!"

"You knew she was pregnant?"

He pushed himself hard against the back of the chair and nodded. "Why are you asking me these silly questions," he mumbled.

"Did you know Annie still had most of her blood?"

He looked surprised. "You're lying. She had the holes in her neck! I made --" He paused.

"You made what?"

I could barely hear him. "I made a thorough search. There was no blood on the ground."

"And did you note the state of the body?"

He frowned, "It was stiff."

"Spell Rigor Mortis for me, please."

The Inspector shot out, "What the blazes does that have to do with the murder?"

"A lot. Please spell it."

St. Claire chewed his lower lip. "I don't have to answer that."

I slowly turned the report over and signed heavily. "Okay, I'm done, you're finished -- here, St. Claire."

He hesitated, then got up and left in a huff.

The Inspector stormed over to me. "Was there a reason you wasted my time like that?"

I turned and smiled at the Inspector. "Can you spell it?"

"Of course I can."

"Humor me, spell it backwards, quickly."

"I don't get it, but if it'll keep you from rankling my men – ‘s i t r o m r o g i r.’ He looked satisfied at himself. "There."

"You remember the number of r's in the two words?"

He frowned and thought for a quick second, "three. Now explain to me this line of questioning."

"St. Claire can't spell."

"What?"

"He has a learning disability and you've been his crutch all --"

"Now see, here, Sir. You have gone too far. I thought you were investigating --"

"Inspector, I am investigating this. I also have to be sure that St. Claire is hiding some inadequacies and not hiding that he is a murderer."

The Inspector looked sad and the man seemed to age ten years before my eyes. "We have been shielding St. Claire."

I nodded.

"But, Mr. Maverick, you must understand. St. Claire comes from a very prominent family with ties to Scotland Yard and the Queen." He let me think about that, which I did.

However, incompetence is still incompetence. I nodded but I let my face show my disappointment. We both exited the room. He went to his office and I went to outside. St. Claire was dragging heavily on a fag.

"It’s hard isn't it?" I said after I stepped up next to him.

He didn't look at me. He sucked harder on the cigarette. "What would you know? You're a Hunta, and everyone knows Huntas are bloody perfect."

"May I have one?"

He turned and gave me a particular look. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack. He snapped his wrist like a pro and two cigarettes popped up. I took one he took the other. He took out his lighter and lit both.

I inhaled deeply, held it for a second and let it out like they do it in the old movies. "We aren't perfect. We make mistakes too."

"Like killing someone by accident?"

"We try not too, but I'm sure it could, may have, happened."

He dragged hard, "It's never happened to you?"

That hit me. I've killed on the count of orders and did my duty as a soldier and a professional. We called it collateral damage in the business. In all the thousands of years of killing there is still collateral damage. Will it take another thousand years to eliminate it? "Probably, but it was from a distance. I wouldn't know and that makes it easier, I suppose."

He nodded like he understood. For some long minutes we smoked in silence. Me thinking about my past, him about nothing real, how could he. But the computer made it convincing and that made it the more powerful. He whispered, "For the Empire." He turned to me and said, "Hunt -- Maverick, I hope you never have to carry the burden." Then he walked back inside.

I nodded and understood perfectly what he meant. I said, "Computer, inquiry. Will St. Claire go to the murder site?"

The computer beeped. "With this particular set of permutation the character St. Claire will visit the site designated as Victim thirteen."

"Advance program, place me in invisibility mode, to location."

The computer beeped and a dozen scenes flashed before me.

St. Claire was sitting on the ground smoking. "I miss you terribly, Annie. Forgive me please, I was a fool." Tears started flowing down his cheeks. After a few minutes he wiped his eyes dry and took out a small revolver. He held it in his hands. "For God, Country, and the Queen," he smiled, "In that order," and ate his pistol.

I assumed St. Claire killed Annie Thompson for whatever reason that made sense to him. Something happened between the two and fate handed Annie her life on a platter. St. Claire had been carrying the burden of his deed heavily. Now he fessed up. In his last minutes on life he cried and cleansed all his fears away in a stream of tears. Who knows the nature of self that drives a person to become one of their own demons? In a poetic gesture St. Claire dispensed his punishment. ‘To die alone, in the shadows.’

"Computer, end program, exit please."

 

Epilogue

 

I stepped through the door and saw T'Irs sitting on the couch. She had a PADD in her hand. Homework I guess. She looked up. "Who was the murderer?"

"St. Claire."

"Why did he do it?"

"Annie Thompson was pregnant with a child and she was going to have it. He was upset that she was not going to stop her life as a professional woman. They fought, he killed her.”

T’Irs raised an eyebrow.

At that moment I wondered if T’Irs would have gotten a very human act. Would she have over analyzed it?

“He took his own life.”

She nodded, “I suspected that to be a probable ending. However, I am glad that you were successful in solving this mystery.” T'Irs patted the space next to her.

I said, "Madam, are you flirting with me?" I assumed I was going to get my reward now.

T'Irs was absolutely stone faced, except for her eyes. Her pupils reacted.

I smiled and decided I didn't need an answer. I swaggered over and sat close. T'Irs has her ways to let me know when she's in the mood -- and this was one. I don't have to be a detective or a mind reader for that!

End