November 2, 2015

Detective Fog had been back in her office under fifteen minutes before Dexter Mars sauntered in and demanded, "I have an appointment with Alafogiannis, Private Investigator," at her as if she were a secretary.

She was on her way to make coffee, sure, so the look she gave him was polite. Holding out her hand to shake, she said, "That's me."

"Detective," said Dexter, shaking her hand with an unexpected delicateness. Dexter Mars towered tall enough over her that it seemed as if he was twice her size, or might as well have been, and had the proportions of a colossus: limbs like tree trunks and a round, meaty head like a boulder made out of human flesh. He was clean-shaven, handsome, and well dressed, almost in defiance of the statuesque body type — a single hair out of place would have made him look like a giant out of a story.

"Step inside my office," said Detective Fog, and she gave Jimmy a look that said make coffee, and he gave her a look that said, screw you, I'm not the secretary either. When the door closed behind Dexter Mars, the last sound before the door slamming into the frame was the coffee maker turning on.

The little office was a weird layout, with Malyssa's desk facing the bare wall instead of the paned glass windows and a guest chair awkwardly to the side of her desk chair, but Dexter figured it out and sat down.

"Like I said last night," he said, making himself comfortable in the chair and the office that were altogether too small for him, "the police suspect Adoni Rex in the murder of his wife."

"Might I suggest you hire a lawyer?" asked Detective Fog. She was in the corner next to her desk, pouring two glasses of water from a filtered carafe.

"Mr. Rex has a whole team of lawyers. Maybe I shouldn't worry, but the problem is, Mr. Rex looks bloody culpable. It seems to me that if the authorities choose to chase him down and back him into a corner, they might just secure a conviction. Even if it doesn't go that far, Mr. Rex would prefer not to go to a very public trial, especially considering the very private details — precisely the ones that make him look guilty.

"If the cops think they can pin this on Mr. Rex to avoid looking like idiots who let the mafia get yet another one over on them, they're not going to be doing their jobs properly. What Mr. Rex wants is evidence as to the real murderer, something to put the police on the real scent."

Malyssa nodded along, not making any further objections. Curiosity won over that. "What is it that makes him look guilty?" she asked.

Dexter Mars rubbed his hands together and set to doing what he was best at: putting a spin on something awful that made it sound not so bad.

"Mr. Rex hired a private investigator to look into his wife's personal life. Not unlike thousands of spouses across America. The problem is, this P.I. has gone forward to the police and accused Mr. Rex of unsavory requests. There's absolutely no truth to these allegations. The supposed evidence is photography that goes, well, too far in terms of breach of privacy, not that any of it's legal, but there's a particular moral line that's been crossed.

"That's not proof that Mr. Rex asked for any such thing. If the P.I. was uncomfortable with the services requested by Mr. Rex, why did he take the photos? Yet he has told the police that Mr. Rex was stalking his wife, and he felt like something was off about his level of fanaticism. For all anyone can prove, it could have been the private investigator who fell in love and started stalking her."

"Was there an affair?" asked Detective Fog.

Dexter shook his head, but his face was dark, and he didn't meet her eyes for a second. "Here's the kicker," he said, dropping the campaign manager act and getting real with her. "Athena wasn't having an affair. But Mr. Rex was. My understanding is that he didn't believe the results obtained by the private investigator. He was sure his wife was cheating on him, so he got revenge on her the way that made the most sense: by having an affair of his own. His mistress lives in Richmond. She broke it off with him just a week ago. It would be best if the police didn't talk to her, I think."

"Name and number?" said Malyssa.

"So you can knock her off?" Dexter smirked, eyebrows raised as if it were a fair question.

Detective Fog leaned back in her chair and swiveled around to face him. "So I can contact her if I have any questions," she said seriously.

There was hesitation as Dexter told her, "Marisa Xenaki," and pored through his phone for her number.

"Xenaki? I know that name." She thought for a second without asking for a hint. "Is that Athena's maiden name?"

Noncommittally Dexter nodded with a simultaneous shoulder shrug that said, and what?

"The sister?" said Detective Fog. "That is awful." At the last instant, she remembered to suspend judgment and bit her tongue to shut up.

After reading the number out, Dexter added, "Mr. Rex is willing to compensate your billable hours worked on the case, as well as a sizable bonus for solving the case. Actually, scratch that, you don't even need to bloody solve it, just get the police off his tail and onto the correct tail. Or any other tail. He'll give you equal to the retainers of that whole team of lawyers. You can get yourself a bigger office, for starters."

"In this city?" Malyssa joked. "I should confide one more thing to you before you hire me," she went on. "I'm a suspect in a murder case as well. The police are unlikely to cooperate with me at this time."

He regarded her steadily as if weighing all hundred and thirty pounds of her with deep scrutiny but only for a few breaths. "Will that stop you from accomplishing what Mr. Rex is asking?" he said.

"Probably not," Detective Fog said with confidence.

"Then have at it," said Dexter and put out his giant hand for another shake. This one was less delicate and more full of feeling.

Detective Fog leaned back in her chair again. "If that's all you can tell me about Mr. Rex's suspicious behavior, I don't suppose you know anything about the evidence toward the real murderer?" She didn't ask where Athena had last been seen prior to this office, whether she had written anything in her appointment book, whether the private investigator had tailed her.

Dexter exhaled, puffing out his cheeks, and shook his head. "I wish I could be more helpful, but I'm sure you know as much as I do about the kinds of enemies Athena had."

"Let me know if you think of anything," said Detective Fog. She didn't ask to compare notes, to make sure her list of suspects was complete, to get Dexter's thoughts on how to crack the case. The meeting was over quickly. Sensing this, Dexter got to his feet.

"I will," said Dexter, and just then, the door opened, and Jimmy stood there with two cups of coffee in his hands. When he saw that Dexter was leaving, he did not look amused.

"Coffee for the road?" he asked, as if very bitter about having his labor go to waste.

"I don't suppose you have a to-go cup?" asked Dexter.

Jimmy thrust the coffee out toward him and said, "Take the mug."

It was a strange offer, and Dexter took the coffee but joked, "You're not trying to rufie me, are you?" and chuckled. He checked out the graphic on the front that read 'Feel Safe At Night, Sleep With A Cop' with a picture of handcuffs. He laughed again. "From your police days?" he said to Malyssa.

"They didn't have anything funny for disgracefully discharged officers."

Dexter nodded gracefully and said to Jimmy, "Thank you for the caffeine."

"Any time," said Jimmy. It didn't sound like he meant it in the least.

Dexter sauntered out of the office with Malyssa's favorite mug full to the brim, scalding hot and steaming, and she hoped it didn't end up in his lap if he was driving.

Then her phone vibrated in the pocket of her slacks. It was the single vibration of a notification, rather than the continual harassment of a call, and the sort of pesky notification ignored most of the time by most people. Still, by some grotesque prophetic impulse, she pulled out her smashed communication device, unlocked it, and opened the image attached to a text message.

The picture was black and red, hard to make out other than a smear of blood and darkness on the small screen, but when she got it fullscreen and looked closely, it appeared to be a female stab victim.

A mid-twenties, inky-haired female not unlike the woman who had sat next to Detective Fog on Jimmy's comfortable couch last night.

"I think that's Cassandra Aniston," said Detective Fog. "I think I should call the police. But I don't know if I should. I don't know whether that would be playing into the hands of whoever sent this."

Thank you for reading Detective Fog. This book updates often and always on Fridays. Look forward to the next installment soon! Is Cassandra really in danger? Will Malyssa find Athena's real killer? Could Adoni, the husband, be behind her death? Find out more next week, or maybe just more mysteries. Drop your stars on the way out, thanks!