CHAPTER 44 – COFFEE, WITH
Richard introduced Dr. Orchard to Briggs and, just as formally, Briggs to Dr. Orchard. Orchard looked like he thought Richard got the protocol wrong, and not in his favor.
"And just in case someone isn't sure, my name is Richard Hugh," Richard said.
"Usually," Orchard sneered.
Richard sighed. "You either forgot that these fellows know that I'm with secret services, and therefore wouldn't be surprised and don't really care that I'm occasionally assigned aliases – or you remembered but didn't care, and therefore tried to spill state secrets. Either way, you're not off to a stellar start, here, sir."
"Do you know you only call me sir when you're hoping to catch me out on something? Sloppy technique, really, isn't it?" Orchard said, sarcastically, and with a slur.
Richard took a sniff. "Are you drunk?" he asked.
Orchard's hand twitched toward his chest. Richard took the cue and patted Orchard's jacket. He fished a flask from an inside pocket. The flask proved half full, with moisture around the rim when the cap was removed.
Richard snuck a half-glance at Hastings. Seeing that they seemed to be on the same page, he looked him square in the face. "You didn't let him drive like this?"
Hastings shrugged.
"This isn't a shrugging matter, man!" Richard said.
He handed Orchard across to Briggs. "Here, you take him for a moment, Briggs. Hastings needs a talking to. You will excuse us."
Richard and Hastings left the room.
Briggs led Orchard to the kitchen table and maneuvered him into a chair. The forensics people having declared themselves done with the scene, and the heir having provided him with keys along with a request to keep an eye on the place until the family could arrange something (besides arson this time), Briggs felt free enough to make coffee. He set to digging out what he needed.
In the next room, Richard said, "Don't waste time defending yourself. My first guess is that he's sloshed some whiskey into his mouth as a ready excuse in case cops showed up whilst he was trespassing."
"Oh, he's likely got some residual from what he downed earlier today, and he might have added a fresh shot, but you're right. He's not drunk. I have come to know his drunk. As soon as this rot is over, I'm insisting he go to a dry-out center. The man's a menace."
"Come, my dear widget. Let's let him think that we think he's highly intoxicated, shall we?" Richard said, with a flourish of his hand. "It might prove useful."
"Too bad you don't enjoy your job," Hastings said.
There were scuffling sounds from the kitchen. They ran there. Dr. Orchard was trying to wrest a can of coffee beans away from Briggs.
"Something looked funny about the beans and I found little doodads mixed in with them," Briggs said.
"Here, here, Dr. Orchard. You're drunk and don't know what you're doing," Hastings said, soothingly, as he took Orchard's wrist and made plain that he could break it. Orchard ceded the jar to Briggs.
Richard peeked in the jar. "My, my, I thought coffee beans were death on microfiche. Shows what I know."
"What do you mean, death on microfiche?" Orchard said, forgetting to be drunk and looking like he might faint.
"Fumes. Acid. Oil. You name it. You must properly allow for out-gassing in any event, or else the beans will go sour and produce horrid coffee. I don't think you can rely on any sort of film to survive close contact, surely?"
"I'd rather assumed that microfiche would have been replaced by something or another by now," Briggs said. "Seems rather outdated."
"Likely you're right. So perhaps we're dealing with old people who don't trust the new technology, or young people getting a kick out of doing something astonishingly retro. That's your patch of the thicket, though, Orchard. What do you think?"
Orchard turned to Briggs, and said, with gravity, "I'd like to report a theft, young man. A theft of government property. That microfiche there."
"Well, sir," Briggs said, "we generally put more store in thefts that are reported before the goods turn up, and we prefer descriptions coming from people who haven't the items in front of them. You'd be surprised, really, how many criminals claim to be the owner of things they've kyped, or even stuff they've just noticed that looks covetable. If you're intending to claim this as your own, I'll need something in the way of corroborating detail."
"I don't deal with underlings," Orchard said, looking down his nose.
"No need to," Richard said. "Since I'm the lead investigator at the national level, and Briggs is the lead investigator locally, you have the top dogs right here. How handy."
"I want to talk to his superior. Now."
"Let's see, calling in somebody else – that's my call. Hmmm," Richard said. "Nah, I don't think so."
"You craven imbecile, I don't know what case you think you're in charge of, but it isn't this one! This one's mine. Mine! Loomis stole this microfiche from me. I know he did!"
"I suppose you were upset about that, sir," Briggs said.
"Of course I was upset about that!" Orchard screeched. "I'll lose my post if I don't get this back! I'll lose everything!"
Richard, Hastings and Briggs quietly and thoughtfully looked at Dr. Orchard. He stopped screeching, and took a stab at haughty silence. He seemed to have a lot of practice at it.
Briggs took out a notebook. "Possible motive," he mumbled as he wrote.
Not Exactly Allies Page 44