Chapter 5

I've always beenof the opinion that the cops in Wilde City are about as useful as a dick on a nun. Remember those slapstick Keystone Kops moving pictures starring Charlie Chaplin and Fatty Arbuckle that were the bee's knees with audiences last decade, back in 1914? Well I'm pretty sure the motion picture producers used the Wilde City Police Department as their inspiration. Watching them try to master the new fingerprint identification processes that had recently been introduced was like watching a bunch of monkeys trying to finger-paint the Mona Lisa. Ink and white powder everywhere. They ended up fingerprinting everyone in the cast and crew, along with me and Stella who had been present when the body was found, before dusting the body from head to toe. They also went through everything in Errol's dressing room, item by item, including the gifts and cards his fans had sent him.

"Take a look at this one," said one cop to another, laughing as he read from a card in a melodramatic voice. "To my dearest Errol. It won't be long now until we'll be together forever. Things will happen on cue, and when the timing is right, everything between us will be perfect. Your secret admirer."

The cops laughed, ate a few candies from the box accompanying the card, then kept searching. They went through Errol's fancy collection of colognes and tried some on. They ogled a box filled with dirty pictures of dames hitchin' their skirts way above the knee. Heck, they even found his secret stash of moonshine hidden in a suitcase in his dressing room closet.

In the end, they took him in for questioning over the death of Miss Duprey. But he wasn't the only one they hauled off that day. After one final examination of the trunk in which Miss Duprey's body was found, a police officer discovered a pair of small, round spectacles.

"And who might these belong to?" asked the officer.

All eyes turned to Stanley Small, who was also arrested on the suspicion that his glasses had fallen into the trunk while he was trying to hide the body.

"It wasn't me," Stanley Small protested as they carted him away. "Somebody must have stolen my glasses. I've been framed. It wasn't me! It was the phantom!"

Ignoring his cries of innocence, the cops put both Stanley and Errol in the back of a paddy wagon and drove away.

"For Christ's sake," cursed Serafina Somerset. "Now we've lost our damn leading man." She turned to Raja Khan and pointed a finger. "This is all your fault."

"Why's it his fault?" I asked, her accusatory tone catching my attention.

"Ask him about his secret insurance bond. In the meantime, I'm going to get that idiot Errol out of jail and make sure nothing stops Signora Aria Valentina from arriving safely. God forbid any more stars come crashing down to Earth."

With that, Serafina stormed off.

I turned to Raja Khan, but he was already shaking off her aspersions with a wave of his hand. "There is no bond, she's delusional. That much wealth tends to make one quite eccentric. Might I suggest we all call it a day? This has been somewhat straining on all of us."

"Of course," I agreed, knowing my chances of getting anything useful out of anyone at this stage were pretty much zilch. "But if you don't mind, we'll continue our interviews with each of you in private."

"But why?" asked Miss Overton. "They've just arrested Errol and Stanley. Surely, one of them is the killer. Isn't this a closed case?"

"With all due respect, Miss Overton," I replied. "The case ain't closed till the fat lady sings."