The station house is quiet but for the clacking of typewriters as the other homicide detectives fill out their case reports. O' Halloran sips a coffee as he leans back in his chair, his fat belly falling out over his pants belt. A female uniform approaches.
"Holy shit!", O' Halloran yelps.
"It's Ok, Detective. I'm not just a floating uniform moving through the office like a ghostly presence. I'm actually a police officer IN a uniform. The author has just abbreviated my description to 'Uniform' so that he doesn't need to give superfluous characters like me any backstory or distinguishing characteristics"
"But what about all that stuff where we previously dated, and about the fact that my secret liaisons with you led to the break-up of my marriage?", O' Halloran asks.
"None of that matters, Detective. As far as the reader is concerned, I'm just a nameless female officer introduced into the story simply to pass on information".
"Such as?", O' Halloran quizzes.
"Well, for instance, I'm here to tell you that the lab tests came back for the Carla Bruni shit writing. They are positive for fecal matter but the shit doesn't belong to the vic'"
"Hmmm, interesting. If they don't belong to the vic then they must belong to…"
"The murderer", the uni interjects.
"Listen, shut the fuck up. Just do your job and fuck off out of this story until you're needed to pass on some other relevant information again", O' Halloran testily snaps.
The door to the interview room pushes open. O' Halloran steps inside and closes it firmly behind him. Inside, alone, sits the beautiful seven-foot woman from the crime scene. She looks up at O' Halloran as he enters but looks away as he gets closer. The detective pulls up a chair and sits on it backwards.
"The shit on the walls didn't come from the vic'. So who do you suppose it came from", he questions.
"How would I know? I'm no expert."
"You wanna know what I think? I think that shit came from your ass."
"Oh yeah? Well, I bet that if we take a sample of your shit and compare it with the Carla Bruni writing we'll come up with a match: a shit match. A bit like the Faroe Islands versus San Marino".
The woman doesn't respond. He knows he's getting to her. Just a few more prods and she'll crack.
"That was your shit, wasn't it?"
"But I didn't kill that guy or write that message, I swear", she pleads, her eyes welling up with tears.
"You expect me to believe that somebody else whacked that guy, then stole your shit and wrote that sick message on the wall of your own house? Whadddaya take me for?"
"It's true, I tell you. I never killed anyone. I swear. That shit came from my toilet. I forgot to flush. Somebody came in, stole the shit from the toilet and framed me", she cries hysterically.
There's something about this girl that makes O' Halloran think she might just be telling the truth. It's either gut instinct or, possibly, that LSD tab he popped before entering the room has started to kick in.
"Tell me all you know - and I mean EVERYTHING. I don't want no lies or no bullshit stories. Tell me the truth and I'll play fair", O' Halloran says softly.
The woman glances up at him, her mascara dripping down her cheek. She knows that the detective could be her one and only chance out of this mess.
"What I tell you must not leave this room. Promise?"
"You know I can't promise you that. I'm an insatiable gossip. Only yesterday I told the guys about the affair the Lieutenant's wife was having with that bodybuilder. But I will make sure to embellish your story enough so that it makes it that much more intriguing when it's repeated around the water cooler come lunchtime".
The woman seems convinced by this and begins her story.
"I used to make a little money on the side selling mouthwash to business men. Well, one day I met this guy called Johnny. He ran this car hire firm uptown. I tried selling him a bottle of minty-fresh mouthwash. He seemed real interested and invited me around to his place; said he'd buy a whole carton of the stuff. I'm thinking it's my lucky day. So I turn up at his place that evening and I find out he thinks I'm a prostitute. He thought my selling mouthwash was a cover from giving…"
She simulates the action of oral copulation with her hands and mouth.
"Brushing teeth?", asks O' Halloran, never much good at charades.
"Ohhhh…..", he nods.
"So I smack him on the cheek: he was starting to get fresh. I rushed right out of there and all the way home. Trouble was that he followed me back. Knocked at my door and he was standing there holding the crate of mouthwash I'd left behind in my haste.
I told him to get lost, but he refused. I threatened to call the cops and only then did he leave. But he said that he'd come back again."
"Excuse me for asking, but what the fuck has any of this shitty back story got to do with my murder and the Carla Bruni Shit?", asks O' Halloran, clearly bored.
"Ok, ok. I'll get to that now. Late this evening - around 12.30-ish - I heard a knock at the door. It was Johnny. He said he was sorry and wanted to return the mouthwash. He seemed much calmer and sincerely embarrassed about the whole situation. I took the box and he left. I went to bed but firstly made sure to wash my teeth, floss and gargle with some mouthwash".
"Lemme guess: you used some of the mouthwash Johnny returned?"
"Sure I did. It was mine after all. But after using it I felt kinda funny. There was something in that stuff. The last thing I remember was sitting on the toilet and taking a shit then it all went black - my vision, not the colour of my excrement. When I woke up I saw the body on the floor and the message on the wall so I panicked and needed an alibi because I knew nobody would believe my story".
"And that's why you cooked the chicken breasts?"
"Yeah. Stupid huh?"
"Yeah, that is probably the shittiest attempt at an alibi I've come across in my career", O' Halloran says as he rises from his chair.
"You've gotta believe me, Detective. I didn't kill noone. It was Johnny. I swear."
She sounds genuine. O' Halloran stops and sits back down, giving her a second chance: maybe there is some truth is her crazy tale.
"Has this Johnny got a second name? What's he look like?", he inquires.
"I don't know his full name but he had white hair. Wore a shiny tracksuit with lots of gold chains…"
"Did he smoke a cigar?", asks O' Halloran learning in close.
"Yeah.", the woman says, surprised at O' Halloran's seeming intuitiveness.
"Jimmy fucking Saville!", the detective says through clenched teeth.
He rushes to the door and flings it open and bellows out orders to nobody in particular: "Get me everything you can find on Jimmy Saville."
He then turns back towards the woman.
"You are an incredibly sexy woman. You have beautiful tits and your ass is so fine. But if you're wrapped up in some shit with Jimmy Saville then you're life could seriously be in danger. Don't go home. Stay in a sleazy motel overnight. The sleazier the better. One with a flashing red neon sign outside and a motel manager with hairy shoulders. Choose a room with a back entrance and a view of the main forecourt. Have a shit, shower and shave. Make sure to wash in between your toes and ass crack", his words rushing out in a stream of instructions that the woman just nods along to in agreement.
He hands her a card for the city's most shitty motel: The Shit Hole. She takes it and slips it into her bra.
"When will I see you again", she says.
"I'll be in touch. You just stay out of sight until this whole mess is sorted", he reply's before turning and darting out the door and down the corridor towards the Lieutenant's office.
The female uniform from before enters the room. And speaks.
"My name is Officer Jennifer Wilson. I'm 24. Chest measurement 36 DD. I have long blonde hair. I enjoy karaoke and watching documentaries on dolphins and whales; my astrological sign is Libra and I enjoy threesomes. I'm available for all storylines involving police work and I have very reasonable rates. I can do several different accents and play a variety of ethnic characters including Korean".
The tall beautiful woman stares blankly at officer Wilson.
"Too much exposition and not enough action, honey", says the woman as she gathers up her chicken breasts and exits the room embarrassed for the walk-on character's pathetic attempt to stretch her role beyond it's natural paper-thin boundaries.
Officer Wilson stares after her, blank faced and mutters under her breath:
"Well at least I'm not the stereotypical femme fatale-type posing as damsel in the distress, bitch! I have my suspicions that your character isn't being completely upfront about your involvement in this and other possible murders"
"Hmmmmm, interesting observation, Officer Wilson….", says the person reading this chapter as they rub their chin in agreement