Hanging the Chimney Hook
All Rights Reserved © 2020, Rick Haydn Horst
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter Thirteen
It would be ironic to have Malor sitting at the precinct all cozy in a regular bed at night, mint on his pillow, and flirting with the detective who feeds him Delmonico steak, when all the while, he's playing us for a bunch of hounds who couldn't detect a fart downwind.
My gut told me he was innocent, but my gut isn't evidence. As a thought experiment, I proposed the assumption that he lied to us multiple times. We only had his word of having no knowledge of the ring, that Tommy hadn't spoken with him about it, that he hadn't made any finger traps since he lived in Franklin, that he went home from Tommy's when he said he did, and most importantly, that he hadn't murdered anyone.
But that led me back where I started. Why would he kill Tommy? Was it just because Tommy knew of the ring? And why would he use the finger trap on him and then leave so many of them at the scene of Chadwell's murder? If he had left them by accident, wouldn't all of them either have his prints out of unconcern (intending to ruin them all later) or none of them have his prints out of excessive caution? It's more like the killer thought, "Well, surely one of these has Malor's prints on it. I'll just give the rest to the police and see if that works." Forensics found Malor's print on only one trap and a fingerprint of unknown origin on one of the others. I would have had a hard time putting a percentage of chance on it, but it seemed more likely that someone was setting him up, and at that point, I would bet money on the owner of that anomalous print as the culprit.
That afternoon, when Max and I arrived on the third floor of the midtown precinct house, we found Albert at his desk working on a report still wearing his leather shorts and harness.
"You're going in that?" I asked.
"Oh, hey! And yeah, I have nothing else here. Edge said he wouldn't care if I went naked, so long as I wouldn't wear my uniform, and while that's tempting, I already had this on. Have you any objections, cousin?" Al stood for us to go, and he gestured toward the elevator.
"No, of course not. And they appear quite flattering, but I bet you hear that all the time."
"Oh, yes." Albert gave a smug little smile at the thought. "But I appreciate the compliment. You guys should invest in some leather. I would love to see you in it."
Max, who had mused over the appearance of Albert's fine ass, gazed up at me. "I would wear them all the time; you couldn't get me out of them."
"If they had a zipper back to front like his, I wouldn't need to get you out of them. If I wore them, though, it would make it harder for me to conceal carry."
"You don't have to carry concealed," said Albert.
"What?" My brows rose as we entered the lift.
Albert pushed the button for sub-level 2. "This isn't New York. A conceal-carry permit is for the entire state, but this state allows local jurisdictions to make their own laws about open carry. So, while you remain inside Franklin County, which is the entirety of the metropolitan area of the City of Franklin, you can open carry. Most people frown on it for the average citizen, that's why so few people do it, but as a private detective, no one would think twice about it."
"Admit it, Millstone," said Max, "you want to wear some leather." We exited the elevator into the parking garage.
"Would you like it if I wore something similar?" I asked.
"If I had my way, you'd wear little else."
When we reached Albert's Camry, I opened the front passenger door and made a gentlemanly gesture for Max to take my usual seat. "I'll wear leather on occasion if you will," I said.
He gazed at me with a little smile, and he kissed me just before climbing into the front. "Deal," he said.
En route, Max asked me, "Will you tell Albert, or should I?"
"You go ahead."
"Tell me what?" he asked.
"We know the guy who might want to, and I quote, 'pound your bubble on the regular.'"
"Tenten? Who is it?"
"It's James Malor. He used that exact phrase when telling us about Tommy."
"So, Malor is friends with Brice," said Albert. "Wow, that's practically a character reference for Malor."
"Is it?" I asked. "Why?"
"The Master's real name is Brice Harper. Master Brice is his dominant sexual persona, one he uses a lot. I know a couple of guys whose judgment I trust, and they know him personally, and they said he's an upstanding guy. That's why I was willing to step outside the club for sex, which I rarely do. Brice could qualify as a club member if he wanted, but apparently, he's not a joiner. If he considers Malor his friend, that says good things about him."
"Fascinating," I said. "Do you know if Edgerton has any real interest in Malor, or has he just schmoozed him to learn what he knows?"
"I don't know," said Albert, "he seemed a little odd around him today."
"Perhaps," said Max, "the detective has found himself unaccountably attracted to him. I admit he does have a strange kind of appeal."
"You think so?" I asked.
Max turned his head toward me. "I can't explain it either."
"It's probably just the allure of his enormously fat dick," I said.
"Feeling jealous?" asked Max.
"Of a man the police could charge with rectal endangerment? No."
When we arrived at the brick building for Alliance, I brought up a concern.
"I understand why the detective sent you, Albert, but now that we're here, I'm not sure that all of us should go in to speak to Neuhouser. It looks too suspicious."
"You're probably right," he said. "I'll go in."
