The Book With No Name by Anonymous

hand outstretched. ‘Lieutenant Scraggs, sir. I’m in charge here.’
    ‘Not any more,’ said Somers bluntly. ‘Detective Jensenand myself will take over from here.’
    Scraggs looked understandably peeved and lowered his hand, realizing that Somers was not going to shake it anyway. He knew who Somers was and should have known better than to try for a handshake. The word ‘Asshole!’ formed in his mind, but all he said was, ‘Very well, Somers. As you wish.’
    ‘Do you have any leads yet?’
    ‘Yessir. One of my guys took a statement from the brother of one of the victims.’
    ‘A brother, huh? Anyone we know?’
    ‘You might know him, sir. It’s Sanchez Garcia, the bar manager at the Tapioca. The dead guy, Thomas Garcia, was his brother.’
    Somers pulled a small notebook from the pocket of his overcoat, opened it and extracted a pencil from a loop inside the book.
    ‘Did he have any ideas who might have done it?’ he asked.
    Jensen almost let himself smile. Somers looked and sounded just like Columbo, albeit for only a brief moment. He held the smile back. This obviously wouldn’t be an appropriate time for smirking, especially with Scraggs looking right at him. ‘Said he had no idea who’d want to kill them,’ the Lieutenant replied. He went on, ‘I can tell you this, though: he didn’t think it was anything to do with aliens.’
    This was a gibe aimed at Jensen, and one he’d heard before. New town, same crap jokes. Very predictable. Very tiresome.
    ‘Hey!’ barked Somers. ‘You just answer the fucking questions. Keep your juvenile little comments to yourself. We’ve got two dead here. Innocents, in all likelihood. Your sarcasm won’t help us find who killed them.’
    ‘Sorry, sir.’
    ‘Damn right you’re sorry.’ Somers obviously commanded respect, and up to this point Jensen still couldn’t see why he was so roundly hated by all the other cops. He watched as the older detective continued: ‘Now, who found the bodies? Wasit Sanchez?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said Scraggs. ‘Says he arrived here about eight o’clock this morning. He called nine-eleven straight away.’
    ‘Eight, you say? And where is he now?’
    ‘He had to go back to work, get his bar ready for opening time.’
    Jensen decided it was time to make his presence felt. It was always important to make an early impression on his first investigation in a new jurisdiction. He added his two bits’ worth: ‘The victims don’t look like they’ve been dead for very long. Did this Sanchez guy see anyone nearby when he arrived? I’d say those two were killed only this morning.’
    ‘Says he saw nothing.’
    It was noticeable that Scraggs didn’t attach a ‘sir’ to the end of his sentence as he answered Jensen. Jensen wasn’t especially bothered about it. He would earn the respect of this lieutenant and the other cops eventually. He always did. Ignoring Scraggs’s surly tone, he asked another question: ‘This is a pretty secluded place, out here. There’s only one road leading in and out. Did you ask Sanchez if he saw anyone going the other way as he drove up to the farmhouse?’
    ‘Of course we did. And like I just told you, he said he saw nothing.’
    ‘Okay.’
    Maybe it had been a stupid question, but Jensen wasn’t to know how thorough a questioning from the Santa Mondega police force was, and he certainly wasn’t going to take it on trust. He looked over at Somers, who asked, ‘You want to question Sanchez yourself?’
    He could probably tell that the newly arrived detective was keen to clarify Sanchez’s statement, and he obviously felt the same. Jensen was just beginning to sense that maybe he was starting to earn a little respect from his older partner. He too had integrity and pride in his work, and Somers was now starting to appreciate that.
    ‘You wanna come with me?’ Jensen asked.
    ‘Nah, you go on. I’ll stay with these guys and see what Ican find here, y’know – make sure they don’t miss