Stone
It was turning out to be a normal
day, which meant that Vecchio or the Mountie would show up any minute
and toss that right out the window. Welsh almost sighed in relief
when Ray stuck his funny looking blond head into the office. Both
Mounties (because despite her being one, Welsh never thought of
Thatcher as just a Mountie) were trailing behind the detective.
He barely had time to take in the serious faces on the Canadians before
Ray plopped a big rock on his desk.
"Well, thank you, gentlemen.
I've always wanted one of these. Now what is it?"
"It's a rock," Ray replied.
"I can see that, detective."
"The proper term is stone, Ray, not
rock," Turnbull said gravely. The sheer concept of Turnbull being
grave threw Welsh for a loop.
"Rock, stone, whatever, it's
evidence."
"Ah! Actual evidence.
What an intriguing concept. I assume Constable Fraser has already
licked it?"
Ray shuddered. "Don't remind
me."
"Well, it certainly looks like a
weapon, what with the convenient handle attached to the top," Welsh
observed.
"Leftenant," Turnbull interrupted,
and Welsh would never get used to being called Leftenant, "have you
ever heard of the sport known as curling?"
Welsh hadn't, but he fully expected
it to be some weird Canadian thing. By the look on Vecchio's
face, he'd already been told about it at length. Turnbull looked
as if he was winding himself up for a doozy, but thankfully, Fraser
stepped forward.
"It's an ice sport that involves
sliding stones in a precise manner, but that's not important right
now. We believe that someone used this stone as a murder weapon."
"Using a curling stone as a murder
weapon! Why it demeans not just a noble game, but Canada as
well," Turnbull muttered in the background. Fraser rubbed his
eyebrow and Ray rolled his eyes.
"Where's the body?" Welsh asked
getting them back to the point.
"Ah..." said Fraser.
"Uh..." said Ray.
"Heathens. Nothing but
heathens..." Turnbull muttered to himself.
"Let me guess. Usually you two turn
up a body with no evidence, but today you decided to be
different. You've found evidence with no body. Am I correct
in this assumption?"
"Lieu, it's like this..." Ray
started.
Welsh held up his hand. It
was the shut up hand. Everyone at the 27th precinct respected it.
"I don't want to hear it.
Go. Find me a body or someone with a really bad headache, and
please take your rock."
"Stone," Turnbull corrected.
"Out!" Welsh barked.
The three trooped back out again,
Ray swinging the stone and snapping at Turnbull. Fraser had that
thoughtful "I'm figuring out the case in my head" look which was always
promising. When they were gone and the door was closed, Welsh
breathed a sigh of relief. At least the usual bit of craziness
was over for the day. The door slammed open to reveal Francesca
Vecchio.
"Hey Welsh, what am I supposed to
do with all these organ grinder monkeys the duck boys brought in?
They keep swiping stuff off the desks and sticking them under their
little hats!"
"Ask to borrow Ray's rock," he
replied and shoved her back out the door, locking himself in.
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